'And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from
following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou
lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my
God: 17. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the
Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.
18. When she saw that she was stedfastly minded to go with her, then
she left speaking unto her. 19. So they two went until they came to
Beth-lehem. And it came to pass, when they were come to Beth-lehem,
that all the city was moved about them, and they said, Is this Naomi?
20. And she said unto them, Call me not Naomi, call me Mara: for the
Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me. 21. I went out full, And the
Lord hath brought me home again empty: why then call ye me Naomi,
seeing the Lord hath testified against me, and the Almighty hath
afflicted me? 22. So Naomi returned, and Ruth the Moabitess, her
daughter in law, with her, which returned out of the country of Moab:
and they came to Beth-lehem in the beginning of barley harvest.'--RUTH
1 16-22.
The lovely idyl of _Ruth_ is in sharp contrast with the bloody and
turbulent annals of _Judges_. It completes, but does not contradict,
these, and happily reminds us of what we are apt to forget in reading
such pages, that no times are so wild but that in them are quiet
corners, green oases, all the greener for their surroundings, where
life glides on in peaceful isolation from the tumult. Men and women
love and work and weep and laugh, the gossips of Bethlehem talk over
Naomi's return ('they said,' in verse 19, is feminine), Boaz stands
among his corn, and no sounds of war disturb them. Thank God! the
blackest times were not so dismal in reality as they look in history.
There are clefts in the grim rock, and flowers blooming, sheltered in
the clefts. The peaceful pictures of this little book, multiplied many
thousand times, have to be set as a background to the lurid pictures of
the _Book of Judges_.
The text begins in the middle of Naomi's remonstrance with her two
daughters-in-law. We need not deal with the former part of the
conversation, nor follow Orpah as she goes back to her home and her
gods. She is the first in the sad series of those, 'not far from the
kingdom of God,' who needed but a little more resolution at the
critical moment, and, for want of it, shut themselves out from the
covenant, and sank back to a world which they had half renounced.
So these two lonely widows are left, each seeking to sacrifice herself
for the other. Who shall decide which was the more noble and truly
womanly in her self-forgetfulness,--the elder, sadder heart, which
strove to secure for the other some joy and fellowship at the price of
its own deepened solitude; or the younger, which steeled itself against
entreaties, and cast away friends and country for love's sweet sake? We
rightly praise Ruth's vow, but we should not forget Naomi's unselfish
pleading to be left to tread her weary path alone.
Ruth's passionate burst of tenderness is immortal. It has put into
fitting words for all generations the deepest thoughts of loving
hearts, and comes to us over all the centuries between, as warm and
living as when it welled up from that gentle, heroic soul. The two
strongest emotions of our nature are blended in it, and each gives a
portion of its fervour--love and religion. So closely are they
interwoven that it is difficult to allot to each its share in the
united stream; but, without trying to determine to which of them the
greater part of its volume and force is due, and while conscious of the
danger of spoiling such words by comments weaker than themselves, we
may seek to put into distinct form the impressions which they make.
We see in them the heroism of gentleness. Put the sweet figure of the
Moabitess beside the heroes of the _Book of Judges_, and we feel the
contrast. But is there anything in its pages more truly heroic than her
deed, as she turned her back on the blue hills of Moab, and chose the
joyless lot of the widowed companion of a widow aged and poor, in a
land of strangers, the enemies of her country and its gods? It is
easier far to rush on the spears of the foe, amid the whirl and
excitement of battle, than to choose with open eyes so dreary a
lifelong path. The gentleness of a true woman covers a courage of the
patient, silent sort, which, in its meek steadfastness, is nobler than
the contempt of personal danger, which is vulgarly called bravery. It
is harder to endure than to strike. The supreme type of heroic, as of
all, virtue is Jesus Christ, whose gentleness was the velvet glove on
the iron hand of an inflexible will. Of that best kind of heroes there
are few brighter examples, even in the annals of the Church which
numbers its virgin martyrs by the score, than this sweet figure of
Ruth, as the eager vow comes from her young lips, which had already
tasted sorrow, and were ready to drink its bitterest cup at the call of
duty. She may well teach us to rectify our judgments, and to recognise
the quiet heroism of many a modest life of uncomplaining suffering. Her
example has a special message to women, and exhorts them to see to it
that, in the cultivation of the so-called womanly excellence of
gentleness, they do not let it run into weakness, nor, on the other
hand, aim at strength, to the loss of meekness. The yielding
birch-tree, the 'lady of the woods,' bends in all its elastic branches
and tossing ringlets of foliage to the wind; but it stands upright
after storms that level oaks and pines. God's strength is gentle
strength, and ours is likest His when it is meek and lowly, like that
of the 'strong Son of God.'
