Showing posts with label Bethlehem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bethlehem. Show all posts

10 June 2025

“She lay at his feet” (Ruth 3:1-11)

 

When you think of a romance story what comes to your mind? For the more literary types among us it might be Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet or Charlotte Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. For others of us perhaps it could be something more like one of the many dozens of novels of Danielle Steele. Or if you want to go all the way, there is Canada’s contribution to the genre, the epic Harlequin novels, whose output surpasses well over 100,000,000 copies every year under more than a thousand titles.

Yet, when it comes down to it, I don’t believe there is anything that can surpass the little story that we began to look at four Sundays ago—the Book of Ruth. The great German poet and playwright Goethe praised it as “the loveliest complete work on a small scale”. Rudolf Alexander Schröder, a five-time nominee for the Nobel Prize in Literature, declared, “No poet in the world has written a more beautiful short story.”

In the original Hebrew it comprises barely two thousand words—not that much longer than a good-sized high school essay. Yet even across an expanse of well over three thousand years after the events it portrays, it continues to speak to our hearts and to hold a beauty and an attractiveness that are impossible to surpass.

Now I’m not sure that Pastor Marvin intentionally timed it this way, but this evening at sundown will mark the beginning of the three-day Jewish festival of Shavuot. Shavuot is Hebrew for “weeks” and it gets its name because it comes seven weeks (that is, a week of weeks) after Passover. It coincides with the celebration accompanying the annual wheat and barley harvest—and it goes all the way back to the days of Moses. In the book of Exodus we read:

You shall observe the Feast of Weeks, the first fruits of wheat harvest… The best of the first fruits of your ground you shall bring into the house of the Lord your God. (Exodus 34:22; 23:19)

So it is that the events we are reading about this morning from the Book of Ruth occurred at exactly this time of the year. And in Jewish homes and synagogues around the world this very evening people will be gathering to read the Book of Ruth. But that’s enough of an introduction to this morning’s passage. Let’s turn to chapter 3 of Ruth and see what the Holy Spirit has there to teach us…

Lying at Boaz’s feet

It has been a long day in Boaz’ fields. The temperatures in that part of the world at this time of year can easily climb into the low thirties on the Celsius scale. So picture Boaz and his farmhands at the end of the day—their faces red from the heat and running with beads of sweat, their backs and muscles aching. And now, having enjoyed a hearty meal, their stomachs would have been full—and I can imagine they may all have been feeling a little heady from the wine. So it could hardly have taken them long to fall into a deep and well-deserved sleep.

All of this would no doubt have been in Naomi’s mind when she pulled aside her daughter-in-law Ruth. Naomi had a plan. She had mapped it out carefully and worked out every detail. “Wash and anoint yourself with perfume. Get all dressed up in your finest clothes and go down to the threshing floor. But don’t let him know you’re there until the party is well under way and he’s had plenty to eat and drink. When the man lies down and falls asleep, keep an eye out for where he is resting. Then go and uncover his feet and lie down…”[1]

Now at this point you may be asking yourself, what was that all about? What was going through Naomi’s mind when she gave Ruth those instructions? And what was the point of bending down to uncover Boaz’s feet?

If we look through the Old Testament, we will find that this is not the only place where something not all that different from this takes place. Many years later, for example, in the days of the kings there was a Shunammite woman whose son the prophet Elisha had miraculously brought back from death. When she entered her son’s room and set her eyes on him—no longer dead but very much alive—she bowed down to the ground and fell at Elisha’s feet. (2 Kings 4:32-37)

Then when we turn to the Psalms, we read how

The Lord, the Most High, is to be feared,
  a great king over all the earth.
He subdued peoples under us,
    and nations under our feet. (Psalm 47:2-3)

To place ourselves at the feet of another person is an act of respect and submission. It is to acknowledge the power, the authority, of that individual. Feet are dirty, particularly if you’re wearing sandals and working the soil. So for Ruth to lie at Boaz’s feet was a powerful symbolic act that she was humbling herself in his presence, placing herself under his authority, giving herself over to him.

Now remember that before she lay down Ruth had carefully uncovered Boaz’s feet. And just as it can become quite hot during the day, the temperature under the starlit sky can go down by fifteen or more degrees—with the result that Boaz was likely to have felt his feet becoming a little chilly in the early morning pre-dawn hours and woken up. And when he looked up, there to his surprise was that same young woman whom he had spotted gleaning in his fields. “Who are you?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “I am Ruth, your servant…,” came the reply.

Falling at Jesus’ feet

Now I’m going to leave the story of Ruth there. And let’s fast forward ahead nearly twelve centuries, to the time of Jesus. We are by the Sea of Galilee and Jesus is being followed by a large crowd. Suddenly out of nowhere one of the prominent leaders of the local synagogue rushes up to him and falls at his feet. It is an act of desperation. His little girl is at the point of death and he has nowhere else to turn (Luke 8:41).

