Thursday, November 15, 2012

"An Unlikely Redemption"

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November 11, 2012
Old Testament Reading:  Ruth 3:1-5, 4:13-17
1Naomi, Ruth’s mother-in-law said to her, "My daughter, I need to seek some security for you, so that it may be well with you. 2Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working. See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing floor. 3Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing floor; but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. 4When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down; and he will tell you what to do." 5She said to her, "All that you tell me I will do."
4:13 So Boaz took Ruth and she became his wife. When they came together, the LORD made her conceive, and she bore a son. 14Then the women said to Naomi, "Blessed be the LORD, who has not left you this day without next-of-kin; and may his name be renowned in Israel! 15He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age; for your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has borne him." 16Then Naomi took the child and laid him in her bosom, and became his nurse. 17The women of the neighborhood gave him a name, saying, "A son has been born to Naomi." They named him Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David.


Sermon: “An Unlikely Redemption”

When we left Ruth and Naomi last week, they were clinging to one another and heading toward Bethlehem from Moab, searching for food.  But, y’all there just weren’t any McDonald’s serving up camel burgers in that desert.  There was no International House of Mannacakes, not even a Pik-N-Fig.  They were starving. 
But as they arrived in Bethlehem (which had the hopeful meaning of “House of Bread”), their eyes were filled with the golden rows of a promising barley harvest.  Remember that it was the law for Israelites to not glean all the way to edge of their fields, but instead to leave some for the foreigner and widow.  They fit the bill.
Somehow, that long road with Ruth by her side seemed to have lifted Naomi beyond the notion that her name should be Bitterness.  Now, her focus was on putting one foot in front of the other and surviving, for both of them. 

She directed Ruth to the fields of Boaz, a distant relative, hoping he would show extra compassion on her.  He certainly did: this kinsman-redeemer as he’s called, fed her from his own table, and then selected the best sheaves of grain for her to take to her mother-in-law. 

It is a testament to one too many Disney movies that we assume he did all this because he found her pretty.  Ruth was cunning and brave, risking herself greatly to provide for Naomi once again.
We see this in the next scene of the story: Naomi asks Ruth to go down to where Boaz slept, on the “threshing floor.” 

I once saw a billboard in Atlanta that advertised a Christian Women’s Conference called “The Threshing Floor.”  It is slightly disturbing, though, to realize that a threshing floor in those days, where workers separated grain but also relaxed after a hard days’ work, had more to do with certain establishments like one sees driving through Fayetteville on Bragg Boulevard, than with a place of worship and morality.  If picking in a field alone as a woman was risky behavior, entering the threshing floor alone was nearly reckless, proved by the fact that Ruth had to sneak out so no one would see her there.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.  Ruth went to Boaz, uncovered his feet, and layed down.  Boaz awoke shocked to find her there.  He said, ‘Who are you?’ And she answered, ‘I am Ruth, your servant; spread your cloak over your servant, for you are next-of-kin.’   

Like the law requiring society to provide for orphans, widows and foreigners, another law required the next-of-kin (a male) to provide for his female relatives if no closer kin was living.  You see, Yahweh designed this community to care for each other.  Boaz hesitated a little, saying he’d check it over and be sure he really was the next-of-kin and then did so:  the next day he went to the elders and claimed his right to redeem. 

With all the romance of a board meeting, ten elders decided that, as next-of-kin, Boaz could redeem his claim on any land belonging to Naomi, oh, and Ruth became his property, too.  He actually used the language of “acquired” to describe taking Ruth to be his wife.  Fellas, I don’t recommend using that language on an Anniversary Card!  “20 years ago, I acquired you, honey!  Aren’t you pleased??”

But what was a business transaction became a powerful ending to our story: redemption was everywhere.  Ruth and Naomi were redeemed out of poverty and grief.  Boaz was redeemed out of living only for himself.  And, through the child of Ruth and Boaz, who was of the line of David and thus of the line of our Savior, Jesus Christ, we were all redeemed. 

The popular reading of this text has us focusing on Boaz as the kinsman-redeemer.  He was this.  But our story began with a woman who clung on when life was hopeless, and our story ends with her receiving new life.

The neighborhood ladies said it best when they spoke to Naomi, “Blessed be the Lord, who has not left you this day without a next-of-kin!; and may his name be renowned in Israel! 15He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age; for your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has borne him.”  Those eager neighborhood ladies also gave that little baby boy a name: Obed.  It means worshipper.