Ruth's great words may suggest, too, the surrender which is the natural
language of true love. Her story comes in among all these records of
bloodshed and hate, like a bit of calm blue sky among piles of ragged
thunder-clouds, or a breath of fresh air in the oppressive atmosphere
of a slaughter-house. Even in these wild times there was still a quiet
corner where love could spread his wings. The question has often been
asked, what the purpose of the _Book of Ruth_ is, and various answers
have been given. The genealogical table at the end, showing David's
descent from her, the example which it supplies of the reception of a
Gentile into Israel, and other reasons for its presence in Scripture,
have been alleged, and, no doubt, correctly. But the Bible is a very
human book, just because it is a divine one; and surely it would be no
unworthy object to enshrine in its pages a picture of the noble working
of that human love which makes so much of human life. The hallowing of
the family is a distinct purpose of the Old Testament, and the
beautiful example which this narrative gives of the elevating influence
of domestic affection entitles it to a place in the canon. How many
hearts, since Ruth spoke her vow, have found in it the words that
fitted their love best! How often they have been repeated by quivering
lips, and heard as music by loving ears! How solemn, and even awful, is
that perennial freshness of words which came hot and broken by tears,
from lips that have long ago mouldered into dust! What has made them
thus 'enduring for ever,' is that they express most purely the
self-sacrifice which is essential to all noble love. The very inmost
longing of love is to give itself away to the object beloved. It is not
so much a desire to acquire as to bestow, or, rather, the antithesis of
giving and receiving melts into one action which has a twofold
motion,--one outwards, to give; one inwards, to receive. To love is to
give one's self away, therefore all lesser givings are its food and
delight; and, when Ruth threw herself on Naomi's withered breast, and
sobbed out her passionate resolve, she was speaking the eternal
language of love, and claiming Naomi for her own, in the very act of
giving herself to Naomi, Human love should be the parent of all
self-sacrificing as of all heroic virtues; and in our homes we do not
live in love, as we ought, unless it leads us to the daily exercise of
self-suppression and surrender, which is not felt to be loss but the
natural expression of our love, which it would be a crime against it,
and a pain to ourselves, to withhold. If Ruth's temper lived in our
families, they would be true 'houses of God' and 'gates of heaven.'
We hear in Ruth's words also that forsaking of all things which is an
essential of all true religion. We have said that it was difficult to
separate, in the words, the effects of love to Naomi from those of
adoption of Naomi's faith. Apparently Ruth's adhesion to the worship of
Jehovah was originally due to her love for her mother-in-law. It is in
order to be one with her in all things that she says, 'Thy God shall be
my God.' And it was because Jehovah was Naomi's God that Ruth chose Him
for hers. But whatever the origin of her faith, it was genuine and
robust enough to bear the strain of casting Chemosh and the gods of
Moab behind her, and setting herself with full purpose of heart to seek
the Lord. Abandoning them was digging an impassable gulf between
herself and all her past, with its friendships, loves, and habits. She
is one of the first, and not the least noble, of the long series of
those who 'suffer the loss of all things, and count them but dung, that
they may win' God for their dearest treasure. We have seen how, in her,
human love wrought self-sacrifice. But it was not human love alone that
did it. The cord that drew her was twisted of two strands, and her love
to Naomi melted into her love of Naomi's God. Blessed they who are
drawn to the knowledge and love of the fountain of all love in heaven
by the sweetness of the characters of His representatives in their
homes, and who feel that they have learned to know God by seeing Him in
dear ones, whose tenderness has revealed His, and whose gracious words
have spoken of His grace! If Ruth teaches us that we must give up all,
in order truly to follow the Lord, the way by which she came to her
religion may teach us how great are the possibilities, and consequently
the duties, of Christians to the members of their own families. If we
had more elder women like Naomi, we should have more younger women like
Ruth.
