• Scripture

    That We May Gain a Heart of Wisdom

    July 16, 2019

    It’s been several years now since I’ve made memorizing scripture part of my daily habits. I’ve been missing it lately, so I and a few others from my small group are going to begin memorizing together. I’ve chosen Psalm 90, and I thought I’d include it here because it’s relevant to what we mostly talk about here at Unhurried Chase.

    I like this psalm for a lot of reasons, but one big reason is because of the balance it strikes—it’s somber, yet hopeful. It dwells on our mortality, and the impermanence of our being and our work on earth, yet recognizes that there is joy found in our God, and that our work can be preserved and can be valuable in an eternal sense through the work of God.

    Psalm 90

    A prayer of Moses, the Man of God

    Lord, you have been our dwelling place
    in all generations.
    Before the mountains were brought forth,
    or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
    from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

    You return man to dust
    and say, “Return, O children of man!”
    For a thousand years in your sight
    are but as yesterday when it is past,
    or as a watch in the night

    You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream,
    like grass that is renewed in the morning:
    in the morning it flourishes and is renewed;
    in the evening it fades and withers.

    For we are brought to an end by your anger;
    by your wrath we are dismayed.
    You have set our iniquities before you,
    our secret sins in the light of your presence.

    For all our days pass away under your wrath;
    we bring our years to an end like a sigh.
    The years of our life are seventy,
    or even by reason of strength eighty;
    yet their span is but toil and trouble;
    they are soon gone, and we fly away.
    Who considers the power of your anger,
    and your wrath according to the fear of you?

    So teach us to number our days
    that we may get a heart of wisdom.
    Return, O LORD! How long?
    Have pity on your servants!
    Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,
    that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
    Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
    and for as many years as we have seen evil.
    Let your work be shown to your servants, and your glorious power to their children.

    Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us,
    and establish the work of our hands upon us;
    yes, establish the work of our hands!

    Do any of you memorize scripture regularly? Let me know if you have any scripture memory tricks!

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  • Death and Dying,  Dust,  Scholarship,  Scripture

    Creation, Fall, and Dust-made Man: Part 2

    July 8, 2019

    Part of my thesis focused on the creation of man from dust, and the curse that Adam and Eve received when they sinned—the promise that they would return to dust. I’m sharing adapted pieces of that study here with you in a two part series, Part 1 focuses on Creation, and Part 2 on the Fall. I don’t think I’m saying much that’s new here—at least I hope not. Church fathers and modern commentators alike all have similar things to say. But hopefully I can present it in a way that’s new to some of you, as a helpful reminder of our relationship to our Creator.

    St. John Chrysostom stated that living as dust under the care of a Creator God ought to cause a sort of awe and child-like affection for the one who creates and provides care for one so lowly.[1]But almost from the very first, this is not what we see in Adam and Eve. Rather than relating to their Creator in a joyful, awe-filled way, the interaction we see between the first humans and God is marked by shame.

    Shame is a perversion of humility. The difference between humility and shame could be described as fear. Whereas humility could be defined as a measured, even joyful, acceptance of one’s own lowly station, shame is that same acknowledgement laced with a feeling that one’s lowliness is a failure, or a falling short—something that others would point out or recognize as reprehensible or embarrassing. Being ashamed, then, seems to be closely tied to a feeling of fear. Do you see this in the creation account?

    Adam and Eve were “naked and were not ashamed” when they were created.[2] However, when they sinned after the serpent’s deception, they “knew that they were naked” and made clothes of fig leaves.[3] Their reaction, when they heard God in the garden, was not, like we see with children, a fear that cause them to run to the authority figure they trust most. Instead, they became afraid and hid. The pairing here between “naked and not ashamed” and “afraid” hints that they were now ashamed of their nakedness.[4] Many early commentators propose that their sin was pride.[5]

    Perhaps, in becoming puffed up in pride (which is, of course, the opposite of humility), they became ashamed of their body of dust. Since their first action, at least that we’re told about, was to create clothes for themselves, it seems likely that their perception of their body was significantly changed in the Fall. These feelings of fear and shame related to their body seem to indicate that they no longer felt the closeness for which they had been created. If their bodies of dust were to have made them joyfully humble before their creator, their provider, they now became a source of fear and embarrassment before him because they wanted to be like him and were very aware of and dissatisfied with their lowly frame. They did not run to God in their sin but ran away. Shame, then, is a manifestation of a faulty, or at least incomplete understanding of what it means to be made of dust. The result was the loss of intimacy with one’s creator, and exile.

    I think this is interesting for a lot of reasons. One reason it’s interesting personally is because I previously would not have connected body image this directly to what we’re told of Adam and Eve’s fall into sin.

    Secondarily, it’s interesting because it makes so much sense why now, in our western culture, body image is such a struggle for so many of us. We’ve made our bodies of dust an idol, and when they fall short of the godlikeness we’ve assigned to them, it’s a big flashing neon sign in the mirror screaming, “YOU ARE MADE OF DUST!” And, for many of us, we, like Adam and Eve, do not run to God in joyful, childlike humility. Instead, we fashion ourselves modern fig-leave garments with make-up and designer labels and Instagram filters to fool ourselves and those around us. We live in fear that the fig leaves might just slip and reveal our dust-made frames.

    But as we see throughout the rest of Adam and Eve’s stories, and the rest of scripture, it is only through finding refuge in the cleft of Rock that our dust is secured, made fast, and built up into something beautiful. If those of us who are made of dust do not find refuge here in our Creator and Sustainer, we will find, like Adam and Eve, that our Creator God is not just their Creator and Sustainer, but also the Scatterer. 

    There is much more we could say about this. Does this connection between the body and the Fall trigger any more connections for you? I’d love to hear about them!

    This is clearly not the end. God is the Scatterer, but he loves his creation and longs to live with us in harmony—we can clearly see that in his intentions for Adam and Eve. Psalm 103:13–14 is a helpful reminder:

    “As a father shows compassion to his children,
    so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him.
    For he knows our frame;
    he remembers that we are dust.
    Ps 103:13–14

    [1]Chrysostom, Homily 17 in Homilies on Genesis, 245

    [2]Gen 2:25

    [3]Gen 3:7

    [4]Gen 3:10

    [5]See Chrysostom, Homily 16 in Homilies on Genesis, 214; Augustine, “On Nature and Grace” in Four Anti-Pelagian Writings, trans. John A. Mourant and William J. Collinge in vol 86 of Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: Old Testament, ed. Thomas C. Oden (Downers Grove, Illinois: Intervarsity Press, 2001), 47.

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  • Death and Dying,  Scholarship,  Scripture

    Creation, Fall, and Dust-made Man: Part 1

    July 2, 2019

    Part of my thesis focused on the creation of man from dust, and the curse that Adam and Eve received when they sinned—the promise that they would return to dust. I’m sharing adapted pieces of that study here with you in a two part series, Part 1 focuses on Creation, and Part 2 on the Fall. I don’t think I’m saying much that’s new here—at least I hope not. Church fathers and modern commentators alike all have similar things to say. But hopefully I can present it in a way that’s new to some of you, as a helpful reminder of our relationship to our Creator.