There are many who had a hand in the unlikely redemption found in Ruth’s story.  But whether we celebrate Naomi’s grit and will to survive, or Ruth’s steadfast, brave devotion, or Boaz’s generosity, or the neighborhood’s contagious joy, they all have one source.  The One we worship.  The One the baby Obed in his very name points us to: Christ, our Redeemer. 

Let us never think we are capable of redeeming ourselves.  But let us also never think we do not have a hand in the redemption of another: especially those left most vulnerable in this world. 

The smiles of people served through the Mission to Cameron this week shine of redeemed humanity.  As I sat with one of the women we served in her trailer in Carolina Lakes, she told me about all the children she had taken in during her lifetime.  While working at Pinelake Nursing Home in Carthage, she noticed two small children, a boy and a girl who were always hovering nearby.  It turns out they lived in a drain pipe.  So she took them in, working extra shifts to earn the money to support them.  She acted as their next-of-kin, bringing redemption.   And when we replaced her door and windows, and put underpinning around to keep out the cold, we acted as hers. 

All she could tell me, over and over, was how blessed she was.  When redemption runs that deep, it overflows into the lives of everyone you meet.

For we are all next of kin to each other.  Each of us, through the Holy Spirit, has a hand in the redemption of this world, and each of us will forever belong to the loving family we call the Body of Christ.  Like the neighborhood women, we proclaim with joyful praise and compassionate service: “Blessed be the Lord, who has not left us this day without a next-of-kin!”  Amen.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

"Clinging to Hope"

Ruth and Naomi by Paul Cumes

November 4, 2012: All Saints' Observance
OLD TESTAMENT READING RUTH 1:1-18
1In the days when the judges ruled, there was a famine in the land, and a certain man of Bethlehem in Judah went to live in the country of Moab, he and his wife and two sons. 2The name of the man was Elimelech and the name of his wife Naomi, and the names of his two sons were Mahlon and Chilion; they were Ephrathites from Bethlehem in Judah. They went into the country of Moab and remained there. 3But Elimelech, the husband of Naomi, died, and she was left with her two sons. 4These took Moabite wives; the name of the one was Orpah and the name of the other Ruth. When they had lived there about ten years, 5both Mahlon and Chilion also died, so that the woman was left without her two sons and her husband.
6Then she started to return with her daughters-in-law from the country of Moab, for she had heard in the country of Moab that the LORD had considered his people and given them food. 7So she set out from the place where she had been living, she and her two daughters-in-law, and they went on their way to go back to the land of Judah. 8But Naomi said to her two daughters-in-law, "Go back each of you to your mother's house. May the LORD deal kindly with you, as you have dealt with the dead and with me. 9The LORD grant that you may find security, each of you in the house of your husband." Then she kissed them, and they wept aloud. 10They said to her, "No, we will return with you to your people." 11But Naomi said, "Turn back, my daughters, why will you go with me? Do I still have sons in my womb that they may become your husbands? 12Turn back, my daughters, go your way, for I am too old to have a husband. Even if I thought there was hope for me, even if I should have a husband tonight and bear sons, 13would you then wait until they were grown? Would you then refrain from marrying? No, my daughters, it has been far more bitter for me than for you, because the hand of the LORD has turned against me." 14Then they wept aloud again. Orpah kissed her mother-in-law, but Ruth clung to her.
15So Naomi said, "See, your sister-in-law has gone back to her people and to her gods; return after your sister-in-law." 16But Ruth said, "Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; Where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. 17Where you die, I will die-there will I be buried. May the LORD do thus and so to me, and more as well, if even death parts me from you!" 18When Naomi saw that she was determined to go with her, she said no more to her.
SERMON: “Clinging to Hope”

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.  No, scratch that…it was just the worst of times.

Biblical scholars like to call it the “Post-Exilic Persian Period” where the people of Israel were oppressed, along with other foreigners, and corruption, violence and hunger were rampant.  Whatever fancy name you like to give it, the truth is, life was hard. 

A famine in the southern deserts of Israel forced a family to migrate to Moab, a tiny town east of Bethlehem.  They crossed the Dead Sea and marched high into the mountains to reach that town…all in the hope of finding breakfast.  And the meal after that, and the meal after that.

But as I said, these were the worst of times.  Things grew even darker.  That family was led by Naomi, the mother, and Elimelech, the father.  They had two sons.  But far from her home, desperate for her family to survive, Naomi woke up one morning and her husband had died.  His name had meant “God is King” but with a crumbling, starving kingdom like this, what kind of King could this God be? 

But she was not left alone.  Her two sons had married local Moabite women, Orpah and Ruth, and for about ten years Naomi managed to hold on, to almost be happy.  But then those precious sons died as well. 

