Ruth 1:1-18 - "All-Saints' Remembrances"

         The passage that we just read is from that part of the Bible we call the Book of Ruth, one of only two books in all our Holy Scripture to be named for a woman.  However, its story does not begin with Ruth, its namesake.  Its story begins with Naomi – and it begins with tragedy.  You see, life has dealt Naomi a series of grievous blows – one right after another. 

         First, there was the famine in Judah – year after year of drought and bad harvests – so devastating that it drove Naomi, her husband (whose name was Elimelech), and their two young sons from their homeland.  Starving and in desperate straits with no one to turn to, the family was forced to migrate to Moab, a tiny place east of Bethlehem, across the Dead Sea, and higher in the mountains.

         For want of a loaf of bread, the four of them became strangers in a strange land.  Over time, however, the two sons assimilated and married local girls, Moabite women.  One wife was named Orpah, and the other was Ruth (for whom this story is named).

         As you might guess, living as foreigners or immigrants in that place and in that time was a difficult proposition.  However, their refugee status on top of the famine was not the real tragedy in this story either. 

         You see, it was only a short time later that Naomi’s husband died, leaving Naomi, her two sons and their wives, Ruth and Orpah, to fend for themselves.  However, even Elimelech’s untimely death on top of the other experiences of misfortune was still not the real tragedy.  Though being a widow in a patriarchal society was nothing to sneeze at, there was at least some level of assurance for Naomi to be found in a secure family unit – with two men, even though they were only sons.  

         However, as you might already suspect, this scenario did not last long.  You see, within a few years, both of Naomi’s sons died as well.  Now we have three widows, automatically and systematically marginalized in a male-dominated culture, left destitute.  Not only that, but Naomi (because of her advanced age) and Orpah, and Ruth to a lesser extent, are now considered damaged goods.  No one wanted a woman who was not attached in some way to a man.  This is the real tragedy as our story begins.  No wonder Naomi was a bitter old woman.

         No wonder too that when the famine in Judah was over, Naomi decided to return to Bethlehem, her home.  Surrounded only by death in Moab, perhaps she hoped for some semblance of life among the growing crops.  At the least, she could leave her memories of tragedy forever behind her.  And so she prepared for her solo journey home.

         It apparently never occurred to Naomi that Orpah and Ruth would want to come too.  Maybe Naomi wanted to be alone in her bitterness or maybe she really wanted the very best for her two daughters-in-law.  We do not know, but, for whatever reason, Naomi set in their minds a dismal scene.  

         As Naomi patiently explained to the two young women, even if she met a man that very night (highly unlikely) and married (even more unlikely) and even if she were to have sons (a most unlikely phenomenon, given her advanced age), Orpah and Ruth would have to wait for these boys to grow up in order to marry them, if they were to all stick together.  

         And by that time, Ruth and Orpah would be old as well, way past childbearing age  – and foreigners to boot.  Now what kind of existence would that be?  Strangers in a strange land with no possibility of continuing the family line, they would be throwing their lives away.  All that would result from following Naomi would be to project the current tragedy far into the future.  As far as Naomi was concerned, these two young women had no place whatsoever in her future.  The only viable future for Orpah and Ruth lay in finding new husbands in Moab.

         Now you have to give Orpah credit.  She got it.  She understood Naomi’s exceptionally rational line of argument and decided tearfully to stay put.  She did the reasonable thing for someone like herself who was on the very edge of survival. 

         Ruth, however, was a different story.  I suspect that part of it was that the young woman was unusually stubborn.  Such an independent spirit seems to be a common characteristic among women who hold a more prominent place in the Bible.  You see, Ruth flatly refused to stay at home.  She told Naomi in no uncertain terms that love bound them together for all time.  

“Wherever you go, I shall go.  Wherever you live, so shall I live.  Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God too.  Wherever you die, I shall die and there shall I be buried beside you.  We will be together forever, and our love will be the gift of our lives.”

         In those beautiful and haunting words, surely there was something more than Ruth’s sheer stubbornness presenting itself. Ruth loved Naomi, and in loving her comprehended a marvelous truth – a truth about humanity, a truth about God, and a truth that survives even to this day.  

         When you really love someone, death and tragedy take a back row seat.  Oh, love cannot bring back the ones you have lost to eternity.  No matter how much Ruth might love her mother-in-law, it would never bring back Naomi’s dead husband.  It would never even bring back her own dead husband.  But even so, in a way that we cannot ever fully understand, love is stronger than death.  Out of death and tragedy, the potential for life is somehow there – hidden behind the tears and grief.  And so it was for Ruth. 

         She did in fact follow Naomi to her home in Bethlehem.  She did in fact marry, and she bore a son named Obed.  And in the genealogy, which concludes this Biblical book, we learn that Obed was the father of Jesse, and thus the grandfather of the great King David. 

         So – without Ruth, there would be no Jesse out of which grew that branch of which the prophet Isaiah spoke and about which we read each Advent season as we prepare for the coming of the Christ:  “There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse.”  Without Ruth, there would be no King David.  Without Ruth, there would be no royal lineage from which the life-giving Messiah would emerge.

         Death does not have the final word.  Out of tragedies that we think we will never survive can emerge life-affirming hope.  Love is indeed stronger than death.  We are bound together by love across the ages, across the worlds, across the veil that separates us from whatever it is that comes next.

         And that is what I pray each one of us will remember on this All-Saints’ Sunday.  Because if we do, then we will surely sense that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses – grandparents, children, mothers, fathers, spouses, special friends –

all those who have gone on before us but who are still connected to us by the gossamer tendrils of love.