    Most of us who have been raised in church are familiar with God’s role in the beginning of the world as we know it: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.”[1] In Genesis 1, the author (commonly thought to be Moses) uses repetitive sentences to tell how the world came to be. The phrase “Let there be…” is repeated on nearly every day of creation, with breaks in the pattern coming only when God is adding a new creation to something already created (i.e. “let the waters swarm with swarms of living creatures”).[2]

    The pattern only breaks altogether with the creation of man in Genesis 1:26. Instead of “Let there be,” the author says “Let us make.” In the Genesis 2, more poetic telling, the creation of man is even more distinct from the rest of creation. Here, all that is said about the creation of the heavens and the earth is that “they were created.” But we are told of man that “the LORD God formed the man of dust, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and [he] became a living creature.”[3] 

    Instead of simply being created with a mere word, God “forms” man. This is remarkably intimate, compared to the rest of the created order. And while his intimacy with God through his formation shows man’s dignity and stature, his origin was of the dust. This seems to be the model for right relation to God. God made a fundamental humility implicit in man’s design, and yet he is imbued with dignity by the care of and nearness to his Creator. This, then, seems to be the balance that man seems to be meant to hold in his regard for his body. The disruption of this balance seems to have occurred at the Fall, which caused a break in the relationship between God and Man. Fittingly, then, Adam and Eve were promised a return to dust: Adam, particularly, because he was formed from it.[4]

    Genesis 2 gives a more detailed explanation of the dust that made Adam a basically humble creature. He was created outside of the garden, in a place that seems to have been barren. The passage states, “when no bush of the field was yet in the land and no small plant of the field had yet sprung up…then the LORD God formed the man of dust from the ground.”[5]The author of Genesis gives two reasons for the absence of plant growth in this region. First, the ground had not yet been rained on. Second, “there was no man to work the ground.”[6]By this description, the land seems to be lacking both the natural qualities needed to grow plants, and the secondary requirement of someone to tend the land. It was infertile and of no use. The dust that man was formed from, then, was worthless.

    The author of Genesis seems to go out of his way to make sure his audience understood that it is God who was withholding fertility from this land, solidifying the contrast between creation and creator. It was not simply that it had not yet rained, but that God himself “had not caused it to rain on the land.”[7]The second reason given for its infertility was also because of God’s inaction. As the creator, God is the responsible party when it comes to things existing or not existing in every place and time. And here, there was no man to work the ground. Why? Because God has not created one. This is an example of God’s control over life and death—there is no life where God does not act. 

    Additionally, we see in the creation account of Genesis 2 that even when God created man out of barren soil, he did not intend for him to work that ground, but to tend the ground in Eden: “And the LORD God planted a garden in Eden, in the east, and there he put the man whom he had formed. And out of the ground the LORD God made to spring up every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food.”[8]Yahweh placed man in a garden full of everything he would need, including, eventually, companionship. It was there, in the place that God had provided for Adam and Eve, that he was to tend and keep the land. God’s care for man indicates that even though he was made of dust, he related to God in a uniquely intimate way among the rest of creation. 

    Remarkable, isn’t it? Made of dust, formed in the image of God. What a beautiful tension we hold in our bodies. But it’s easy to see how Adam and Eve fell, isn’t it? It’s not an easy balance to maintain—we either puff ourselves up and inflate our value, or we beat ourselves down and let the “dust” of our nature take precedence without recalling the dignity given to us by our Creator.

    In Part 2 we can talk more about this, and what role I think this tension may have played in the Fall.

    [1]Gen 1:1

    [2]Gen 1:20

    [3]Gen 2:7

    [4]Gen 3:19

    [5]Gen 2:5–7

    [6]Gen 2:5

    [7]Gen 2:5

    [8]Gen 2:8–9a

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  • More Stories,  Scripture,  Stories and Songs

    Your Redeemer Will Keep You: Ruth 1

    June 23, 2019

    I posted this in four parts, earlier, but I know that some of you may want it all in one post, instead of broken up. So, here it is in one massive post that’s way longer than “they” tell you to post on a blog. But… I guess I don’t always like to follow rules.

    The book of Ruth is named after a woman who played an important role in the history of redemption, and bringing about the Redeemer. 

    But the first chapter of the book spends most of its time telling us about her mother-in-law, Naomi. This chapter provides the foundation for the rest of the book so that we can see God’s provision—not just for Naomi, but for his chosen people, as the promises that he made to Abraham in Genesis 15 slowly come into fulfillment. 

    I’ve titled my lesson for Chapter 1 “Your Redeemer Will Keep You,” because in this chapter we are given a peek behind the curtains so that we can see God caring for Naomi in the midst of, and despite, her failures and disappointments.

    All of this fulfillment could appear unlikely, though, at the end of Chapter 1. By the time we reach the end of the chapter, Naomi has given herself a new name. She no longer wants to be called by Naomi, the name that means “pleasant,” but by the name “Mara,” which means “bitter.” If we’re reading the Old Testament from start to finish, we might notice that this is not the first time that someone has undergone a name change. One notable re-naming happened in Genesis 17. There God renames Abram “Abraham” and his wife Sarai, “Sarah”[1]when he renews the covenant with Abraham, promising him a great nation to be birthed through his offspring. From this point on, we don’t read of Abram and Sarai, but of Abraham and Sarah.

    In contrast, it is not God who renames Naomi, but rather shere-names herself. The reason, it seems, is that rather than fulfilling his covenant through her, she says in verse 21, “The LORD has testified against me and the Almighty has brought calamity upon me.”[2]She is so convinced that her suffering is a sign that God did not care for her, that it was an exclusion from the covenant promises, that she takes a new name.

    So—what had happened to Naomi between Verse 1 and Verse 20 that could so traumatize her that she felt like she needed to change her name? Let’s circle back to the beginning of the chapter and work our way through from start to finish to see how Naomi came to change her name at the end of the chapter. I’ve broken the chapter into four sections that you can trace along with me.

    1. Naomi’s Emptiness, 1:1–5
    2. Naomi’s Breaking Point, 1:6–13
    3. The Redeemer Breaks Through, 1:14–18.
    4. Naomi Is Kept by Her Redeemer Ruth 1:19–22. 

    I promise, though, that we will not spend the whole morning talking about Naomi’s hard times. We will also see two ways that God is hinting at how he will fulfill his promise of a Redeemer, for both Naomi specifically, and Israel as a nation, and even us.

    Naomi’s Emptiness (1:1–5)

    We can see pretty clearly what happened to Naomi in the first five verses of Chapter 1, where the author provides the setting for the story. In these verses, the narrator spells out three reasons Naomi might have reached the point of despair that would cause her to want to give herself the name Mara. Here are the three that I think the text indicates, and these are all part of the first section, which I’m calling “Naomi’s Emptiness”: (Sidenote: Watch these themes throughout the book, and see how God works in all three of these areas)

    1. An Empty Belly, or Exile
    2. An Empty Throne
    3. An Empty Womb

    We only have to look as far as the first verse to find the first two: Ruth 1:1

    “In the days when the judges ruled there was a famine in the land, and a man of Bethlehem in Judah went to sojourn in the country of Moab, he and his wife and his two sons.” 

    Naomi’s first, and broadest challenge is indicated in the very first clause of the very first sentence of Ruth, where we are told that Naomi and her family lived in the time of the judges. This means there was an empty throne. This was the time in Jewish history that came after the Egyptian slavery and Exodus, and the conquest, and most importantly for our story, during the years before Israel had a king. The last verse of the book of Judges, Judges 22:25, which comes right before Ruth in our Old Testament, describes this period concisely, and hints at why this was a problem and trial for Naomi: “In those days there was no king in Israel. Everyone did what was right in his own eyes.” 