With nothing left for her in this foreign land, no blood family, no food, Naomi left in search of home, whatever that was.  Ruth and Orpah came with her, but the fog of her grief lifted long enough for her to see how hopeless life would be for them if they did.

“Go back!” she said.  “Go find husbands and security.”  But they would not go.  Then, like trying to scare away an animal you can’t afford to care for, she says, “Why will you go with me?  Do I have sons you can marry?  Or is it even possible that I would be able to have sons again?  Would you wait until they grew up and then marry them?  I have nothing to offer you!  I am nothing. Leave.” 

Orpah, wounded but obedient, kissed her goodbye and departed.  But not Ruth.  Ruth clung to her.  This is the same word used in Genesis when it’s said that a man will leave his Father and Mother and cling to his wife, that the two shall become one.  Ruth still had the tears of losing her husband running down her hollow cheeks, but yet she clung to Naomi, letting Naomi’s grief and sorrow overtake her own.

Then, Ruth gave one of the most beautiful speeches in all of scripture, a brilliant ray of light in the midst of a dark, desolate time in Naomi’s life:

"Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; Where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. 17Where you die, I will die-there will I be buried. May the LORD do thus and so to me, and more as well, if even death parts me from you!"

When we hear “where you lodge, I will lodge” we often picture two women cozy in front of a warm fire, chatting the night away and drinking tea.  But in Naomi’s language, it means “where you pass the night, I will pass the night.”  Where Naomi passes the night of her sorrow, Ruth will cling to her in that darkness.  Ruth even prays that God would cause her suffering if she abandons Naomi as she suffers. 

Naomi is so overwhelmed by such an outpouring of hope and love that she is rendered speechless.  And the two widows, one young and one old, continue down the path in search of food, clinging to one another all the way.

Saints are those people who cling to us as we pass the night together.  Ruth was one such saint.  She clung to Naomi though it promised no guarantee about her survival and though it put her welfare at risk, because that’s just what you do in the worst of times.  You cling to hope, to those in your life, to God.

As we’ll explore next week, that clinging did bring healing and hope for both Ruth and Naomi, though the road before them seemed bleak.

God has, for each of us, placed saints like Ruth in our lives: those people who cling to us no matter how much we push them away, who place our own needs above their own, who, when we cannot see beyond the worst of times, hold our hand and walk beside us. 

We do not call them “saints” because they have lived perfectly, or prayed constantly, or never doubted or raised their voice in anger.  We call them saints because they have clung to us. 

That’s the thing about saints: they never leave us.  Even after they’ve departed this life for life eternal, they still somehow, in ways we do not fully understand, cling to us.  And in those moments when we love sacrificially and say to those facing floods of waters and worries, “Where you go, I will go; Where you pass the night, I will pass the night; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” we cling right back to them. 

We, like that Moabite widow so many years ago, like the people who have left an indelible mark of hope on our lives, in holding tightly to those facing the worst of days, become saints ourselves.

Thanks be to the God who clings to us like a determined daughter, who walks beside us like a steadfast friend and who never, in this life or in the life to come, lets us go.  Amen. 

Thursday, November 1, 2012

"The Fairy Tale Ending"

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October 28, 2012
Old Testament Reading:  JOB 42:1-6, 10-17
1Then Job answered the LORD: 2"I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted. 3'Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?' Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know. 4'Hear, and I will speak; I will question you, and you declare to me.' 5I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; 6therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes."

10And the LORD restored the fortunes of Job when he had prayed for his friends; and the LORD gave Job twice as much as he had before. 11Then there came to him all his brothers and sisters and all who had known him before, and they ate bread with him in his house; they showed him sympathy and comforted him for all the evil that the LORD had brought upon him; and each of them gave him a piece of money and a gold ring. 12The LORD blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning; and he had fourteen thousand sheep, six thousand camels, a thousand yoke of oxen, and a thousand donkeys. 13He also had seven sons and three daughters.

14He named the first Jemimah, the second Keziah, and the third Keren-happuch. 15In all the land there were no women so beautiful as Job's daughters; and their father gave them an inheritance along with their brothers. 16After this Job lived one hundred and forty years, and saw his children, and his children's children, four generations. 17And Job died, old and full of days.


SERMON: The Fairy Tale Ending
Once upon a time, in a far-off land called Uz, there was a man named Job.  He had it all: a wife, kids, an expense account, thousands and thousands of the highest quality livestock.  But then a cosmic wager happened between God and the devil.  God said that Job would never curse him even if he lost everything.  The devil disagreed – and put it to the test by taking away everything that Job loved.  His animals were killed, a house fell on all of his children and they died, and then he got very sick.  His relationship with his wife fell apart. 
Then the cursing began: Job cursed the day he was born and demanded that God answer the question of why he deserved all that pain.  Job’s friends judged him for his anger and only made him feel worse.