On another occasion Jesus is in Gentile territory in an attempt to take a break and get away from things. Yet even there his fame follows him and a Greek woman, whose daughter is demon possessed, finds out about him and falls at his feet, begging him to free her from her affliction. (Mark 7:24-26)

Now we move south to Bethany, just fourteen kilometers from the fields where Boaz in a former time had raised his crops and where Ruth had lain at his feet. This time we are not in a farmer’s field, but in the home of a well-to-do Pharisee, where he has invited Jesus to dinner. There they were, reclining around the low table and enjoying the food, when out of nowhere there appears a woman who was known (perhaps embarrassingly to some of those who were present) to have something of a less-than-honourable reputation.

Silently weeping, she comes up from behind, kneels down and begins to wipe Jesus’ feet with her tears, to kiss them, and to rub perfume on them with her hair. I can only imagine that the people around the room tried to look aside with silent gasps, as nobody could think of words to say. When someone finally did speak, it was with harsh criticism. But Jesus recognized that what she had done was a profound act of devotion. (Luke 7:36-38)

Again in Bethany we are at the home of the two sisters Mary and Martha. While Martha is busying herself over pots and pans in the kitchen, Mary is at Jesus’ feet drinking in all that he has to say. Finally Martha gets fed up to the point that she complains. But Jesus replies, “Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” (Luke 10:38-42)

Now I cite all of these incidents because they are not isolated. In each case the people involved were recognizing Jesus’ divine power and authority. And they anticipate the day when we will do the same, when with them and with all creation you and I will bend our knees before the throne of the Lamb. And together we will cry aloud,

To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
be praise and honour and glory and power,
for ever and ever! (Revelation 5:13)

Jesus washes the disciples’ feet

It is a glorious picture. And if we were to end here, we would certainly be leaving on a high note. Yet if we are to gain a fully biblical perspective, if we want to truly find the mind of Christ in all of this, there is one more incident that we dare not overlook. This time we are in the upper room where Jesus is about to share in his last meal with his followers.

As the scene opens, the gospel gives us a glimpse into what was going on in Jesus’ mind. John writes, “Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper…” And then, what did he do? John tells us, “He laid aside his outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it round his waist. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him.” (John 13:3-4)

At this point we might think to ourselves, shouldn’t it have been the disciples who bent down before Jesus’ feet? But no, it was Jesus who knelt before them and washed their feet. Now Peter recognized the craziness of this and objected loudly. “No, you shall never wash my feet!” But Jesus had his way and Peter and the other disciples learned a lesson that would remain with them for the rest of their lives.

So what are we to learn from all of this?

My thoughts go back many years ago to when I was pastor of a church in Montreal. Each year our local seminary would send a student to spend time in the church and to gain some practical experience of pastoral ministry.

Now there was a retired bishop who lived in the seminary at the time. He was a deeply godly man who would be up every morning well before sunrise to take time with the Lord in Bible reading, worship and prayer. And he had the look and sound of a bishop too, with his white hair and sonorous, resonant voice. One day he invited my student to join with him in a ministry he had, visiting patients in the local chest hospital. They came to one man whose illness was so serious he had to be on breathing assistance and was unable to do anything for himself. The bishop, who always wore his clerical collar and bishop’s purple shirt with his large pectoral cross draped over it, asked if there was anything he could do for him. My student expected that the man might ask for prayer or perhaps a Bible reading. But he was caught by surprise when the man answered, “Yes, would you give me a shave?”

Without a moment’s hesitation the good bishop went off and found a razor, some shaving soap and a basin, filled it with warm water and gave the man his shave. It was a lesson in humble service that my student would never forget (and obviously neither have I!).

You call me Teacher and Lord,” said Jesus, “and you are right, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant[ is not greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.” (John 13:13-17)

As Ruth lay at the feet of Boaz, so our Lord Jesus—the one before whom every knee will one day bow—this same Jesus calls you and me to walk that same path of humility and servanthood, “just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve.” (Matthew 20:28) Are you ready for the adventure?



[1]     Taken from The Message version by Eugene Peterson

26 December 2023

“What’s In a Name?” (Matthew 1:18-25)

 If you were expecting a baby—and you knew it was going to be a boy—what do you think you would name him? Well, in Canada apparently the most popular name for boys right now is Noah, followed closely by Liam and William. (And for the record, the top three girls’ names are Olivia, Emma and Charlotte.)

“You are to name him Jesus”

In our Bible reading this evening, however, Joseph wasn’t given the luxury of a choice when it came to naming the baby to whom Mary was to give birth. Can you imagine him saying back to the angel, “No, we’ve done some thinking, and we’ve decided we’re going to name him Liam…”? It wasn’t going to happen!