    Instead of the eternal kingdom promised to Abraham, chaos, war, and disobedience ruled the land that was meant to be Jacob’s birthright. The book of Judges is full of stories of violence and ungodliness even among the judges who were often used by God to pursue justice in and for Israel among the surrounding nations. If you read Jason DeRouchie’s “Invitation to Ruth” in the study guide, you can see just how hard the times were, especially for women—fathers allowing their daughters to be harmed, husbands, judges, even, causing the violent death of their wives, women raped, murdered, and story after story of sinful violence. This was a time when Israel, and therefore Elimilech and Naomi, were experiencing the curse God had promised if they disobeyed the law he had given them.

    God’s covenant with Abraham had not yet been fulfilled. God had promised that Abraham’s descendants would be blessed themselves, and that they would be a blessing to those around them. But clearly, the land and its people were not blessed themselves, and they likewise were not being a blessing to the nations around them. There was no king in Israel who could lead the nation in worshipping God, pursuing justice, and blessing the nations. Soon after Ruth’s time, possibly even during her life, the people’s suffering was so great they were begging God for a king— a ruler to fill an empty throne.

    Another reason Naomi might have had to doubt the faithfulness and love of God came in the form of a famine in her hometown. She and her family had empty bellies.

    Bethlehem—the town literally named for bread and food, located in what my ESV study notes call a “fertile region”—did not have enough food! Thus, Naomi and her husband Elimilech were not able to provide for their sons. She and her family experienced hunger. Her family’s hunger led them to leave the land that had been promised to Abraham generations before, and go to a land where YAHWEH was not worshipped. What a disappointment! Elimilech and Naomi were exiled through famine from the land that had been promised to them. How could they take part in the promises of God, if they were moved away from the land that was so intricately tied to God’s covenant with Abraham?

    Naomi’s third problem was an empty womb.

    The narrator describes Naomi’s family and origin not once, but twice. They were from the tribe of Judah, from Bethlehem. In repeating himself in verses 1 and 2, he makes clear that Naomi’s family line was very important to the story of redemption that had been promised. The Messiah was to come from the line of Judah, and, specifically, from Bethlehem. Naomi had reason to hope, then, that her sons, from the fullness of her womb, would be involved in the fulfillment of covenant and prophesy.  

    But verses 3–5 shows the destruction of that hope. First, Naomi’s husband died. Sad as that may have been, Naomi was still able to hope in her sons’ future. But in a devastating blow, both of her sons died childless after marrying Moabite women. Naomi was left alone. She had neither an heir, nor a provider. As a woman in ancient near east society she was utterly destitute without male family members. In the darkness of this grief, the promises of God must have felt incredibly far-fetched, and the likeliness of God’s provision for her and his faithfulness to fulfill his covenant must have seemed so far away. Her grief must have been, understandably, deep, and dark. 

    The Breaking Point (1:6–13)

    These last losses seem to have been the breaking point for Naomi, which we see exhibited in verses 6–13—a section I’m calling “Naomi’s Breaking Point.” It’s surprising, actually, that her breaking point didn’t come sooner, considering her plight. Being a single woman, abandoned, in a way, through the death of her husband and sons, she decides to return to the land which seems to have been abandoned by the God who had promised much and, in Naomi’s mind, failed to follow through. Her womb was empty, and she had no hope of producing an heir who would be able to provide for her physical needs and be a sign of the continuing covenant with God.

    The narrator slows the story down here so that this point really soaks into the readers—we can just feel the tension rising in the story, can’t we? If you look at the passage, you can see that he pulls out a different literary tool in this section than he’s used to this point, and describes the whole conversation between Naomi and her daughters-in-law in detail.

    So perhaps this is her biggest problem—she has no heir. Her line will end with her death. In scripture, this problem was not unique to Naomi. Sarah, Abraham’s wife, an old woman like Naomi, laughed at the prophecy that she would become pregnant and have a son. In this section, Naomi is acting a lot like Sarah! It was true that her body was too old to bear another son, and it was true that her daughters-in-law would not be able to give her an heir even if she did have another son. And so, like Sarah, she took matters into her own hands. Unlike Sarah, however, her move was not to finagle a way to work things out. Instead, she simply gave up, assuming that God would not continue working when the odds were seemingly stacked against him. 

    She did what she probably believed to be the kindest and reasonable thing, under the circumstances. She sent her daughters-in-law, her only hopes for an heir, back to their Moabite families. 

    This is an incredibly bleak point of the story. Naomi is utterly hopeless; vulnerable at every point. She is a woman, alone in a foreign land, facing the options of staying there, or returning to a home that she has not seen in over ten years with the meagre hope of finding pity among her distant family in a place rife with violence, perhaps especially against women. To be a woman, alone or even a group of women, would have been fraught with risk, and terribly frightening. So here is Naomi, drowning in sorrow and bitterness, empty of hope that the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, who brought them out of slavery through the parted waters of the Red Sea into the Promised Land, might yet have good things—the fulfillment of promises—waiting for her. 

    Can you see yourself here? There are so many circumstances that might lead us to this point. 

    What do you feel when you read that one third of the homeless population in Minneapolis are children? What happens when see or experience abuse? We lose loved ones to death. We fail at our jobs and people look down at us. Spouses leave us, and children reject us and everything we have tried to teach them to love. Sometimes even things as simple as reading the headlines in our newsfeeds or momentary rejection from someone we respect can cause us to despair. Can any of us read about the abuse in some of the Sovereign Grace, Southern Baptist, or Catholic churches and not feel a little twinge of despair? Can we read about the murder of babies in the womb, or terrorist groups, or the persecuted church, or injustice in our streets without wondering what God could possibly have in mind?  Do these cause you to spiral into despair and doubt? 

    Naomi felt not only grief, but physical deprivation, and hunger. She felt displacement and loneliness. She felt grief and loss, and the disappointment of shattered hopes and dreams. Has your faith ever faltered or failed in the face of your own suffering?

    Mine has. I remember several times in my life where I could, at least in some ways, relate to Naomi. I remember the last week of March during my freshman year of college, when I spent the week jumping at every phone call, waiting to hear who had died. I lost five peers in four years of high school, two of my classmates just two months before graduation, and all but one in the last week of March. I was jumpy the next March, scared to believe that another loss wasn’t just around the corner. I would imagine Naomi felt like this too. I also remember a few years ago, after my second miscarriage (the first of which occurred in the last week of March), I felt utterly betrayed by my body and even by God. I remember opening my Bible and just looking at it—letting my eyes skim the pages. I don’t say read, because I wasn’t really reading—I was just looking, devoid of feeling or understanding. To use Naomi’s word, I felt utterly, completely “empty”—when I read, when I prayed… My vision of the good things in my life was crowded out by hurt, and loss, and grief. I knew I was blind, and hoped my vision would return, but despite my desire for hope and joy, I was just simply…numb, empty. Can you relate?

    The Redeemer Breaks Through (1:16–17)

    Maybe, when I felt like that I should have spent more time reading Ruth. Because it is here, in verses 16–17, the climax of the chapter, God shows Naomi his faithfulness in the deepest, darkest of places. We, looking back, can see God working where Naomi saw only doom and gloom. One of her daughters-in-laws, Ruth, refuses to go home. Instead, she pledges to remain with her, live with her, worship with her, and die with her. In Ruth 1:16–17, we see the part of the story I’ve titled The Redeemer Breaks Through. Ruth’s words here are beautiful, and often quoted. She gives Naomi a strong declaration of love and intent. She says in 1:16–17: “Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there will I be buried. May the LORD do so to me and more also if anything but death parts me from you.”

