Your People Shall Be My People. A sermon by the Rev. Abigail Henderson,
preached at First United Church of Christ in Northfield, MN, on July 20,
2014.
This week begins a four-week series on the Book of Ruth. We’ll read a
chapter a week. We just heard the first and arguably most well known
chapter. The Book of Ruth is beloved to many readers. Compared to other
parts of our canon––like say, the Book of Numbers or some of Paul’s more
convoluted writings––this book is readable, relatable, and short. It’s also one
of only two books in the Bible named after women. (The other is Esther.)
And, amazingly, the primary relationship in Ruth is not really between Ruth
and her future husband Boaz, whom you’ll meet later. The primary
relationship is between Ruth and her mother-in-law, Naomi.
At a previous, unnamed church where I served, I participated in a
women’s Bible study reading the Book of Ruth. A member of the group,
probably in her eighties, turned to me and said, “Do you know what this
book is really about?” “What?” I asked. “It’s obviously a lesbian love
story!” she exclaimed.
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I could not have predicted she would say that. Whatever you think
about her conclusion, there is no denying the profound connection between
Ruth and Naomi. In fact, Ruth’s famous declaration of loyalty to her motherin-law has long been read at wedding ceremonies. And consider verse 14:
“Orpah kissed her mother-in-law, but Ruth clung to her.” The Hebrew word
for “clung” is “dabaq.” This same word also appears in Genesis. After God
creates Eve as a companion for Adam, the writer states, “Therefore, a man
leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one
flesh.”
In this opening chapter, Ruth cleaves to Naomi like Adam cleaved to
Eve. This clues us into the fact that this is no ordinary story that we are
reading. No: this is a foundational story of Judaism and Christianity. Ruth
may lack the drama and action sequences of other books in the Hebrew
Bible; there are no wars, no murders, no kings, pharaohs, floods, and
extraordinary acts of God. Instead, what we have is human-scale story of
faithfulness and hospitality. One that has huge implications for Jewish and
Christian values, both ancient and modern.
But let’s back up. The Book of Ruth is believed to originate from the
4th century B.C.E. The story takes place a few generations before the reign of
King David, when the tribes of Israel were a loose confederation with no
central government. The people were led by chieftains, or judges.
There are two really important points to understanding what’s
happening, especially in this first chapter:
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First: Naomi is from Israel, and Ruth is from Moab. It is hard to
overstate the significance of these different nationalities. Israel hates Moab.
According to Israelite mythology, the Moabites are the incestuous offspring
of Lot’s relations with his daughters. Other books in the Hebrew Bible
contain countless injunctions against marrying Moabite women. Psalm 60
describes Moab as God’s washbasin.
Second: In this time and place, women are defined by their
relationships with men. Single women have virtually no place in society. The
household is the most important social unit, and the household cannot exist
without a husband, son, or father. In other words, being a widow or an
orphan was just about the most vulnerable identity one could have.
In light of these two points, one thing is clear: the Book of Ruth is a
highly implausible story. Implausible on the level of Noah’s Ark or the
parting of the Red Sea. This story begins with the intermarriage of an
Israelite family and a Moabite family––something that goes completely
against the grain of cultural expectation. Even more radically, this story
begins with a Moabite widow choosing to follow an Israelite widow back to
Israel, rather than sensibly stay in her country and return to her father’s
family. Consider the magnitude of what Ruth is giving up: she is saying
goodbye to stability; safety; identity. In cleaving herself to Naomi, she is
cleaving herself to incomprehensible risk. And she seems to understand that.
“Where you die, I will die— there will I be buried,” she says. “May the Lord
do thus and so to me, and more as well, if even death parts me from you!”
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This act of loyalty from one vulnerable person to another reverberates
through the Judeo-Christian mythos. It suggests to the People of Israel that
Moabites––that is, foreigners, aliens––are not the enemy. On the contrary,
Ruth embodies the Hebrew concept of hesed––“loving kindness”––more
completely than many other biblical characters.
And on top of that—Ruth’s “lovingkindness” has a political dimension. As
we’ll see in the fourth chapter, the writers claim that Ruth is the greatgrandmother of David, the man chosen by God to unite the tribes of Israel
into one nation. In Christianity, of course, David is the ancestor of Jesus.
So according to the Book of Ruth, the Davidic line would not exist unless
two widows––two outcasts––were willing to cross borders physical, national,
cultural.
I don’t have to tell you that crossing borders is still a highly controversial
and risky act. The passage of human beings from Mexico into the United
States is one of the most contested issues of our time. Writers and
commentators whom I respect are urging us stop calling it an immigration
crisis. They argue it is more accurately a refugee crisis, particularly with
regards to children. Approximately 52,000 children are fleeing terrible
violence and deprivation in their own countries.
What would Jesus do? What would Ruth do?
I don’t know exactly what they would do, but I do know their stories.
Jesus’ story involves crossing borders for the sake of safety: his mother
and father smuggled him out of Bethlehem to escape King Herod’s massacre
of the Innocents. And Ruth’s story, as we have explored, involves choosing
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human connection over everything else—over culture, politics, and even
personal safety.
Risk, connection, lovingkindness, and crossing the borders that
separate us: these are our sacred themes. It is our calling to live out these
themes as best we can. I know that’s no easy charge. I know that the political
and economic complexity of immigration reform can be overwhelming. And,
for many of us, the Mexican-American border feels far, far away. But make
no mistake: there are Naomis and Ruths among us: in Minnesota, in the Twin
Cities, and in Northfield. And there will be more. And more. And more.
I’ll leave you with the words of Rev. Alice Kirkman Kunka, a United
Methodist minister:
“When we reflect on the issue of immigration and the existence of
borders between countries, it is good to recall that when seen from outer
space, the earth does not reveal any borders. Borders are human-made
creations that separate people who are governed by different governments.
God’s world has no borders. God does not create ‘illegal’ people. The human
condition has created these barriers to the shalom that God intends for
creation.”1
With our voices, our actions, our dollars, and dare I say our votes, let us
embrace Ruth’s extraordinary, implausible, logic-defying, radical loving act
of faith: “Your people shall be my people.”
Amen.
1 http://www.ncchurches.org/lectionary/year-­‐b/justice-­‐for-­‐immigrants-­‐proper-­‐26/ 5