The self-sacrifice which is possible and blessed, even to inferior
natures, at the bidding of love, is too precious to be squandered on
earthly objects. Men's capacities for it, at the call of dear ones
here, should be the rebuke of their grudging surrender to God. He gave
the capacity that it might find its true field of operation in our
relation to Him. But how much more ready we all are to give up
everything for the sake of our Naomis than for His sake: and how we may
be our own accusers, if the measure of our devotion to them be
contrasted with the measure of our devotion to God!
Finally, we may see, in Ruth's entrance into the religion of Israel, a
picture of what was intended to be the effect of Israel's relation with
the Gentile world.
The household of Elimelech emigrated to Moab in a famine, and, whether
that were right or wrong, they were there among heathens as Jehovah
worshippers. They were meant to be missionaries, and, in Ruth's case,
the purpose was fulfilled. She became the 'first-fruits of the
Gentiles'; and one aim of the book, no doubt, is to show how the
believing Gentile was to be incorporated into Israel. Boaz rejoices
over her, and especially over her conversion, and prays, 'A full reward
be given thee of Jehovah, the God of Israel, under whose wings thou art
come to trust.' She is married to him, and becomes the ancestress of
David, and, through him, of the Messiah. All this is a beautiful
completion to the other side of the picture which the fierce fighting
in Judges makes prominent, and teaches that Israel's relation to the
nations around was not to be one of mere antagonism, but that they had
another mission than destruction, and were set in their land, as the
candlestick in the Tabernacle, that light might stream out into the
darkness of the desert. The story of the Moabitess, whose blood flowed
in David's veins, was a standing protest against the later narrow
exclusiveness which called Gentiles 'dogs,' and prided itself on
outward connection with the nation, in the exact degree in which it
lost real union with the nation's God, and real understanding of the
nation's mission.
We have left ourselves no space to speak of the remainder of this
passage, which is of less importance. It gives us a lively picture of
the stir in the little town of Bethlehem, as the two way-worn women
came into it, in their strange attire, and attracting notice by
travelling alone. As we have observed, 'they said,' in verse 19, is
feminine. The women of the village buzzed round the strangers, as they
sat in silence, perhaps by that well at the gate, of which, long after,
David longed to drink. Wonder, curiosity, and possibly a spice of
malice, mingle in the question, 'Is _this_ Naomi?' It is heartless, at
any rate; it had been better to have found them food and shelter than
to have let them sit, the mark for sharp tongues. Naomi's bitter words
seem to be moved partly by a sense of the coldness of the reception.
She realises that she has indeed come back to a changed world, where
there will be little sympathy except such as Ruth can give. It is with
almost passion that she abjures her name 'Pleasant,' as a satire on her
woful lot, and bids them call her 'Bitter,' as truer to fact now. The
burst of sorrow is natural, as she finds herself again where she had
been a wife and mother, and 'remembers happier things.' Her faith
wavers, and her words almost reproach God. The exaggerations in which
memory is apt to indulge colour them. 'I went out full.' She has
forgotten that they 'went out' to seek for bread. She only remembers
that four went away, and three sleep in Moab. Possibly she thinks of
their emigration as a sin, and traces her dear ones' deaths to God's
displeasure on its account. His 'testifying' against her probably means
that His providence in bereaving her witnessed to His disapprobation.
But, whether that be so or not, her wild words are not those of a
patient sufferer, who bows to His will. But true faith may sometimes
break down, and Ruth's 'trusting under the wings of Jehovah' is proof
enough that, in the long years of lonely sorrow, Naomi's example had
shown how peaceful and safe was the shelter there.