    Right under Naomi’s nose, before her bitter, sorrowful eyes, Ruth was demonstrating the faithfulness and love of God to Naomi. She had not been abandoned, she was not alone. Like a ray of light through a cloud, like a laser beam sent to break up the crusty cataracts on her doubt-clouded eyes, God had provided Ruth to show Naomi his steadfast love for her and his faithful, covenant-keeping intentions. But Naomi doesn’t see clearly just yet. Despite Ruth’s act of immense self-sacrifice and deep love, Naomi remains focused on the bitterness of her circumstances, and, the narrator tells us that she simply “said no more.” She remains chained to her grief and bitterness at the God she believed failed her in every way.

    But this is one reason among many to be grateful for the word of God. Here, we can see the stories of how God worked in the lives of those who came before us. We have a great cloud of witnesses who each bore the weight of sin and suffering, and yet ran with endurance.[3]

    Looking back through the lens of scripture and history, we can see that God was at work in Naomi’s story, even when she couldn’t see it. He did not let Naomi go alone. Despite her best efforts to leave Ruth, she stayed by her side, remaining faithful to the covenant she had made with Naomi’s family. I can only imagine that Naomi was not ready for or expecting this from Ruth—after so many losses, the text seems to indicate that she had no expectation to have anything but loss and grief follow her. 

    Do we see what is happening here in verses 16–17? We are beginning to see God filling Naomi’s emptiness. God is bringing Naomi and Ruth out of exile. Naomi may not realize it, but this is a movement of grace in her life. Not only is he bringing Naomi home to a belly-filling harvest, he is deftly bringing about the fulfillment of the promises he gave to Abraham, through Naomi’s exile, suffering, and return. And this seems to be the author’s aim in chapter one—to show his audience that God’s love never fails. His covenant-keeping faithfulness is constant; it is our vision that is faulty. 

    We can see that God is working to fulfill his promises to Abraham for Naomi and even for us without even spoiling the story by telling what comes in the next few chapters—it’s all here in Chapter 1. All we have to do is watch Ruth. 

    The first hint that we should connect this story with God’s promise of a coming, is Ruth’s decision to stay with Naomi.

    There are at least three signals here in these verses:

    1. She is leaving her home.
    2. She is choosing a family—one that she did not have to choose, who could offer her nothing in return.
    3. She is pledging to stay with and love Naomi forever, to death.

    Who else might we know that does this? 

    Ruth’s actions were actions of emptying herself of every hope she could claim by returning to her family. She was foreshadowing for Naomi, and telling us, of a Redeemer whom she had not yet seen—one who would empty himself to make good all the promises of God to Abraham and his descendants. A redeemer who would bring his people from exile, and, as the heir to Abraham, rule for all eternity. 

    But Ruth probably didn’t realize that this is what she was doing. So what was she tryingto do here? What was she actuallychoosing? Naomi? I doubt it. Naomi had nothing to offer Ruth. Ruth had every reason to expect that it would be better for her to say a tearful goodbye to Naomi and go home. As a Moabite, she had no reason to expect a warm welcome from Naomi’s family and friends in Bethlehem. Moabites were descendants of Abraham’s relative Lot, in fact, they were the descendants of an incestuous encounter between Lot and his daughter-in-law. There was generations-deep bad blood between the Israelites and the Moabites—violence, persecution, idolatry. The law in Deuteronomy prohibited Moabites from worshipping with Israelites. Numbers 25 tells of violent deaths at the hands Moabites (and violent revenge), and plagues on the people in consequence for men marrying or having other sexual relationships with Moabite women. With this context, Ruth certainly could not expect protection, marriage, and children. So what could Ruth have been thinking? What could Ruth possibly gain by staying with Naomi? There was only one gain. YAHWEH. Hewas her onlygain in choosing to remain with Naomi. “Your God will be my God,” she says. What does that say about Him? If, like Ruth, we were given the choice between God along with physical and economic insecurity, or physical safety, provision, and family withouthim, what would we choose? Oh, that we would have faith like Ruth’s. 

    So Ruth, forsaking everything, followed YAHWEH and remained with Naomi on the long journey back to the land of promise. She did not leave Naomi to suffer alone, but shared the burden of her friend’s suffering. Like the coming Christ, at great personal cost, she cared for her chosen family with tender affection and loyalty.

    Kept by the Redeemer (1:19–22)

    Despite this, Naomi continued on in her despair, as if nothing profound or important had just happened. The pair resumed their journey to Bethlehem, the town full of prophetic potential. And when they arrived, in verses 19–22, we see that Naomi is, as I’ve titled this section, Kept by the Redeemer. 

    Chapter 1, verse 19 tells us that “The whole town stirred” when Ruth, a widow, a woman, an immigrant, a poverty-stricken outcast, came into Bethlehem. And this is where we see another whisper of the coming redemption through Christ. Matthew borrowed this same phrase in Matthew 21:10 to describe Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem days before his crucifixion— “the whole town was stirred.” For Matthew’s audience, it was a clear indication that Jesus was the fulfillment of the same promises given to Naomi and Ruth, fulfilled through the line of David. Through Matthews words, we can connect Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection with promises made to Abraham, and with the story of Naomi and Ruth. We see that God’s redeeming love and covenant-keeping faithfulness was in action even then to bring about the fulfillment of the Abrahamic covenant through Christ—generations before Jesus’ birth. Not only that, but we are given a beautiful picture of Christ’s work on the cross here in dual use of this phrase. 

    Ruth had every reason to expect that she would be met with suspicion and disdain and mistreatment. And yet (spoiler alert!) she was instead lifted up to be part of the royal lineage of the coming king, and the Messiah. This is the gospel, isn’t it? We, like Ruth, have every reason to expect and even deserve judgement and wrath for sin, when we cling to Yahweh we are instead met with favor. Why is this? Because Jesus, who had every reason not just to expect, but deservedglory and honor for ever and ever, willinglysuffered and took the wrath that we deserved. Jesus, God incarnate, a sinless man with impeccable lineage, rode into the city with honor, and an ecstatic, hopeful greeting— “the whole town was stirred.” And within days he was dead, murdered on a cross. 

    But we see that poor Naomi was still unaware of God’s hand over her life. When she arrived back in Bethlehem she told her old friends that she was “empty,” and “bitter.” She identified herself by her distance from God, and did not seem to have any faith left that God could or would save her.

    Maybe this is your story. Maybe you feel so far from God that you cannot imagine that he would come to redeem and restore you. Do you believe that God could still love you, despite your own sin and distance from God?

    If you’re struggling to believe that God could love you because of sin, this book is for you. Watch what the narrator does when Naomi tries to name herself according to her sin: The narrator does not let us believe her words. He ignores Naomi’s attempt to take “Mara” as her identity, but persists in calling her Naomi. He calls her by her given name. The narrator knows more of the story than Naomi, and he knew, even though she didn’t, that God was intending to restore her, keep her, and fill her. 

    So at the end of Chapter 1, Naomi and Ruth at last come to Bethlehem, the last verse in the chapter tells us, at the time of harvest. It’s as if the narrator is foreshadowing what was to come. They came when there was an abundance in store for Bethlehem. Naomi’s physical redemption, the filling of her empty belly, was there, ripe and rippling in the fields—a hopeful hint that the filling was about to begin. First her belly, next her womb, and finally the throne of Israel.