And so, over the next few minutes, as we stand on the cusp between Advent and Christmas, I invite you to join with me as I meditate on the name that Joseph and Mary gave to the baby who was to be born to them: Jesus.

Now that name Jesus has a noble lineage. I’m sure many of you are aware that in the Hebrew spoken by Joseph and Mary it would have been Yeshua. Perhaps we are familiar with it as the biblical name Joshua. And Joshua was one of the greatest heroes of the Old Testament. It was he who as the successor to Moses led the people of Israel into the Promised Land. And his name, “Joshua” in turn means something like “The Lord saves” or “The Lord is salvation”.

Today the name Jesus comes in as something like number 2003 on the list of babies’ names here in Canada. However, in first-century Israel Jesus was not an altogether uncommon name. Indeed, we meet with two other Jesuses in the New Testament. There was “Jesus called Justus”, a companion of the Apostle Paul, whom he mentions in his letter to the Colossians. And there was Jesus Barabbas, the criminal who was released by Pontius Pilate when the crowd clamoured to have him set free.

We don’t know how or why those two were given that particular name. But we do know why Jesus was given it: because, in the words of the angel, he would save his people from their sins.

Now I can’t imagine that either Mary or Joseph can have had any precise understanding of what the angel meant by that. But they would have been in no uncertainty that the child who was in Mary’s womb was special—and that he would play a unique and all-important role in God’s dealings with his people.

Forty days after the baby’s birth, when they came to the Temple for Mary’s ritual purification, it was the devout Simeon who would give them an inkling of what was to come. After blessing them, it was Simeon who told Mary, “This child is appointed for the falling and rising of many… and to be a sign that will be spoken against, and a sword will pierce through your own soul also…” (Luke 2:34-35) Ominous words—and no doubt among those that Mary would ponder in her heart over the years to come.

“Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews”

Looking back, it is clear that Simeon’s words of prophecy pointed directly to a grief that years later would tear deep into Mary’s soul. Indeed his prophecy would be fulfilled just a short distance from where he had spoken it. No doubt Mary could see the Temple rising above the city on the horizon, as she helplessly watched her son, bruised and bloodied, being hoisted up on a cross. And it is there that we encounter the name of Jesus again—not from the lips of an angel this time, but displayed prominently on the crass sign that Pontius Pilate ordered to be fastened above his head: “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews”.

Of course Pilate intended it as a form of twisted humour, a mockery not only of Jesus but also of a people Pilate himself openly despised. And the religious authorities got the message. They recognized it as the insult, the blasphemy that Pilate intended it to be. And they demanded that the sign be amended, so that it no longer read “The King of the Jews”, but “This man claimed to be king of the Jews”. However, Pilate was in no mood to change his mind and the wording stood: “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews”.

This time it is not shepherds who gather to look on in wondering awe and humble adoration. It is ghoulish spectators who have come to look on as a man’s life painfully slips away from him. And it is not an angels’ chorus that we hear, singing, “Glory to God in the highest…” It is the voice of mockers sniggering among themselves, “He saved others, but he cannot save himself. Let the Christ, the King of Israel, come down now from the cross that we may see and believe.”

Yet not many days would pass before there were those who came to see what had happened that day in a whole different light. The sign of humiliation and shame would become for them the symbol of victory and salvation, so that less than a generation later Paul, a former persecutor of the church, could write, “Far be it for me to boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Galatians 6:14) Jesus, the child in the manger. Jesus, the crucified Saviour.

“At the name of Jesus every knee shall bow”

It was looking back on the crucifixion that the same Paul could write these words:

Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in
the form of God,
did not count equality with God
a thing to be grasped,
but made himself nothing,
taking the form of a
servant,
being born in human likeness.

And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
by
becoming obedient to the point of death,
even death on a cross.
Therefore
God has highly exalted him
and bestowed on him
the name that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father. (Philippians 2:5-11)

“You shall give him the name Jesus…” The shepherds were overcome with fear. The wise men bowed in reverence. Faithful believers have trusted and worshipped and proclaimed him for nearly two thousand years. And the day is surely coming when you and I and all who have put their trust in him will gather around his glorious throne. And there we will bow before him to sing with all creation,

Worthy are you …
for you were slain,
and by your blood
you ransomed people for God
    from every tribe and language and people and nation,
and you have made them a kingdom and priests to our God,
    and they shall reign on the earth.

Worthy is the Lamb who was slain,
to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might
and honour and glory and blessing!

To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
be blessing and honour and glory and might for ever and ever!
(Revelation 5:9,10,12,13)

We have Jesus’ promise that, as he came once as a helpless baby to Bethlehem, so he will come again as King and Lord of all to claim every last particle of creation as his own. His promise is there for us in the final verses of the Bible: “Surely I am coming soon.” And in wondering awe and humble reverence, together with believers from every people, language and nation, we reply, “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!” (Revelation 22:20) Let’s say it together: “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!”

