Welcome to the CommonsCast. We're glad to have you here. We hope you find something meaningful in our teaching this week. Head to commons.church for more information.

Super excited to be jumping in to this summer story series we've been in. If you've been following along, you know that last week we wrapped up a two a few weeks in what we called stories of shadow. We're we pulled from some of the darker and disturbing narratives of the Hebrew bible. We didn't cover all of them. If you wanna go find some more, there's more to be found.

Because there are some tales there that explore the frightening limits of our fragility. There's some awful stories that explore the horrors of our cruelty to one another. And in the stories that we covered, we found in each of them an instance in which real human experiences were echoed and gently welcomed into a redemptive narrative, which isn't to say that ancient authors always found a way to resolve their characters' challenges or did he even say that God is always depicted as solving the problem? In fact, that's part of what we've heard you say you've appreciated about this series so far, the way that it holds the open ends, the way that it highlights God moving into the shadow, pushing from holy center into the margins to honor and reclaim the ways that we sometimes live out here. Right?

And as a team, we have loved working with these stories. It's lovely to know that they are landing with you, and I am pumped to shift us today into what we are calling stories of light. And I'm not gonna preface the next two weeks, next two weeks, next few weeks too much. You're gonna have to tune in yourself. But I will say this, we are going to be looking at some characters that might sound familiar to you.

We're gonna follow their story lines. We're gonna find an obscure detail or two. I promise. But all along, we're gonna try to keep our eyes open to the ways that the divine shows up, woven into the fabric of character and narrative in surprising ways that maybe, just maybe, might let some light through to where you are. Are you ready for that?

I hope so. Because today, we're gonna jump right in and look at the story of a woman named Ruth. To do that, we're gonna talk through home addresses, deepest loyalties, reluctance, and agency. But before we do that, let's take a moment together. Let's pause in the middle of all that you face, all that you're experiencing, and let's pray together.

Loving God, you are God of all our story, of each moment and each season moving with us and staying true in every dark and illuminating place we go. And in this moment, our hearts are open to you. We ask simply for grace to trust that your desire for us is good, and that you are renewing in the middle of whatever chaos that we can feel. And if we are full of turmoil today, come be our peace. If we are carrying some anxiety, we ask, would you come and bring rest in some tangible way?

In all of our searching and making in the world, we ask, would you be our companion even as you have offered us the gift of this community and the chance to travel together? Be present now in ancient word, in striking image, in all things human that reflect your glory. We ask now in the name of Christ. Amen. Okay.

Well, we're gonna jump right in because the story of Ruth starts like this. In the days when judges ruled, there was a famine in the land. And so a man from Bethlehem and Judah together with his wife and two sons went to live for a while in the country of Moab. The man's name was Elimelech. His wife's name was Naomi, and the names of their two sons were Melon and Kilion.

Now Elimelech, Naomi's husband, died. She was left with her two sons, and they married Moabite women. One's name was Orpa, and the other was Ruth. And after they had all lived there for about ten years, both Maelon and Kilian also died. And Naomi was left without her two sons and her husband.

Now this is a pretty bleak opening sequence. I can't actually think of a rougher one in scripture. We were actually, I think, meant to feel hot wind coming off of the page. And in fact, if we were gonna turn Ruth's story into a film, I think George Miller would be the obvious choice for director because there is a serious postapocalyptic bleached out Mad Max thing going on here. Okay?

And the ancient author is setting this scene for us. This anarchy ruling in these generations when Israel cannot find a good or a godly leader. It hasn't reigned for years, and people are abandoning homesteads and heading off into foreign and inhospitable lands, and they are starting to die off, and we don't know why. It's a horrible time in the history of God's people, and we are following this family and these characters into the darkness. But we should note that an ancient audience for this text would have picked up on some subtle commentary here.

See, we learn that this man Elimelech and his family, they're from Bethlehem, which is going to come to prominence in the story because it'll be the hometown of Israel's king David. But, also, more literally, Bethlehem means house of bread. So when the author begins the story by describing that a place of bounty and fullness has been left empty, There's famine there. We can kind of understand that the author's setting us up to see how bad it must be. And on top of this, the family goes to Moab, which is this neighboring nation to ancient Israel to the Southeast that has traced its lineage and actually comes from the same great patriarch, Abraham's family as well.

