Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17
Psalm 127
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44
“What Do We Risk?”
How far would we go, what would we give up or risk for the sake of a loved one in desperate need?
When one of my siblings had a very small child, my sibling once said, “I would be willing to kill to protect my child and I would give up my life for my child, if I knew it would save that child’s life.” I’ve heard similar descriptions of your commitment to your children when they were young and vulnerable. And I know that people sacrifice deeply for those they love: young or old, man or woman, sick or healthy, loving or not so lovable.
It’s generally not considered socially acceptable behavior to kill—but to protect a loved one, especially someone too vulnerable to protect themselves, we often can understand and forgive those who might. Yet it also falls within our socially acceptable behavior, in our culture and norms to protect those we love with violence if necessary. What if, instead, someone we love needs us to break rules that govern what we might call sin to survive?
In a book I am reading about the Post World War II and the Holocaust, more men than women survived the death camps because men were used as labor in mines and other places. Women sometimes survived the death camps because they would trade their company for food or warmth, not only for themselves, but for their children or even for their husbands or other family members. And in this book, there are women who continued to share their company once they were in Palestine in camps run by the British.
During the same period of time, a book, later a movie, was written describing one woman’s situation. The Germans were holding her and her children in a camp; she was the lover of one of the officers, hoping to save her children. At one point, simply because he could, he told her that one of her children was going be killed and she had to choose which one. If she didn’t choose, then both of them would be killed. The choice she made (and I can’t remember what she chose) almost destroyed the rest of her life. But it doesn’t matter, neither choice would be considered moral or acceptable under normal circumstances.
In each of these cases, one could argue that risking socially unacceptable behavior is outweighed by the lives that were saved. Maybe it’s hard to imagine being in those situations, yet I believe that most of us have had moments when we might have made morally ambiguous choices for reasons of survival—either of those we love or of others.
What is the risk that we take when we express love? How far would we be willing to go to save life or give life? What does it mean to risk social unacceptability and expectation?
The story of Ruth and Naomi is one of those kinds of stories—lifted up to us in today’s scripture. Last week’s regular lectionary text described how Ruth chose to stay with Naomi when she left Moab. Naomi had moved there with her husband during a famine in the land of Judah; he died and her sons married Moabite women and then they died without children. As Naomi left Moab to return to Judah where she might have had family, Orpah and Ruth, her daughters-in-law came with her. She begged them to go back to their families because she had nothing to give them; she had no husband for them to marry or other support structure. Orpah listened and left, but Ruth stayed with Naomi, despite her gloomy prospects.
Today’s scripture occurs after they arrive in Bethlehem. They’ve found Boaz, who is a distance relative of Naomi’s. Ruth and Naomi are in need of the basics for survival, so Ruth has gone out into Boaz’s fields and is gleaning grain—the excess of the fields so that they have something to eat. But Naomi has a longer term plan; she believes that Boaz will be her kinsman redeemer—someone who will take her and Ruth in as his right and duty, Naomi send Ruth so that he will begin to notice them. He does notice her as she gleans his fields—she was a stranger, probably looked and dressed differently than the local women and he spoke to her.
Once that had happened, Naomi told Ruth what to do in today’s text, “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.” (3:2-4) My guess is that Naomi knows that Boaz needs a wife and that he has noticed Ruth. I further would guess that Ruth wasn’t against the idea of marriage to Boaz either, so Naomi sends Ruth to offer herself as a wife. And Ruth is willing.
Yet we might wonder at this situation—and wonder if it was acceptable in their social and religious situation. And it was probably a bit scandalous. In reference to Ruth 3:10, Kathleen A. Robertson Farmer writes in the New Interpreter’s Bible, “. . . what Ruth did is scandalous in the eyes of the world and an act of loving kindness . . . .” She offered herself, after the threshing, she “made herself known to the man.” This was knowledge in the biblical sense—done out of loving kindness or hesed in the Hebrew; and it was done out of necessity for the both of their survival.