    This sign to Naomi and Ruth should give us hope, too. Let me speak clearly here: If you feel that you are too far from God. If you feel that your suffering is a sign of God’s unfaithfulness or even hatred for you, if you think you have sinned too much to be loved by God, take hope. Because Naomi’s redeemer is our redeemer. Have you lost the battle against anger at your spouse or children? Does your singleness or infertility feel like a curse from an unloving God? Have you been enslaved to sexual sin and feel irredeemable? Have you experienced so much hurt at the hand of others that you want to distance yourself from a God who seems to be unjust? Do you wonder if you even want to be redeemed? Friend: Take hope, and believe.

    Naomi’s Redeemer, who called her by name, is our redeemer. The fulfillment that Ruth foreshadowed came to earth to redeem sinners just like you, just like me. From where we stand in history, we have seen God’s faithfulness to fulfill his promises through the birth, life, death, resurrection of Jesus Christ, and his ascension to his throne in heaven. Our hope is not in an unnamed or unfulfilled promise, but in Jesus, at whose name every knee will bow when he returns. And in Christ, no emptiness or weakness or rebellion in our own life can drive us far enough away that Christ cannot or will not redeem us. As Romans 5:8 says “For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly…God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”[4]

    You may not see God’s goodness, or his faithfulness, or his steadfast love right now. But take hope. 

    Paul says in Romans 8:24 that it is in thishope that we were saved:[5]The hope for our redemption—the adoption as sons, and the redemption of our bodies. The hope that “all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”[6]As someone said, “the one who is writing your story lovesyou.”[7]

    I’m reminded of this every time I celebrate my two livingchildren’s birthdays, both in March. It was not a given that I would have children to laugh and play in my home—it still isn’t. I will never know my two children lost in miscarriage here on earth, and my living children are one breath away from death, as are all of us. Not only that, but I know that not all stories of loss or unmet desire go hand in hand with answered prayers on earth. Some of us will never see the answers to our prayers before heaven, and it is good and right to mourn that. But when we do get to heaven, we willsee clearly that God’s way was the way of blessing—somehow, someway—after all. In my case, my living children are simultaneous reminders to me of both the pain of loss, and of God’s goodness and love amidst the brokenness of this world. The blessing of life and the sorrow of death mingle together, and I am convinced of the hope we have in Christ even in sorrow, even if we do not see the relief we hope for on earth. We can trust God in our pain.

    Paul says in Romans 8:32 that “if God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?”[8]

    Did you hear that? He did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all. 

    Let’s close with Romans 8:35–39. Here, as if in answer to Naomi’s doubts, and our own, about the faithfulness and love of God, Paul encourages God’s family that Christ’s sacrifice on the cross purchased an unbreakable bond with God the Creator, and an impermeable love.His words remind us that our Redeemer will keep us. The author of Ruth 1 meant to show us that God is a covenant-keeping God. This side of the cross we can see that Jesus died to redeem us, and no one can snatch us out of us hand. He will love his children no matter what.  “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine or nakedness, or danger, or sword? …No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”[9]

    Let’s rest here for a moment. Read this once more, slowly. I’d encourage you to pause for a few seconds between each phrase, resting and praying that confidence and joy in God’s redemption through Christ, as we’ve seen here in Ruth 1, would soak into your souls. 

    “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?                    Shall tribulation          or distress,      

    or persecution,                        or famine or                nakedness,                   or danger,                   or sword?…

    No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 

    For I am sure              that neither death        nor life,          nor angels       nor rulers,       nor things present nor things to come,          nor powers,                         nor height                   nor depth,                    nor anything else                   in all creation,            will be able to separate us                  from the love of God             in Christ Jesus            our Lord.”[10]

    [1]Gen 17:5

    [2]Ru 1:21

    [3]Heb 12:1

    [4]Rom 5:6–8

    [5]Rom 8:24

    [6]8:28

    [7]Perhaps Nancy Guthrie?

    [8]8:32

    [9]Rom 8:35–39

    [10]Rom 8:35–39

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  • More Stories,  Scripture,  Stories and Songs

    Your Redeemer Will Keep You—Part 4

    June 22, 2019

    This post is the fourth and final part of a presentation I had the opportunity to give on Ruth 1 at a women’s Bible study at my church. If you’d like to catch up, this link will take you to Part 1. The last post left Naomi destitute, but, despite her best efforts, not alone! After trying to send her daughters-in-law home before her journey back to Bethlehem, Ruth has pledged to remain with her. This post brings the series to an end, focusing on their return to Bethlehem in last few verses of the chapter.

    As we saw at the end of the last post, Naomi’s despair has not lifted in Ruth’s enduring company on their journey. But despite her hardship and attitude, we still see many indications that God has not forgotten her, and is working for her good.

    Chapter 1, verse 19 tells us that “The whole town stirred” when Ruth, a widow, a woman, an immigrant, a poverty-stricken outcast, came into Bethlehem. And this is where we see another whisper of the coming redemption through Christ. Matthew borrowed this same phrase in Matthew 21:10 to describe Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem days before his crucifixion— “the whole town was stirred.” For Matthew’s audience, it was a clear indication that Jesus was the fulfillment of the same promises given to Naomi and Ruth, fulfilled through the line of David. Through Matthews words, we can connect Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection with promises made to Abraham, and with the story of Naomi and Ruth. We see that God’s redeeming love and covenant-keeping faithfulness was in action even then to bring about the fulfillment of the Abrahamic covenant through Christ—generations before Jesus’ birth. Not only that, but we are given a beautiful picture of Christ’s work on the cross here in dual use of this phrase. 

    Ruth had every reason to expect that she would be met with suspicion and disdain and mistreatment. And yet (spoiler alert!) she was instead lifted up to be part of the royal lineage of the coming king, and the Messiah. This is the gospel, isn’t it? We, like Ruth, have every reason to expect and even deserve judgement and wrath for sin, when we cling to Yahweh we are instead met with favor. Why is this? Because Jesus, who had every reason not just to expect, but deserved glory and honor for ever and ever, willingly suffered and took the wrath that we deserved. Jesus, God incarnate, a sinless man with impeccable lineage, rode into the city with honor, and an ecstatic, hopeful greeting— “the whole town was stirred.” And within days he was dead, murdered on a cross. 

    But we see that poor Naomi was still unaware of God’s hand over her life. When she arrived back in Bethlehem she told her old friends that she was “empty,” and “bitter.” She identified herself by her distance from God, and did not seem to have any faith left that God could or would save her.

    Maybe this is your story. Maybe you feel so far from God that you cannot imagine that he would come to redeem and restore you. Do you believe that God could still love you, despite your own sin and distance from God?

    If you’re struggling to believe that God could love you because of sin, this book is for you. Watch what the narrator does when Naomi tries to name herself according to her sin: The narrator does not let us believe her words. He ignores Naomi’s attempt to take “Mara” as her identity, but persists in calling her Naomi. He calls her by her given name. The narrator knows more of the story than Naomi, and he knew, even though she didn’t, that God was intending to restore her, keep her, and fill her. 

    So at the end of Chapter 1, Naomi and Ruth at last come to Bethlehem, the last verse in the chapter tells us, at the time of harvest. It’s as if the narrator is foreshadowing what was to come. They came when there was an abundance in store for Bethlehem. Naomi’s physical redemption, the filling of her empty belly, was there, ripe and rippling in the fields—a hopeful hint that the filling was about to begin. First her belly, next her womb, and finally the throne of Israel.