This is a nation that throughout Israel's history has played a dubious and villainous role in the story. They keep showing up, these people from Moab. They are always attacking and trapping and waylaying God's people. So bottom line, Moab is not where you should be going. These people are moving from an empty house of bread into their enemy's backyard.

That sounds like a really poor life choice, but they're moving into a liminal place in a minute a moment of last resort. And this is important to acknowledge because where stories happen matters. It matters in scripture because places have layers of symbolic meaning. They have names that betray their significance, but I think it's a good reminder for us too because where your story happens is important. You have roots in a place, and maybe those roots still keep you to this day, or maybe you've had to pull them out and move on.

All of that's part of your story. And then, of course, there's all the places that we move to and through, sometimes by choice, sometimes because we get transferred, sometimes because we fall in love, sometimes because we need to be safe. And along the way, the places we live become part of our story. And this might seem like a trivial example of this, but it's almost six years to the day that our family moved back to Calgary. And this is a place that I did never wanna come back to.

And it's not because of a food shortage, not because I did some terrible things in my past. It's not because it's too close to Edmonton, though it's a little too close. It's it's more because for a long time, Calgary represented in my mind a younger version of myself that I thought I'd left behind. When in fact, I could never have guessed how returning to this city and taking up work in this community, how this place would reshape and restore who I thought I was and who I thought I could be, which is just to suggest, just as we're getting into Ruth's ancient biography, that god's goodness has a home address in all the places we find ourselves even when we don't wanna be there. Now at some point, this widow named Naomi that we met earlier, she hears that things have improved back home.

And given that she has no reason to stay in Moab, she heads out with her two daughter in laws, Orpa and the namesake of the story, Ruth. At some point in their journey, Naomi turns to these younger women and tells them to go back to their home country. And the narrative isn't clear why she wants them to stay. Is it because she understands how precarious their situation is as an as unmarried women in an ancient world? Does Naomi have their best interests in mind?

Or perhaps as some other scholars suggest, is Naomi actually ashamed to be going home with foreign family members? Is she actually looking out for herself here? She doesn't want extra dependence in the game of survival. And regardless, what unfolds is one of the key scenes in the book of Ruth because Orpah finally does return tearfully to her family, but Ruth grabs hold of Naomi and won't let go. And we read, look, said Naomi.

Your sister-in-law is going back to her people and her gods. Go back with her. But Ruth replied, don't urge me to leave you or turn back from you. Because where you go, I'm going to go, and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God, my God.

And where you die, I will die. And there I will be buried. And may God deal or, yeah, will God deal with me ever so severely if even death separates me from you? And this statement stands out. In fact, it's the most quoted passage from this story because it is commendable how Ruth commits herself to Naomi.

Biblical scholars note how this vow she makes outlines her commitments to social and familial solidarity and then moves into these deeper and more profound commitments of ethnic and religious solidarity. And you know what? It can be tempting to hear this as a statement of complete abandonment of Ruth's previous life. To read this story against the backdrop of ancient ethnic tension in which Ruth's words signify submission to Israelite culture, conversion to Hebrew religion. We see her surrendering to the melting pot of Hebrew identity.

And to hear it this way is actually to misrepresent Ruth's commitments and maybe yours too. See, Asian American scholars have pointed out that throughout the remaining story, Ruth will continue to be called the Moabite. And in one way, this could signify a dominant culture claiming the narrative where an ancient Hebrew imagination could only ever imagine Ruth as an ethnic outsider. But these American scholars have noted that these repeated references could also signify a more open reading where we allow for the possibility that maybe Ruth continued to hold on to her Moabite identity while participating in the dominant Hebrew culture, not unlike the ways we know that migrants and ethnic minorities and outsiders continue to do so today. Because Ruth does, after all, self identify as a foreigner in the next chapter, and what these scholars of color suggest is that the recurring identity assertion might actually derive from Ruth herself.

