- Sermon - Mickey Anders

Text: Ruth 1:1-18

Wherever I have lived, I have enjoyed unusual expressions that are unique to that particular area. Eastern Kentucky has some great ones. What would you think if you said to a friend, "Would you mind handing me that glass of water?" and they replied, "I wouldn't care to do that."

Before I moved to Eastern Kentucky, I would have been a bit offended because I thought the person just said, "No, I do not want to hand you that glass of water." But, in fact, that Eastern Kentucky person was indicating that he would be happy to give it to me. "I wouldn't care to do that" means "I will be glad to do that."

My first pastorate was in a small county seat town in a farming community in Eastern Arkansas. I distinctly remember the first time my farmer friend, Jimmy, said, "It's time to bet the farm." He meant by that expression that it was time to risk everything because of being so certain about something. When a person is really confident about his odds, he can "bet the farm."

My study of the Book of Ruth made me think about Jimmy's expression, "bet the farm." And it led me to look up another expression, "buy the farm." Do you know what that one means? On the surface it sounds like someone has purchased some acreage. But this one has a colorful history and means something very different from what I would expect. To "buy the farm" means "to die." I was surprised at that, but it apparently came from World War II.

After reading about it, I am still a little unclear about it. But when pilots crash landed into European farm houses, either they are the government had to buy the farm. Others suggest that the phrase came from the death benefit paid to families of dead soldiers, which was often used to pay off the family's mortgage on the farm. So they "bought the farm."

Over time it became associated with a deadly crash landing. One pilot might say to the other, "Do you know Dave? He bought the farm on a training exercise last week."

Both "bet the farm" and "buy the farm" are agricultural ways of saying something about making a total commitment. When someone buys a farm, they have really made a commitment. Now the farm is theirs.

Perhaps it doesn't fit perfectly, but when I read the story of Naomi and Ruth, I thought to myself, "Ruth made a total commitment to Naomi; she bought the farm."

Naomi was a bitter woman, and she had every right to be. At the end of the first chapter of this book, she comes to her old home town and tells her friends, "Don't call me 'sweetie.' Don't call me 'pleasant,'" which is what the name Naomi means. Instead, she says, "Call me Mara," which means "bitter."

Why was she bitter? We find out in the course of a very few verses in chapter 1 that her family of four lived in Judah when a severe famine hit. Can you imagine being in a situation where you could not provide food for your children? Imagine a mother's despair!

When the famine lasted far too long, her husband learned that there was food in the neighboring country of Moab, the home of Judah's traditional enemies. So the family made the difficult decision of uprooting themselves to become aliens in the strange land of Moab.

But then things turned from bad to worse for Naomi. Her husband died in Moab, leaving her alone with her two sons. We can only try to imagine the difficulty of a widow in a foreign land, trying to scratch out a living there. But somehow Naomi provided for the boys until they were grown.

In her tradition, Jewish boys were supposed to grow up and marry good Jewish girls, but there apparently were no eligible girls of their own faith in Moab. So naturally, the boys wound up taking for themselves wives from the daughters of the Moabites. One son married a Moabite named Orpah; the other son married Ruth.

I assume that Naomi was pleased with the new additions to her family. By all accounts, Naomi and her new Moabite daughters-in-law got along well. The Bible records that ten years passed.

But then disaster struck again, and in short order, both her sons have died. Suddenly matters are worse than they were when her husband died. At least she had sons left then. Sons who could plant and harvest crops. Sons who could step into their father's role as provider for the family. Sons who could navigate and prosper in a patriarchal society.

But now this is not a story of a widow with two sons, we have a story of three widows with no men. Even in our society, life would have been difficult amid such a compounding of tragedy upon tragedy. We can only imagine the emotional loss and strain on these poor women, and especially on Naomi as she was now the one to provide for her daughters-in-law.

We do not know all the difficulties in this circumstance. The Bible doesn't spell out the reasons for Naomi's next decision, but somehow it becomes clear to her that she needs to return to her homeland of Judah in order to have any chance at making a decent life again. She doesn't know how, she just knows she needs to go home. She has heard that the famine has long been over, and her home country is now prosperous with food again.

Sadly, the three widows set out for Judah. But with every step Naomi's worries are compounded. We can imagine that she worried about the condemnation that would come upon her and the foreign wives of her dead sons. We often find stories in the Bible where the people of Israel were particularly hard on foreigners. And she may have wondered how in the world three women could provide for themselves with no land, no farm, no means of livelihood. With every step, Naomi's anxieties increased.