    This sign to Naomi and Ruth should give us hope, too. Let me speak clearly here: If you feel that you are too far from God. If you feel that your suffering is a sign of God’s unfaithfulness or even hatred for you, if you think you have sinned too much to be loved by God, take hope. Because Naomi’s redeemer is our redeemer. Have you lost the battle against anger at your spouse or children? Does your singleness or infertility feel like a curse from an unloving God? Have you been enslaved to sexual sin and feel irredeemable? Have you experienced so much hurt at the hand of others that you want to distance yourself from a God who seems to be unjust? Do you wonder if you even want to be redeemed? Friend:Take hope, and believe.

    Naomi’s Redeemer, who called her by name, is our redeemer. The fulfillment that Ruth foreshadowed came to earth to redeem sinners just like you, just like me. From where we stand in history, we have seen God’s faithfulness to fulfill his promises through the birth, life, death, resurrection of Jesus Christ, and his ascension to his throne in heaven. Our hope is not in an unnamed or unfulfilled promise, but in Jesus, at whose name every knee will bow when he returns. And in Christ, no emptiness or weakness or rebellion in our own life can drive us far enough away that Christ cannot or will not redeem us. As Romans 5:8 says “For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly…God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”[1]

    You may not see God’s goodness, or his faithfulness, or his steadfast love right now. But take hope. 

    Paul says in Romans 8:24 that it is in this hope that we were saved:[2]The hope for our redemption—the adoption as sons, and the redemption of our bodies. The hope that “all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”[3]As someone said, “the one who is writing your story loves you.”[4]

    I’m reminded of this every time I celebrate my two living children’s birthdays, both in March. It was not a given that I would have children to laugh and play in my home—it still isn’t. I will never know my two children lost in miscarriage here on earth, and my living children are one breath away from death, as are all of us. Not only that, but I know that not all stories of loss or unmet desire go hand in hand with answered prayers on earth. Some of us will never see the answers to our prayers before heaven, and it is good and right to mourn that. But when we do get to heaven, we will see clearly that God’s way was the way of blessing—somehow, someway—after all. In my case, my living children are simultaneous reminders to me of both the pain of loss, and of God’s goodness and love amidst the brokenness of this world. The blessing of life and the sorrow of death mingle together, and I am convinced of the hope we have in Christ even in sorrow, even if we do not see the relief we hope for on earth. We can trust God in our pain.

    Paul says in Romans 8:32 that “if God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?”[5]

    Did you hear that? He did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all. 

    Let’s close with Romans 8:35–39. Here, as if in answer to Naomi’s doubts, and our own, about the faithfulness and love of God, Paul encourages God’s family that Christ’s sacrifice on the cross purchased an unbreakable bond with God the Creator, and an impermeable love.His words remind us that our Redeemer will keep us. The author of Ruth 1 meant to show us that God is a covenant-keeping God. This side of the cross we can see that Jesus died to redeem us, and no one can snatch us out of us hand. He will love his children no matter what.  “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine or nakedness, or danger, or sword? …No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”[6]

    Let’s rest here for a moment. Read this once more, slowly. I’d encourage you to pause for a few seconds between each phrase, resting and praying that confidence and joy in God’s redemption through Christ, as we’ve seen here in Ruth 1, would soak into your souls. 

    “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?                    Shall tribulation          or distress,      or persecution,                        or famine or                nakedness,                   or danger,                   or sword?… No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 

    For I am sure              that neither death        nor life,          nor angels       nor rulers,       nor things present nor things to come,          nor powers,                         nor height                   nor depth,                    nor anything else                   in all creation,            will be able to separate us                  from the love of God             in Christ Jesus            our Lord.”[7]

    [1]Rom 5:6–8

    [2]Rom 8:24

    [3]8:28

    [4]Perhaps Nancy Guthrie?

    [5]8:32

    [6]Rom 8:35–39

    [7]Rom 8:35–39

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  • More Stories,  Scholarship,  Scripture

    Your Redeemer Will Keep You—Part 3

    June 19, 2019

    This post is the third part of a presentation I had the opportunity to give on Ruth 1 at a women’s Bible study at my church. If you’d like to catch up, this link will take you to Part 1. The last post left Naomi destitute, but, despite her best efforts, not alone! After trying to send her daughters-in-law home before her journey back to Bethlehem, Ruth has pledged to remain with her. This post reflects on Ruth’s remarkable decision, and what it means for Naomi, and God’s covenant promises.

    This point of the story gives us is one reason, among many, to be grateful for the word of God. Here, we can see the stories of how God worked in the lives of those who came before us. We have a great cloud of witnesses who each bore the weight of sin and suffering, and yet ran with endurance.[1] Naomi could not see what was happening, as we often cannot.

    But looking back through the lens of scripture and history, we can see that God was at work in Naomi’s story, even when she couldn’t see it. He did not let Naomi go alone. Despite her best efforts to leave Ruth, she stayed by her side, remaining faithful to the covenant she had made with Naomi’s family. I can only imagine that Naomi was not ready for or expecting this from Ruth—after so many losses, the text seems to indicate that she had no expectation to have anything but loss and grief follow her. 

    Do we see what is happening here in verses 16–17? We are beginning to see God filling Naomi’s emptiness. God is bringing Naomi and Ruth out of exile. Naomi may not realize it, but this is a movement of grace in her life. Not only is he bringing Naomi home to a belly-filling harvest, he is deftly bringing about the fulfillment of the promises he gave to Abraham, through Naomi’s exile, suffering, and return. And this seems to be the author’s aim in chapter one—to show his audience that God’s love never fails. His covenant-keeping faithfulness is constant; it is our vision that is faulty. 

    We can see that God is working to fulfill his promises to Abraham for Naomi and even for us without even spoiling the story by telling what comes in the next few chapters—it’s all here in Chapter 1. All we have to do is watch Ruth. 

    The first hint that we should connect this story with God’s promise of a coming, is Ruth’s decision to stay with Naomi.

    There are at least three signals here in these verses:

    1. She is leaving her home.
    2. She is choosing a family—one that she did not have to choose, who could offer her nothing in return.
    3. She is pledging to stay with and love Naomi forever, to death.

    Who else might we know that does this? 

    Ruth’s actions were actions of emptying herself of every hope she could claim by returning to her family. She was foreshadowing for Naomi, and telling us, of a Redeemer whom she had not yet seen—one who would empty himself to make good all the promises of God to Abraham and his descendants. A redeemer who would bring his people from exile, and, as the heir to Abraham, rule for all eternity. 

    But Ruth probably didn’t realize that this is what she was doing. So what was she tryingto do here? What was she actually choosing? Naomi? I doubt it. Naomi had nothing to offer Ruth. Ruth had every reason to expect that it would be better for her to say a tearful goodbye to Naomi and go home. As a Moabite, she had no reason to expect a warm welcome from Naomi’s family and friends in Bethlehem. Moabites were descendants of Abraham’s relative Lot, in fact, they were the descendants of an incestuous encounter between Lot and his daughter-in-law. There was generations-deep bad blood between the Israelites and the Moabites—violence, persecution, idolatry. The law in Deuteronomy prohibited Moabites from worshipping with Israelites. Numbers 25 tells of violent deaths at the hands Moabites (and violent revenge), and plagues on the people in consequence for men marrying or having other sexual relationships with Moabite women. With this context, Ruth certainly could not expect protection, marriage, and children. So what could Ruth have been thinking? What could Ruth possibly gain by staying with Naomi? There was only one gain. YAHWEH. He was her only gain in choosing to remain with Naomi. “Your God will be my God,” she says. What does that say about Him? If, like Ruth, we were given the choice between God along with physical and economic insecurity, or physical safety, provision, and family without him, what would we choose? Oh, that we would have faith like Ruth’s. 