They suggest that maybe Ruth's assertion shapes this sacred text. And while we can't know for sure, what this kind of reading allows for is a more honest reflection of the ways that you and I live out our commitments too because we all hold multiple identities at the same time. Right? Some of you bridge cultures in your families. You love people and customs and traditions across difference and across history.

You hold them both faithfully. Some of you make the commitments to being both professional and parent. Some of you make the commitment to a longtime friendship and to a new partner. This is no small thing. And all of us have to reconcile to and hold on to parts of who we were while learning to accept and receive who we are in the ongoing commitment to being healthy and moving forward and becoming ourselves.

And maybe you can hear in Ruth's story the hints of how your deepest loyalties can actually be sustained even if they're pointed in different directions. And, of course, this isn't easy, but it is a beautiful and inspiring way to live. Now I wanna get to one major plot development here before we're done because Naomi and Ruth returned to Bethlehem, and they set about trying to survive in this precarious situation. Without land or family or marriages to support them, they find themselves on the fringes of the community, and so much so that Naomi sends Ruth out to gather grain that's been left out in the fields. And this is a practice that was actually mandated in ancient law of Moses for the sake of migrants and foreigners and those without inheritance.

And rather serendipitously, Ruth unknowingly goes to the field of a man named Boaz, who it just so happens is a relative of, question mark. If you're guessing Naomi, you are very rare, but you are right. And therefore, as readers, we're led to suspect, oh, maybe this Boaz person's gonna do something about this situation. But, curiously, as the story keeps going, Boaz doesn't do anything. I mean, not really.

I mean, he's he's kind to Ruth, and he gets her some extra food. He makes sure his workers don't bother her, and he says, listen. I really respect what you did back there. You left your homeland. You're getting along with your mother-in-law.

That's a new approach. And then he blesses her. He blesses her. He says, may the Lord repay you for what you've done. May you be richly rewarded by the Lord, the God of Israel under whose wings you have come to take refuge.

But that's about it. Ruth keeps working for the remainder of the harvesting season, and some time goes by. And there's some tension that starts to build in this story because Naomi, the mother-in-law, learns that it's Boaz who's helping her and her daughter-in-law. She knows Boaz. They're longtime cousins from way back.

He's the family member that could act in our favor. His tradition held that a male relative of Elimelech, her husband, could redeem the land that was lost when he and his sons died abroad. This family member could restore the family name and prospects by taking Ruth as his wife, and Naomi knows this. It's actually plausible that Boaz knows this too once he figured out who Ruth is early in the story, but he doesn't do anything about it. And we're left to speculate over whether he saw Ruth's ethnic heritage as baggage.

Maybe he was just busy. I mean, it's a bit you know, it's a busy time of year, harvest time. Maybe he's unsure of how to move forward given social conventions and the fact that they were very much not the same age. We can't be sure of any of this, but it is good storytelling that builds this tension here. But in reading the story again, I couldn't help but notice how this reluctance of Boaz, how it shapes the narrative arc and actually makes it redemptive in some ways because the ancient author calls Boaz a guardian redeemer or kinsman redeemer, depending on the translation, which just means that he is the family member who will restore.

And this is a term that more than a few contemporary theologians or preacher types like me like to highlight as they anoint Boaz as a kind of shining knight that comes to the rescue. And I don't buy it. Because if you look closely at this story, Boaz does not take center stage. He's not quick to take or force or to subject. He doesn't even seem to know what to do, and his reluctance doesn't kill the action nor limit the story's power.

No. Actually, it kinda makes room for those things to unfold. And I think this is something that should make us pause, especially at a time when we are reckoning with forms of masculinity and how that's influenced how we shape our heroes. This is a time when we are learning so much about men's mental health, how some forms of self assurance are actually hurtful because they cloak real pain and enable unhealthy coping strategies. And in all of this, I see Boaz as an ally here because he shows us that reluctance to force the issue isn't weakness.

And see, this is what happens. Naomi knows that her and Ruth's longtime flourishing depends on Boaz's advocate and so she hatches a plan. She says, okay, Ruth. You're gonna need to take a shower. You need to put on your best perfume.

Put on the little black dress. And if you think I'm joking, it's chapter three verse three. Go read it for yourself. K? And then he says go she says, go down to where the year end harvest festival is happening.