Boaz had shown himself to be a kind and decent man to the women who worked in his field and had already said he would protect Ruth from the other men in the fields. This is a story where she risks his further protection and provision, but they need to be able to rely on a system of living. They cannot live beyond the barley harvest (which is celebrated during the feast of Pentecost) if they do not take this risk and put themselves at the mercy of Boaz—and depend upon the provision and mercy that God put into the law.
In the law, Deuteronomy, we can read these provisions:
Every third year you shall bring out the full tithe of your produce for that year, and store it within your towns; the Levites, because they have no allotment or inheritance with you, as well as the resident aliens, the orphans, and the widows in your towns, may come and eat their fill (Deuteronomy 14:29).
Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land” (Deuteronomy 15:11).
When you reap your harvest in your field and forget a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to get it; it shall be left for the alien, the orphan, and the widow (Deuteronomy 24:19).
When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left; it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow (Deuteronomy 24:21).
God saw the need to care for those who had no family system of caring to survive—and in the story of Ruth we hear how that system might have worked in one particular case. While the gleaning of fields provided a stop gap solution to the problem, women and their dependent children had to be provided for in the long term. In some cases, there was an allotment that was kept for those without land or a means of supplying food so that they could live. But there was also a system of redemption that was available as a longer term solution. A woman who was widowed could redeem her husband’s portion of land or other resource by marrying a man in the family—his closest kin. In Boaz and Naomi’s case, there was another closer relative—and they had to work out a deal—and then Ruth stood in Naomi’s place as wife.
Ruth’s willingness to give herself was risky—she didn’t know Boaz that well. She had seen his kindness, yet risked herself for the sake of Naomi’s future. Not only did she provide a husband’s support and family for Naomi in that way, but her son, Obed became Naomi’s future. He was her way of carrying Naomi’s family into the continuing covenant with God and God’s future for God’s people.
What do we risk to follow the way that Jesus has called us to walk? The widow is a common thread in today’s texts and risk is also common. In the gospel lesson, a poor widow was held up as an example to the disciples who had watched wealthier donors to the temple give hundreds of times more wealth than she could ever give. But Jesus sees the risk she takes in her gift and calls that more than was given by any other. The widow was an example because she believed in her gift’s purpose. She had faith in the God whose home was in that temple. And even though Jesus often disagreed with the leaders of the temple, especially the scribes—and would be arrested on their word and pressure—he still admired her gift to the temple because it was given in faith. She had faith in the God who was represented and worshiped at the temple, even if she knew (like everyone did) that it’s leadership was flawed.
Can we risk criticism by being more generous that might be wise as individuals and as a church? What is it that we are called to risk for the way that Jesus is calling us to walk each day?
The scribes built walls around the law—making sure that details of the law were protected from disobedience while widows and poor children were neglected—he and other saw it every day. Then Jesus saw that the widow gave to support the priests and other workers at the temple and saw that her risk and her generosity was a greater gift because it revealed God’s continuing work in the community that gathered and worshiped.
We risk when we stand up and walk the road that Jesus calls us to walk instead of the way that leads to greater wealth—as a church or as an individual or family. We risk social eyebrows lifting when we reach out in acceptance of diversity rather than in an attempt to fix the ways that people live their lives the best way they know how. We risk losing our generous gifts when those who receive from us are not grateful, but we’ve been faithfully obedient.
We don’t always know the outcome of our risk—we can’t always count the cost in the spiritual world. God’s work can’t be put into a ledger sheet and quantified. The gains that we make are often spiritual. Did your loving kindness change a moment in someone’s life? Did your decision not to be judgmental give someone an opportunity to experience a sense of belonging like never before? Did your willingness to listen rather than talk mean a moment of comfort to a stranger?
What do we risk on our journey with Jesus? Are we willing to risk when it is necessary?
To the glory of our living God. Amen.
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