Sermon 8.19.2018
“Reading Ruth: Survival in a World That Sees You as Other”
Rev. Laura Arnold preaching
Ruth 2
Introduction to the scripture:
We continue this morning reading through the book of Ruth. Last week, we heard the beginning of the story. There was famine in Bethlehem that drove Naomi, her husband and their two sons to the country of Moab. In time, they built up life there. Their sons married and began building families. But then tragedy struck. Naomi’s husband died first, then both of her sons, and then another famine set in. Naomi had heard that Bethlehem was a land blessed with food now, so she and herdaughter-in-laws, Ruth and Orpah, set out for Bethlehem.
They didn’t make it far before Naomi looked at the two young women and told them to turn back and to stay in the land they had always known, find new husbands, build new lives. The two young women cried at the very idea but Orpah ultimately decided to return back to her family of origin. Ruth however, clung to Naomi and made the vow “Where you go, I will go. Where are you lodge, I will lodge. Your people shall be my people and your God my God.”.
Last week, we looked closely at the vow that Ruth made Naomi, and raised the question for ourselves: what promises are we willing to make to stand by others and to care for people?
This week we pick up the story where we left off. Ruth and Naomi have returned to Bethlehem, wondering if they will be able survive in this new place.
Sermon:
Did they ask her what she wanted to be called? Ruth, did they ask her what she wanted to be called before they just started calling her Ruth the Moabite.
Did they ask her if she wanted to be called Ruth the world traveler; Ruth the creative thinker; Ruth the steadfast in spirit; Ruth the survivor.
Did they ask her what she wanted to be called?
Everyone called her Ruth the Moabite, which spoke volumes to anyone who heard it. With that one simple name she became instantly Ruth the foreigner. Ruth the one who didn’t belong. Ruth the one not to be trusted. Ruth the one you needn’t even bother get to know—for you’d already knew about “her kind.”
Did they ask her how she wanted to be known? Did they ask her who she was, what she liked to do, what was important to her? They seem content to with making presumptions.
They called her Ruth the Moabite, all the townspeople and farmers, the leaders and the workers as if the generic designation as “Moabite” was all encompassing and sufficient in every way. It’s as if people heard “she’s a Moabite” and the mere mention dissolved any need for conversation with her, any impulse of asking her about herself or her story, and even any human decency of asking her barley gleaning experience or if she needs a lesson or two. They heard Moabite and its as if everyone in town thought they knew her, or at least knew enough to know how treat her, what to expect from her, and what to expect of her. And that that was sufficient enough for them.
We might imagine how it would have felt to be Ruth. To have everyone make presumptions about you. To be standing in plain sight but invisible. To have a story to tell, but no one who is interested in hearing it. To want connection with others, but no one who is open to genuine friendship. To have a desire to live authentically but no one interested in actually knowing the fullness of you.
They called her Ruth the Moabite. No one made an effort to get to know her as just Ruth, except Boaz. Boaz took notice of her as she was out gathering the remnants left over after the harvest in the fields. She wasn’t familiar and so he asked about her, “What family is she from?” The man overseeing the field and the harvest explained she was Naomi’s daughter in law, a Moabite woman who had come to the field and asked to glean.
Still standing out in the field with the workers, Boaz spoke to Ruth. He told her to stay in his field to collect whatever she could after the workers have harvested. “Stay here,” he said, “where no one will harm you. Whenever you were thirsty just go to the jugs and drink from the ones the workers do.”
Knowing what others already thought of her and knowing that no one else really saw her or gave her the time of day, she asked him, “Why are you kind to me? I’m an immigrant.”
Boaz responded, saying he heard about everything she did for her mother-in-law and offered Ruth a blessing. Being seen as more than a Moabite mattered profoundly to Ruth in those moments, it seems. The power of having a bit of her acknowledged by someone else is noticeable in Ruth’s response: Boaz, you’ve comforted me and you’ve spoken kindly to me—even though you didn’t have you.
Later in the day, Boaz invited her to eat with him. He does not call her Ruth the Moabite, in that moment, he simply calls her Ruth and then let her fill in the rest. He served her bread and vinegar, and roasted grain until she’d had her fill. It was a gesture of caring and seeing her for more than others did, and one we might imagine that those moments had a unique gift to offer her.
At first glance, it seems that this part of the story of Ruth is rather disconnected from our own experiences. Few of us if any, glean fields to make sure we have enough grain to last the winter. But this story cycle has much to teach us for it reflects a pattern still present in our own lives.