Boaz is definitely gonna be there. Wait until he's done eating and drinking. Read not sober. K? And when he lies down, she says, go and uncover his feet and lie down.

He will tell you what to do. Now to be clear, for any woman to go and uncover a drunk man's feet might sound super weird, and that's because it would be weird. And what we're dealing with here is a Hebrew idiom that could very well mean that the reference to feet is in fact a reference to Boaz's genitals, which makes way more sense, right, when you read it that way. And even if it makes you uncomfortable, this is sexual intrigue as scripture. And maybe that's the point.

Because here, we see an honest depiction of the complexity that we live through, where there's no way to move through our own story without navigating what scholar Yuni Lee names in her analysis of these verses as the interplay in our lives between concealment and disclosure. This is a fragile and intimate moment no matter how you read it. And whether or not you wanna read the r rated version of the story, that's not important. What you can't do is turn away from this as a compelling depiction of how complex and layered our movement through the world is. See, on one hand, we need to listen to feminist voices who read this story as a memorial to the desperate struggles of women who risk everything to survive, struggles that demand that we see and address unjust social structures that place women there in those places to this day and in our city.

And then on the other hand, we also need to open ourselves, open our imaginations to what this story says about how god actually acts in the world. Because let's go back. Let's go back to the narrative. Ruth does everything that Naomi tells her to do. And when Boaz wakes up and realizes what's happening, Ruth does not wait for him to tell her what to do.

She says this, spread the corner of your garment over me since you are a guardian redeemer of our family, which is a direct callback in the narrative to when Boaz said to her at their first meeting in the field, may you be richly rewarded by the Lord, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to take refuge. Guys remember that? Can you see what Ruth has done here? In effect, she said, put your actions where your prayers are. You said you hoped God would cover me.

Why don't you cover me? And that is so cinematic. It's such a crazy moment, especially when we go on to read that Boaz agrees to this because he recognizes Ruth's courage. He recognizes the consistency of her profound kindness to Naomi. He sees her profound faithfulness to her family, and he wakes up to the idea that she's extending these things to him.

They are married, and their child becomes grandfather to the great king David. And in all of this mess and in these scenes, it's so easy to miss the point. It's easy to overlook how nowhere in the text is God said to be present. Throughout this entire narrative, only the characters shape the action. And this is a striking feature intended to show us how god's faithfulness is found and experienced most clearly in simple human effort.

It's found in the Limilek's difficult choice to leave home in the middle of a famine. In Naomi's attempts to overcome grief and protect her family, we see it in Boaz's slow opening to a new future. And, of course, we see it in Ruth's profound courage and her willingness to keep commitments and then her demand to be seen and cared for. And along the way, God is not the main character steering the action with kind of predetermined plan. No.

Frail humans write the story, especially in their faltering faithfulness to each other. And maybe that's what you need to hear because you're straining to see how god is present in the places that are shaping your story right now. And maybe you're working to steadily hold on to these deep loyalties you hold even though they're different. Maybe you're learning to trust your reluctance, the slowness with which you come into your story, and trust the space that that makes. I promise you this, that you will discover that God always acts in step with your agency when you choose to be kind, when you choose to be friend, when you choose to be courageous even when you don't feel it, when you choose to comfort, when you choose to care, when you choose to be honest, because these are the things that change the world.

Let's pray. Loving God, in this moment, we sit and we hold the mystery of what it means to live a life, what it means to trust others, what it means to trust you, what it means to keep going. And to tell the truth, our story is a lot like Ruth's. It can feel like the forces around us are so big, and injustice is so prevalent. It can feel like our little efforts are worthless.

And yet here we are, and maybe maybe we catch a glimpse of how divine the smallest steps are and how you are present in the kindness we extend and how you are powerful in the love that we willfully practice. And this is why we ask, would you go with us into all we face? Give us strength to hold our commitments and our loyalty as a gift. Guide us as we use care and patience and wisdom to reluctantly move forward, and let us be free to act with all of our heart and all of our soul and all of our strength for the sake of your great goodness. We ask in the name of Christ, our hope.

Amen.