Suddenly, Naomi stops in the middle of the road, and turns to her Moabite daughters-in-law. "Go back," she says. "This is a mistake. You will have a much better chance of making a new life for yourselves by going back to your mothers' families. Your fathers and brothers can take care of you, and perhaps you will be able to marry again, and have a normal family. If you go with me, you may only meet prejudice and difficulty."

In sparse language, the Bible conveys the pathos of the moment with these words, "Then she kissed them, and they wept aloud." (1:9)

Both daughters protest in verse 10, "No, we will return with you to your people." But Naomi insisted again, "Turn back, my daughters, why will you go with me?"

Her next words come from her understanding of an ancient Hebrew custom called "the leverite marriage." If a woman's husband died without giving her a child, then his brother was obligated to marry the woman. We read about this custom in one of the stories of Jesus where the Pharisees tried to trap him with a fanciful story of one woman who married seven brothers.

But Naomi has no more sons. She explains that it is virtually impossible for her to provide another son to be the next-of-kin to marry these widows. Even if she found a husband immediately and bore a son, would they wait for that baby to grow up? It was all unreasonable and she knew it. No, they must go back to their own families.

With great tears, the one daughter Orpah agrees that this is the only choice. Sadly, she leaves Naomi and heads for home. But when it came time for Ruth to leave, she refused. She cared so much about her mother-in-law that she just won't leave. From her heart, she makes a decision to commit herself to Naomi regardless of what life might bring to them.

She declares, "Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die— there will I be buried."

What an incredible statement of commitment and love! It is such a beautiful expression that it is often used in weddings to symbolize that radical commitment to one another. I like to read it when a couple lights their unity candle.

The story of Ruth's incredible love is often used as a reflection of the kind of loving-kindness that God shows to us.

At the end of the Book of Ruth we are told that this Moabite woman would eventually marry Boaz and father a son, who would be the ancestor of David and ultimately of Jesus.

Ruth's famous statement "Your people shall be my people; and your God my God" is the one that made me think of the phrase "buy the farm." Ruth "buys the farm" in the sense that she makes a total commitment to a new life. Your people shall be my people; your God my God.

Now I want to try to make a couple of applications of this radical commitment.

First, I want you to see yourself as Ruth and this church as Naomi. I have seen this kind of commitment in the members of this church. As I have been visiting your homes, I keep hearing people tell their stories about searching for a church home, coming here and finding an amazing fellowship of Christians. I have heard you say that you were quickly accepted here, and I have been stunned by your commitment to this church.

People from England, Pennsylvania, and Jasmine County have come to this place and said with Ruth, "Your people shall be my people; your God my God."

Perhaps today there are visitors here who are ready to make that same commitment. I think Ruth's phrase is a wonderful description of what it means to join a church - "Your people shall be my people; and your God my God." The church is not really about a building whether it is a historic sanctuary or a Christian ministry center. The church is the people. Some of you have just been waiting for the new pastor to come, and now you will come to proclaim that Jesus Christ is Lord and become a stakeholder in this church as well.

But today, I want to tell you the impact of this Ruth passage on me, for I see myself here. Three months ago when I first saw that this was the lectionary passage for today, I knew that I am Ruth and you are Naomi. This is my first Sunday as your pastor. I have come from the far country of Eastern Kentucky. Worse, I am a native of the Moabite state of Arkansas. I am a foreigner. I am not from here.

I learned in my service in Eastern Kentucky that you weren't "from here" unless you came here during the war. And by that, they did not mean World War II or even World War I, but the Civil War. So I know I am an outsider.

But I feel like Ruth because I have made the same decision to come here and "buy the farm."

I have been so flattered by your generous enthusiasm about me becoming your pastor. I am humbled and honored that you have chosen me to be your pastor. Today I proclaim with Ruth that your people are my people; your God my God.

Your problems have become my problems. Your successes have become my successes. Your joys are my joys; your sorrows are my sorrows. Today I have bought the farm. Your church is my church. Your people are my people.

One of my favorite verses comes from 1 Peter 2:9-10:

But you are a chosen race; a royal priesthood; a holy nation, God's own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.

Once we were no people. Once we were strangers, but today your people have become my people, and our people are God's people.