    So Ruth, forsaking everything, followed YAHWEH and remained with Naomi on the long journey back to the land of promise. She did not leave Naomi to suffer alone, but shared the burden of her friend’s suffering. Like the coming Christ, at great personal cost, she cared for her chosen family with tender affection and loyalty.

    Despite this, Naomi continued on in her despair, as if nothing profound or important had just happened. The pair resumed their journey to Bethlehem, the town full of prophetic potential. And when they arrived, in verses 19–22, we see that Naomi is, as I titled the next section, Kept by the Redeemer. 

    Are you getting tired of the despair yet? Me too. So keep reading! I’ll post the next section soon.

    [1]Heb 12:1

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  • Scripture

    Your Redeemer Will Keep You—Part 1

    June 13, 2019

    After presenting the following at a Bible study last week, I’ve had several requests to make it available. For that reason, and because it does reach into the realm of loss and death, I’ve decided to post it here. Please read with its original audience (a women’s Bible study at a Baptist church) in mind.

    The book of Ruth is named after a woman who played an important role in the history of redemption, and bringing about the Redeemer. 

    But the first chapter of the book spends most of its time telling us about her mother-in-law, Naomi. This chapter provides the foundation for the rest of the book so that we can see God’s provision—not just for Naomi, but for his chosen people, as the promises that he made to Abraham in Genesis 15 slowly come into fulfillment. 

    I’ve titled my lesson for Chapter 1 “Your Redeemer Will Keep You,” because in this chapter we are given a peek behind the curtains so that we can see God caring for Naomi in the midst of, and despite, her failures and disappointments.

    All of this fulfillment could appear unlikely, though, at the end of Chapter 1. By the time we reach the end of the chapter, Naomi has given herself a new name. She no longer wants to be called by Naomi, the name that means “pleasant,” but by the name “Mara,” which means “bitter.” If we’re reading the Old Testament from start to finish, we might notice that this is not the first time that someone has undergone a name change. One notable re-naming happened in Genesis 17. There God renames Abram “Abraham” and his wife Sarai, “Sarah”[1]when he renews the covenant with Abraham, promising him a great nation to be birthed through his offspring. From this point on, we don’t read of Abram and Sarai, but of Abraham and Sarah.

    In contrast, it is not God who renames Naomi, but rather she re-names herself. The reason, it seems, is that rather than fulfilling his covenant through her, she says in verse 21, “The LORD has testified against me and the Almighty has brought calamity upon me.”[2]She is so convinced that her suffering is a sign that God did not care for her, that it was an exclusion from the covenant promises, that she takes a new name.

    So—what had happened to Naomi between Verse 1 and Verse 20 that could so traumatize her that she felt like she needed to change her name? Let’s circle back to the beginning of the chapter and work our way through from start to finish to see how Naomi came to change her name at the end of the chapter. I’ve broken the chapter into four sections that you can trace along with me.

    1. Naomi’s Emptiness, 1:1–5
    2. Naomi’s Breaking Point, 1:6–13
    3. The Redeemer Breaks Through, 1:14–18.
    4. Naomi Is Kept by Her Redeemer Ruth 1:19–22. 

    I promise, though, that we will not spend the whole morning talking about Naomi’s hard times. We will also see two ways that God is hinting at how he will fulfill his promise of a Redeemer, for both Naomi specifically, and Israel as a nation, and even us.

    Naomi’s Emptiness (1:1–5)

    We can see pretty clearly what happened to Naomi in the first five verses of Chapter 1, where the author provides the setting for the story. In these verses, the narrator spells out three reasons Naomi might have reached the point of despair that would cause her to want to give herself the name Mara. Here are the three that I think the text indicates, and these are all part of the first section, which I’m calling “Naomi’s Emptiness”: (Sidenote: Watch these themes throughout the book, and see how God works in all three of these areas)

    1. An Empty Belly, or Exile
    2. An Empty Throne
    3. An Empty Womb

    We only have to look as far as the first verse to find the first two: Ruth 1:1

    “In the days when the judges ruled there was a famine in the land, and a man of Bethlehem in Judah went to sojourn in the country of Moab, he and his wife and his two sons.” 

    Naomi’s first, and broadest challenge is indicated in the very first clause of the very first sentence of Ruth, where we are told that Naomi and her family lived in the time of the judges. This means there was an empty throne. This was the time in Jewish history that came after the Egyptian slavery and Exodus, and the conquest, and most importantly for our story, during the years before Israel had a king. The last verse of the book of Judges, Judges 22:25, which comes right before Ruth in our Old Testament, describes this period concisely, and hints at why this was a problem and trial for Naomi: “In those days there was no king in Israel. Everyone did what was right in his own eyes.” 

    Instead of the eternal kingdom promised to Abraham, chaos, war, and disobedience ruled the land that was meant to be Jacob’s birthright. The book of Judges is full of stories of violence and ungodliness even among the judges who were often used by God to pursue justice in and for Israel among the surrounding nations. If you read Jason DeRouchie’s “Invitation to Ruth” in the study guide, you can see just how hard the times were, especially for women—fathers allowing their daughters to be harmed, husbands, judges, even, causing the violent death of their wives, women raped, murdered, and story after story of sinful violence. This was a time when Israel, and therefore Elimilech and Naomi, were experiencing the curse God had promised if they disobeyed the law he had given them.

    God’s covenant with Abraham had not yet been fulfilled. God had promised that Abraham’s descendants would be blessed themselves, and that they would be a blessing to those around them. But clearly, the land and its people were not blessed themselves, and they likewise were not being a blessing to the nations around them. There was no king in Israel who could lead the nation in worshipping God, pursuing justice, and blessing the nations. Soon after Ruth’s time, possibly even during her life, the people’s suffering was so great they were begging God for a king— a ruler to fill an empty throne.

    Another reason Naomi might have had to doubt the faithfulness and love of God came in the form of a famine in her hometown. She and her family had empty bellies.

    Bethlehem—the town literally named for bread and food, located in what my ESV study notes call a “fertile region”—did not have enough food! Thus, Naomi and her husband Elimilech were not able to provide for their sons. She and her family experienced hunger. Her family’s hunger led them to leave the land that had been promised to Abraham generations before, and go to a land where YAHWEH was not worshipped. What a disappointment! Elimilech and Naomi were exiled through famine from the land that had been promised to them. How could they take part in the promises of God, if they were moved away from the land that was so intricately tied to God’s covenant with Abraham?

    Naomi’s third problem was an empty womb.

    The narrator describes Naomi’s family and origin not once, but twice. They were from the tribe of Judah, from Bethlehem. In repeating himself in verses 1 and 2, he makes clear that Naomi’s family line was very important to the story of redemption that had been promised. The Messiah was to come from the line of Judah, and, specifically, from Bethlehem. Naomi had reason to hope, then, that her sons, from the fullness of her womb, would be involved in the fulfillment of covenant and prophesy.  

    But verses 3–5 shows the destruction of that hope. First, Naomi’s husband died. Sad as that may have been, Naomi was still able to hope in her sons’ future. But in a devastating blow, both of her sons died childless after marrying Moabite women. Naomi was left alone. She had neither an heir, nor a provider. As a woman in ancient near east society she was utterly destitute without male family members. In the darkness of this grief, the promises of God must have felt incredibly far-fetched, and the likeliness of God’s provision for her and his faithfulness to fulfill his covenant must have seemed so far away. Her grief must have been, understandably, deep, and dark. 