         As the 19^th century American poet Emily Dickinson wrote in her brief poem entitled “Faith”:

You will not see me, so you must have faith. I wait for the time when we can soar together again, both aware of each other. Until then, live your life to its fullest and when you need me, just whisper my name in your heart, ...I will be there.

         Those are beautiful words to keep in mind when we remember, as we traditionally do on this particular Sunday, those individuals in our church family and in our own individual families who died since this time last year.  And so this year we remember:

TOM ELDRIDGE – Tom was Linda’s devoted husband and best friend for nearly 50 years.  He was active here in this church, supporting Linda in all that she did, helping at suppers, and regularly attending worship.  Tom was a Mason and was active in the Kora Temple Shrine.  If you ever went to a local Shrine Circus and happened to encounter a clown named Sunny, well, underneath the make up and costume was Tom.  He loved his family, his daughters, his grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.  It was generally agreed that he gave the best hugs. 

         Tom lived with cancer courageously and always with his sense of humor close at hand.  His will to live was phenomenal.  I will never forget visiting with him one afternoon after the hospice nurse (and they generally know what they are talking about) had told his family that he did not have much more time – maybe a day or two. 

         And so I said my goodbyes – and was astounded that the next day Tom was up and out of bed enjoying the summer sun in the back yard and riding his mower up and down the street to visit his neighbors.  However, Tom also knew when his time had really come, and he departed this world graciously and gracefully – just as he had lived his life.

ELLIE MCNUTT – Ellie was Caryl’s mother.  She was a remarkable and determined woman.  Well-educated, she went back to school 29 years after she had finished college to earn her master’s degree in library science.  Over the years, she worked as a school librarian, a reference librarian, and principally as a medical librarian in Albany, New York. 

As you might surmise, Ellie loved to read books.  However, on her own time, she buried herself not in medical textbooks but rather in mysteries and children’s stories.  Though we know that books can transport us to many distant times and places, Ellie also loved the real thing as well.  She traveled extensively and was a patron of the arts, particularly theater and dance.  She loved square dancing with her husband and enjoyed it for over 30 years.  And I do not know if she ever traveled to Scotland, but Scottish Highland Games were a real favorite as well.

         Caryl said this of her mother:  “I remember my Mom as being her own woman (which was a big thing in the 50s and 60s)- she decided how she wanted to birth her children (naturally).  She decided she wanted to go back to school and be a librarian.  She was a good example for her children in this regard.   It is one of the things I am grateful for.”

         Ellie’s final years were difficult ones.  Health issues impeded, and crises came and went.  Caryl took a lot of trips down to Massachusetts to care for her, and I know it was not easy.  It is never easy to see those you love declining so much. 

But Caryl, I hope you will always remember – “The days are long, but the years are short.”  You did a good, good job.

JANE WARREN – Jane was Adma’s cousin.  She taught school for 31 years. Jane loved gardening, berry picking, and simply a good walk in the woods.  Jane and Adma grew up across the road from each other.  One of Adma’s earliest memories with Jane is the two of them sitting wrapped in blankets in the rumble seat of Jane’s parents’ car.  If it rained, they would close the top and giggle in the dark.  As young mothers, they raised their own children together – sharing meals, play time, and babysitting.  They encouraged each other to go back to school at the then named Gorham State Teachers’ College.  Jane was Adma’s “sister of the heart.”  Theirs was a very special relationship.

         Another love the two cousins had in common was baseball, most particularly the Red Sox.  Adma and Jane took two wonderful baseball trips together – one to Chicago to see the Cubs and the other to Baltimore to see the Red Sox in action.  Of Jane, Adma says, “I miss her everyday.” 

CHARLES “BUD” WILSON – Charles was Stacey’s father, and Stacey has many fond memories of her Dad.  Unconditional love was perhaps the greatest thing he taught her, something she tries to give to her own three children as a special tribute to him.

         Here is what Stacey wrote about his father:  “He was very involved in The Boy Scouts of America throughout his life and spent a lot of time up at Camp Hinds in Raymond. As grown children, we were still very close with Dad. He spent Saturdays with my brother in my brother’s wood shop, and Sundays at my house, waiting for Sunday dinner.

         He was an amazing father but he was an even more amazing grandfather. He had had his stoke by the time the first grandchild came along, but Dad relished his role as Grandpa Bud. Oddly enough, the stroke that took so much gave him so much. He had lots of time to spend with his four grand kids, Collette, Sarah, Bobby and Aubrey and was very excited over the news that a 5th was on the way, due in January.

         The stroke also gave my dad the opportunity to find a love of painting that he never knew he had. He regularly went to the outpatient rehab painting class at New England Rehab and leaves behind many beautiful paintings. He will be missed more than words can express.”

         We do not know what happens after death, but I leave you on this All Saints’ Sunday with two thoughts.  One is from J.R.R. Tolkien’s book, The Lord of the Rings.  In it, there is a conversation between Gandalf and Pippin that goes like this;

         “I didn’t think it would end this way.”

         “End? No, the journey doesn’t end here.  Death is just another path, one that we all must take.  The gray rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.”

         “What?  Gandalf?  See what?”

         “White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.”

         “Well, that isn’t so bad”

         “No, no it isn’t.”

         And second, this prayer from the Reform Judaism Prayer Book:

In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we remember them.

In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we remember them.

In the opening of buds and in the warmth of summer, we remember them.

In the rustling of the leaves and the beauty of autumn, we remember them

In the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them

When we are lost and sick at heart, we remember them.

When we have joy we yearn to share, we remember them.

So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us as we remember them. Amen

“Wherever you go, I shall go.  Wherever you live, so shall I live.  Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God too.  Wherever you die, I shall died and there shall I be buried beside you.  We will be together forever, and our love will be the gift of our lives.”

         And Amen.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, ME

www.rvccme.org