Sermon for the Twenty Third Sunday after Pentecost by Amelie Allen on Nov. 8, 2009

Naomi her mother-in-law said to her, "My Daughter I need to seek some security for you, so that it may be well with you."

Security is a basic human need. From our earliest moments, our hands reach out for it. And for the rest of our lives, we pursue paths that are shaped and directed by our vision for security.

For some, this means physical and financial well-being, for others, it is a sense of belonging in community, and for others, it is a sense of self, identity, purpose.

What does Security mean for you?

It may mean any, or all of these things. It may look quite different. In any event, we all know what it's like to yearn for security, and to feel secure. We also know what it means for that to be challenged. In reality, our vision for security is always in transition.

In the world of ancient Israel, the word for security, "menoah," had a rich, multilayered meaning. It signified wholeness, a resting place, the ultimate "shalom." The laws of Moses were designed to promote and protect it.

Yet for a woman, this type of security could be found only through marriage. That is because a woman could not own property in Israel's patriarchal society, so without husband or male progeny, she was literally homeless. A widow's life was sustained through begging and hard labor - she lived off the scraps of the land. For her, security was often beyond reach.

The two women who we meet today in the Book of Ruth are widows. Stripped of their source of security, they struggle for survival. They have just arrived in Bethlehem from the land of Moab after the tragic death of all the males in their family. Naomi is an Israelite, beyond childbearing age. Ruth, her Moabite daughter-in- law has risked social and economic security to remain with her - abandoning family, national identity; and religion.

As a Moabite, a member of the only people in all of Scripture whom the Torah curses, Ruth's chances of being accepted into society are slim. Her loyalty to Naomi and the God of Naomi's people is captured in her well-known words: "Where you go, I will go....your people are my people and your god my god. Where you die, I will die."

Sadly to say, all Naomi sees is death. She is bitter, devastated and paralyzed.

So it is Ruth who takes the first steps to make ends meet. She bravely ventures out to glean in the fields. Under Israel's legal system, harvesters were not to reap to the edge of their fields, but leave them for the poor and the alien. As a poor, non-Israelite widow, Ruth takes advantage of this means of survival.

She wanders into the field of Boaz, the most prominent citizen of the village, who treats her with respect and kindness. He has heard about the "hesed" Ruth has shown Noami...the kind of steadfast, covenantal love that God gives. He praises her for seeking shelter under the God of Israel; and offers her protection in his fields and extra barley.

Well, as you can imagine, this brings Naomi back to life! She sees the hand of God at work, for Boaz is one of her dead husband's relatives - a potential redeemer. Perhaps he might act further upon his interest in Ruth. But time passes. The harvest comes to an end. The women will have to seek some other form of charity to survive.

Surely, life needs to be more than just a struggle for survival. For those of us who have navigated transition and loss, we know what it's like to get stuck - waiting - on a flimsy platform of hope and chance. When do we step off? When is it time to take the situation by the hand, claim personhood, bravely engage whatever it is that provides the gateway to our well-being?

Sometimes, this means taking clever risks, using our God-given resources - rallying courage and creativity. By bearing God gifts through our hands, our feet and our words we take a kind of "holy" initiative.

And that is exactly what Naomi does when she says to Ruth "My daughter, I must seek some security for you." You see, Naomi wants more for Ruth than just survival at subsistence levels; she wants long term stability - menoah, security, the ultimate shalom.

So, using wisdom and cleverness, Naomi instructs Ruth to prepare herself as would a bride for her wedding - with bathing, oils, her best clothes - and sends her to the threshing floor. There, the grain of the harvest will be winnowed with feasting and celebration, and Boaz will lie, contented, full of wine and food.

Now, is this some kind of sexual sacrifice? Or rather, is Naomi making a bold, but well-considered move? Boaz is a good man. He is one of only two men in Bethlehem who are next of kin. He has the right, but also the obligation, to "redeem" the land lost to the clan when Naomi's husband died.

Naomi knows the problems. Ruth is a Moabite, a foreigner, an outcaste. Boaz is one of the best-placed men in town -a wealthy, honorable Israelite - perhaps much older. The social complications are obvious: there is a racial problem; an age question; a religious question. There is nothing whatsoever, in terms of established social norms, to commend such a match. To send Ruth to Boaz is to flaunt all the conventions of Israel. Except one: justice.

Naomi is taking the kind of empowering Godlike risk that crosses boundaries. She is intent on requiring the system to contend with its obligations in a new way.

And Ruth is ready for the contest. Just as she went out into the fields among the male harvesters, she now ventures into Israelite society. She heads to the threshing floor, to present herself to a man who has shown her kindness, who has wished God's blessing upon her, saying "May God spread his wings over you."

Ruth obeys Naomi - but creatively. Because when the actual encounter with Boaz does take place - the part we don't hear about in our reading - he doesn't tell Ruth what to do, He says nothing. Instead, Ruth herself takes the initiative. In effect, she proposes that they be married.

"Be my redeemer," she says. She then asks Boaz to spread his cloak over her, a gesture symbolizing marriage. There's a word play here, because the Hebrew word for "cloak" means "wings." So Ruth is also asking Boaz to make good on his blessing. "You be my wings." In other words: "walk the talk."

And how does Boaz respond to this backwards proposal? With honor, not rebuke! He agrees to marry Ruth, pushing beyond the requirements of the law. For nowhere in the Torah is a redeemer required to satisfy marital obligations. But, Boaz recognizes Ruth's true worth and acts in the spirit of the law - even though marrying Ruth, a Moabite, was a very risky thing.

This courage is blessed. Ruth gives birth to a son, Obed, and the village women proclaim, "she is better than seven sons!" Ruth achieves personhood. And it is from her child's line that the greatest king of Israel will be born.

Here a Moabite, the lowest of the low, becomes the grandmother of King David. In the end God blesses the outsider who dares - and blesses all of Israel through her - acknowledging her important role in bringing about God's Kingdom.

Against all odds, the characters in this story not only survive, but thrive by being Godbearers to one another. Together, they navigate the gritty reality of their lives through acts of mutual empowerment, risk-taking and self-definition. There isn't one person who isn't brought to greater life or security by their God-like actions.

So, where do you and I belong in this story? Are you, like Naomi and Ruth yearning for wholeness, rather than just subsistence, in your work, your community, your family? Are you being limited by life systems so intent on protecting their own security that they fail to serve those most in need of their support? Or, are you, like Boaz, being asked to think outside the box? To make space for an alternative, but expanded vision?

Male or Female, each of us might find something of ourselves in all of these characters.

Perhaps the story of Ruth provides a God-like approach to the structures of our lives that no longer work. Maybe, like Ruth and Naomi, we might try to engage them with creative obedience. To work with what they've got - with what we've got. Perhaps it means conforming a bit; perhaps it also means taking holy initiative. Maybe it means marching to our own version of the threshing floor, daring to encounter one who may - just maybe - share and empower our vision for security.

In the words of theologian Joan Chittester:

"God relies on humans, on us, on the apparently weakest of us, to make happen what the human heart knows deep within itself are really God's designs for the world."

Amen