    These losses seem to have been a breaking point for Naomi, and we can see this clearly exhibited in the next section, verses 6–13. I’ll post this section, which I called “Naomi’s Breaking Point” soon. Watch for it, and feel free to subscribe so you can be notified when it’s up.

    [1]Gen 17:5

    [2]Ru 1:21

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  • Scripture

    Man of Sorrows, Man of Dust

    April 18, 2019

    We’ve had a lot of time to think about dust and ash this week, haven’t we? The great loss at Notre Dame de Paris, the hours of televised burning and a centuries-old building turning to ash, is a good reason to think about dust and ashes. And then here we are in Holy Week. This is the week where we Christians remember the death of our embodied God, and celebrate his wondrous resurrection.

    Holy Week provides us with the perfect opportunity to examine and meditate on just what it means for us to be made of dust. Not in a biological and physical way, but what it should mean to us in a spiritual, emotional way. It’s a chance for us to understand what it means for our daily life.

    Jesus was, after all, man. Jesus, the everlasting Word, who separated light from dark, land from sea, and created every sentient and non-sentient thing, become flesh. He became dust. 

    And this is what we remember on Good Friday. We remember Philippians 2: 

    “…though [Christ] was in the form of God, he did not count equality with God something to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow…and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”


    In this, Christ is an example for every human who ever has or ever will walk the face of the planet. He emptied himself of his divine form (note: I do not mean that he emptied himself of his divinity, but merely the form) and took the form of a man of dust. And as a man of dust, what was his posture? He was humble. He was obedient. He was the supreme example of how dust-made man should relate to God.

    Jesus stands in contrast to the Israelites when they worshipped the dusty work of their own dusty hands, to the citizens of Babel when they sought to a name for themselves and chose to protect themselves with dust-made bricks of dust instead of trusting God, and to Pharaoh, when he stood in rebellion to God, sought equality with God, and refused to bend his knee to his power. Jesus was not defiant in his human frailty, but humbly trusted himself to the will of his Father (Luke 22:42). Abraham, Job, and Hannah show us how this sort of humility looks in the lives of humans who were made in God’s image but had no divine form to give up. They did not strive for positioning with God, or defy him, but were comforted by him in their dusty humanity, recognizing that their frailty was paired with the possibility of near relationship with their creator. They relied on him, not themselves, and humbled themselves to his power over life and death. And, though they were not brought into the glory that only belongs to Christ, they were met by God and drawn into near relationship with him. Their responses to being made of dust then, were appropriate, and they mirrored Christ’s.

    So let’s linger with this thought for the last few days of Holy Week. Let’s remember Christ’s humility in taking the form of a man of dust. Can you believe it? That he would not only take on the form of a servant, but take his obedience even to the point that he would die, like every other man? And let’s mourn that it was our sin that made it necessary for him to humble himself to this point. He did not deserve to be degraded to the point of becoming a man of dust, taking it on so completely that he would die. Man of Sorrows, indeed. 

    He became dust. Willingly. Intentionally. Lovingly.

    But Hallelujah, what a Savior! It wasn’t the end of his story.

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  • Death and Dying,  Scholarship,  Scripture

    Flipping the Script: A Reflection on Hannah’s Song

    April 3, 2019

    One of my favorite parts of my thesis was the section on Hannah. Hannah’s prayer was one of the last places I would have expected to find insight on the use of dust and ashes in scripture, but it turned out that her story held one of the most personally meaningful bits of truth for me.

    Hannah’s story is perhaps one of the most well known among women in the Bible. She is often compared to Mary, and her song in 1 Samuel to Mary’s, the Magnificat. When the author of 1 Samuel introduces us to Hannah, she is the beloved but barren wife second wife, suffering at the hand of her husband’s other wife. She cried to God at the temple, desperate with sorrow and grief and unmet desire, promising to give her son wholly to God if God would just allow her to bear one. Her infertility was a window into the weakness of human bodies. Eventually, God answered her prayer, and she was given conception, and a son full of life and health. And then we see that the suffering was not over—in fact she has signed herself up for a sort of life-long suffering by promising to give her son up as a gift to the God who gives and takes life.

    What is amazing to me about Hannah is not just that she faithfully acted on her promise to God, but that her song after leaving her young son at the temple is a song of praise. Her song is full of images of dust and rocks, which is how I got there, but in it she does not focus on man’s frailty as a detriment, but flips the script. Instead of being sad and intimidated by the frailty of man, she uses human weakness as a launching point to remind her of man’s creation from dust. The result of her meditation on man’s frailty is not further despair, but praise. 

    This praise came in the face of not just leaving her only, much sought-after son, but leaving him in what could have been an unsafe place. The author of 1 Samuel calls Samuel’s new companions, Eli’s sons, “worthless men.” (1 Sam 3:1). It seems likely that Hannah would have known the character of the men she was leaving Samuel with, which makes her prayer striking. She sang a song of praise. This sets her apart—my instinct as a mother would, short of a miracle of faith, notbe praise at that point. But Hannah had faith, and she sang a song of joy. And the reason for her joy, surprisingly, is closely tied to man’s dusty origin.

    “He raises the poor from the dust;” she says, “he lifts the needy from the ash heap.” Her words are reminiscent of both Abraham, who states that he was “but dust and ashes” (Gen 18:27), and Job, who said, by one translation, that he was “comforted in dust and ashes” (Job 42:6). Both of these men, in their acknowledgement of their relation to dust, turned to God and were comforted.

    These examples make Hannah’s choices of imagery in her song stand out. She praises God as the one who “raises up the poor from the dust,” and “lifts the needy from the ash heap” (1 Sam 2:8). She knows that she is dust, drawn up and formed by her Creator. And just as she did in her years of infertility, she runs toward God, trusting him to “guard the feet of his faithful ones.” Not only did she trust God to protect her and her son, but because of his history of protecting and raising up the weak, but the same image gave her comfort that the wicked would be powerless over her son. The worthless men who had power over her son are also dust.

    And there is one more reason why she can praise God as she is separated from her precious son. Her God is not like man. He is not dust! He is a Rock. Firm. Unmovable. Infinitely stronger than the wicked men who are made of dust. 

    Not only is he not dust, he is the Creator. Hannah praises God because of his power over the life of his creation: “The Lord kills and brings to life; he brings down to Sheol and raises up…” Hannah reminds herself that even though the men with whom she has left her son are not good men, it is not they who are in control. The God who created them is. In the midst of what I can only guess must have been incredible grief at leaving her son behind, she joyfully turns to God—“for the pillars of the earth are the Lord’s, and on them he has set the world.” Her rest is in the fact that the Creator God has power over life and death, that he “will guard the feet of his faithful ones”—including her son. 

    What a good lesson that is for us! Are our hearts and minds bent toward praise when we’re experiencing loss, or being confronted with the frailty of our bodies? Have we trained our minds to look to him with praise when we our bodies, or our loved ones bodies are returned to dust? I’m not, usually. But Hannah sets a good example for us. Maybe we should teach ourselves to sing with her when we are reminded of our own frailty as dust-made and dust-bound creatures. Maybe, like Hannah, we should gladly remember that yes, we are dust, because it reminds us that our God is not. We can praise God that even though we are weak, we are hidden, protected in the cleft of the Rock—the one to whom belong the foundations of the world.

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