Finally, God responded and told Job that Job’s life was about so much more than just suffering, and that this world was about so much more than just Job. 

Job saw the hand of God in all of creation and admitted that he had spoken “without knowledge” and he repented.  He even prayed for the friends who had been so quick to judge him, and so slow to show compassion for him.

And then God restored Job’s fortune: his friends returned, he and his wife made up, he bought more livestock than he could have ever dreamed of and he had ten children, three of them girls.  He named the girls with poetic words like Jemimah, Keziah and Keren-happuch, meaning Dove, Perfume and Eyeshadow.  Yes, eyeshadow!  She was named after the little horn in which women kept the dark powder they used to color their eyelids in those days, in that far off land of Uz.  He even gave his daughters an inheritance along with their brothers: an act of generosity and equality that was well before its time.

The LORD blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning.  And they all lived happily ever after, to the end of their days.

Isn’t that a nice little fairy tale: a dash of the supernatural, a riches-to-rags-to-riches story, worthy of the Brothers Grimm.

The message seems to be this: repent from your pride and the false notion that you are the center of everything and watch as God makes all your dreams come true!  Forgive those in your life who have hurt you and magically all of your troubles with disappear!  Your friends will even bring you presents!  Not a bad deal, y’all.  But it just sounds a bit much to me.

Perhaps this is why many biblical scholars say that the movement from poetry to prose and the simplistic happy-clappy ending was added later, and is not part of the original story of Job.  Many suggest that the story ends with Job’s repentance, and that the restoration of his family and fortune was thrown in for dramatic flair.  Because we all love a good happy ending, don’t we?

But, whether it was intended to end so perfectly or not, it is here, in this book.  And so we grab our magic wands and swords from stones and enter into the fairy tale ending, seeking something of God within it.
In that magical land of Uz, we see a God who is much easier to swallow than the one who makes deals with the devil in the beginning of this book.  We see that restoration is entirely possible with repentance, that when we admit that we are on the wrong path entirely, it is possible to turn around and change direction, to change our luck. 

We see that Job’s greatest joy in his latter days was not his money or his livestock, but his radiant daughters whom he loved so much, that he broke religious and cultural customs to see that they were provided for, whether they happened to get married someday or not. 

We see that God stirred within Job the most precious thing there is in this life: the ability to love.  Even after his heartache and bitterness, he was able to love again: to love his God, to love his wife, to love his new children, to love his friends, to even love himself. 

This is Job’s story.  He did experience transformation, but it wasn’t as simple as it seems.  His happy ending was not his own doing, though his repentance played a role in it.  Here we see that just as suffering in this life – including Job’s – is inexplicable, so is blessing.  Our relationship with God does not operate like a cosmic ATM machine, where we get out only what we put in. 

No, God interrupts our sorrow with moments of extraordinary grace, whether we deserve it or not.  Because, really, no amount of repentance on our part will ever earn that grace for us.  Our repentance is not a payment.  It is a profound act of gratitude, even when we cannot see the end of our own story.

Happily ever after is not God’s guarantee to us.  In Christ, we see a very different path through this world: one of self-sacrifice and radical compassion, one permeated with the loneliness of the cross and the glory of the empty tomb.

But even if restoration doesn’t happen on the scale found in our Job fairy tale, it is still God’s gift to us.  When we’ve endured more than we should be able to survive, restoration is found in every single defiant breath of new life. 

When we have made a total mess of things, placing politics above people and retribution above relationship, restoration is found in the courage behind the words, “I’m sorry.  I messed up.  Forgive me.” 

The God who made us and gave us a very particular place in the story of creation, restores us still. 

So, what of “happily ever after”?  As I said, we are not promised happiness all of our days.  But ever after?  That our latter days will be blessed more than our beginning?  Trusting in the unending goodness of our God, this is our hope.  Trusting in the Savior who shows us still how to lay down our stones of anger and learn to love once more, this is our path.  Trusting in the Spirit who restores us through repentance even now, this is our life.  

Our happy ending is not written in the golden-gilded pages of some fairy tale book.  It is written in the moments we choose to love instead of hate, to find healing for ourselves and this world through forgiving others (whether they deserve it or not), to leave a lasting inheritance measured not in property and wealth but in generosity of spirit and humility. 

This is the closest we will get to a happy ending in this life, but in God’s infinite grace, it turns out that is all the happy ending we really need.  Amen.