Think about it for a moment. The town took one look at her, and overheard enough of her story, and decided that one thing really mattered. They chose to define her by the way she was different and in a way that would justify treating her without much dignity. They could have done otherwise. They could have asked about her life’s story, or what she was passionate about, what she liked to do, how she passed the time. But they didn’t. They could have let her define herself. They could have asked her what she wanted to be called or how she wanted to be known. She could have told them that she wanted to be called Ruth the survivor, Ruth the compassionate, Ruth the skydiver…But there was no opportunity for that. Either they didn’t care who she was or didn’t want to know or they didn’t want to have to alter their own set ways or deviate from their presumptions, so they didn’t ask, and instead just called her Ruth the Moabite.
We do this too, don’t we? If we see people and maybe we know part of their story or maybe we know none of it, but we still make presumptions about them. We categorize them: by age, gender, race, height, weight, ability, and a whole host of other things. And that’s when our brains start filling in the story we think we know about them based on a whole set of presumptions. It’s like what happened to Ruth. And before we know it, we’re either a lot like the townspeople who don’t really want to see the person for who they are or don’t want to make the effort, or we’re a lot like Ruth, being reduced to a title and identity that isn’t true, or isn’t the totality of who we are, or isn’t one we’d choose for ourselves.
But in Boaz, we catch a glimpse of an alternative. In Boaz, we see that kindness is a virtue and a loving gift to be offered to others. We see that kindness is honoring someone’s history but not assuming it defines the totality of who they are. We see the power of taking time to learn people’s story, the beauty of leaning in with compassion and listening with curiosity, and for those who are like Ruth having to survive in a world that deems them other, Boaz represents the life giving moments that happen when people aren’t subject to other people’s presumptions and instead get to define themselves, and have it honored.
I suspect this is no news. Whether we find ourselves like the townspeople, like Ruth, or like Boaz, or like all of them at different times, I suspect that this story cycle has a familiar ring to it. And while I’d love to say simply say the moral of the story is to go adopt the sacred work like Boaz and learn people’s stories rather than jumping to presumptions and judgments, and while I think that is the moral and I do think that is what the people of God out of love for all people should do, I also know that its not easy and that our brain loves to make presumptions and sort people and treat them accordingly. And Rich Halverson, our psychologist in residence is perhaps ready to say its against our nature to refrain from sorting and presumptions, I still say its worth working at.
What would it look like to refrain from sorting and making presumptions about people? What would it require of you? What would this look like in your life? (question actually posed to the congregation for response)
Congregational responses that emerged:
- Being open, much like a flower, all the time
- Listening to people with different political beliefs, and actually listening
- Being aware of how to turn off the automatic auto pilot and to recognize when you’re doing it
- Counter point raised to the sermon: You can’t know every person as an individual, there’s too many people, and this is why our brains make presumptions in order to be able to make sense of the world.We would be overwhelmed if we couldn’t categorize.
- Pastoral response: But if we stop at categorizing people or presume we know something about them without really getting to know them, we will fail to see that they are uniquely created in the image of God and will do them a great injustice.
- We think we know what to expect out of people, but I need to let go of those expectations
- Actually paying attention rather than just rushing by.There is a need to stop doing our trivial drive by greetings and actually pause.
This practice, as we can tell from this conversation together, gets lived out in any number of ways. Ways that are as unique as we are. Whether its [recap responses] and anywhere in between. We are invited to see ourselves in this story and to ask how is it that we work towards treating one another with dignity and respect? How is it that we go about learning one another’s stories?
As we have been thinking about the ways that that gets lived out, in the this community there is another layer to this challenge and this scripture.
Nametags. The name tags have been reprinted. You are asked to take it. To wear it. To actually wear it! Churches all over the place debate whether or not to wear nametags but here’s the thing, if you don’t know someone’s name its really hard to get to know them. How many of you have struggled to remember someone’s name at some point? (all hands went up). Right! Wear your nametag.
The other piece of this is as a community we often refer to one another. Pronoun stickers. In the stories we tell and in the connections we make, in how we introduce one another, and the language we use involves using different pronouns (she/her, he/him, they/them, and a host of others). Pronouns are something we often assign people based on how they look or who we presume they are, but as we talk about how to stop just presuming, we need to look at the presumptions we make about gender and gendered language. So the invitation, is to indicate on your nametag which pronouns you want people to use when referring to you, so no one has to make presumptions. Then there is a need for all of us to use the correct pronoun for people. This is an act of love, of community, of letting people define who they are and not imposing upon them. It is an honoring people and who they are. (There is some elaboration here on what pronouns, practicing, and the theological grounding for doing so).
Some of the time we may be like the townspeople sometimes, with a propensity toward making presumptions, but hopefully more times we are like Boaz, living with openness to see, honor, and celebrate who people are, their beauty and messiness alike. In this place, may we honor the Ruth inside all of us. May we practice honoring one another, letting one another define ourselves, respecting one another, and celebrating one another’s uniqueness, for that is not only a sacred task but a life giving one as well. Amen and amen.