The grace of the Lord Jesus be with you all! Amen.


06 January 2019

“The Dark Side of Christmas” (Matthew 2:1-18)


 It’s going back quite a few years now, but I suspect there are some in the congregation who can recall the film My Big Fat Greek Wedding. One of its more memorable characters is Gus Portokalos, the father of the bride. At one point in the story Gus makes the claim, “Give me any word, any word, and I show you how the root of that word is Greek.” “OK,” someone pipes up from the back of the car, “how about the word ‘kimono’?” “Kimono, kimono, kimono,” Gus mutters to himself. You begin to wonder if he hasn’t been stumped. Then he triumphantly shouts, “Ha! Of course! Kimono is come from the Greek word cheimónos, is mean winter. So, what do you wear in the wintertime to stay warm? A robe! You see: robe, kimono. There you go!”

Well, perhaps unbeknownst to many of us, today we enter the season of Epiphany—and unlike “kimono”, “epiphany” really is a Greek word. It has to do with showing forth or making an appearance. By and large the only time we hear the word nowadays is on those rare occasions when someone might say, “I just had an epiphany,”—by which we might understand they had something like an “Aha!” moment, a flash of insight when suddenly something became clear.

That actually comes pretty close to the meaning of the church’s season of Epiphany. It begins with today’s reading about the journey of the wise men and how Jesus was made known to people from outside the Jewish nation for the first time. It will continue next Sunday with the account of Jesus’ baptism and of God the Father’s pronouncement that Jesus was his beloved Son. And so it continues, until we come to the mount of the transfiguration, where Jesus is revealed to Peter, James and John in all his heavenly splendour.

Yet to observe the season of Epiphany in that way is really to recount only half the story. Running side by side with the account of Jesus’ glory there is another narrative: the context of the dark world into which that light shone. If we take a moment to examine them closely, we find that surrounding those charming scenes on our Christmas cards of angels and shepherds and the wise men presenting their gifts there was a sinister world of hardship, shame and squalour.

The Darkness of Bethlehem


Those of us who watched the “Walking the Road to Bethlehem” video series during Advent were given a different perspective on the events surrounding Jesus’ coming. Let’s begin with Mary and Joseph. Nazareth, where they lived, was a village of fewer than five hundred people and news of Mary’s premarital pregnancy would have spread like wildfire. Although they had both been visited by angels, there was no one in Nazareth who would have believed that Mary was a virgin. In the eyes of the townsfolk her condition would have been a scandal, the subject of endless rumour and chitchat, bringing shame to her and embarrassment to Joseph.

And months later, when they came to Bethlehem, what about the manger where Jesus was laid? It is easy to forget that what we are talking about is a feeding trough for animals. It could not have been the least bit sanitary. Yet it was the only thing available. I wonder what was going through Mary’s mind as she laid her tiny baby down in it. Did she and Joseph have to shoo the animals away as they came in search of food?

Then there were the shepherds. They were not clean-cut farm boys, as we might like to imagine. Rather, as Adam Hamilton pointed out,

They were typically uneducated, usually poor, and, since they lived among animals in the elements, sometimes smelled of dirty sheep… Shepherds were tolerated but not always esteemed by their neighbours.[1]

In fact, Hamilton was being kind. First-century rabbis classed shepherds with thieves and cheats. Their roving life gave them the opportunity to steal from the flocks and they were known to take advantage of it. They had what one commentator has described as an “unfortunate habit of confusing ‘mine’ with ‘thine’ ”.[2] For that reason, to buy milk, wool or kids from a shepherd was forbidden, because more than likely you would be receiving stolen goods.[3]

This morning we read of the visit of the magi. Behind that story there lies the evil shadow of King Herod, sitting on his throne in Jerusalem, less than ten kilometers away. History records Herod as an insanely jealous, paranoid, ambitious and despotic ruler. He maintained a personal bodyguard of two thousand soldiers and employed secret police to keep a watchful eye on the common people. He banned anything that smacked of opposition and would have it put down by brute force. His insatiable thirst for power led him to a series of ruthless acts, including the execution of his wife, his brother-in-law (who also happened to be the high priest), three of his sons, three hundred military leaders, and many others.

So it is that this morning’s reading concludes with a horrific act of violence. It is a scene not depicted on any Christmas cards that I know of. It is not re-enacted in children’s Christmas pageants. Yet it is part of the real world into which Jesus was born. And as a result Mary and Joseph are forced to take another journey, this time to flee with their infant child as refugees to Egypt.

Thus before he reaches the age of two, we find Jesus already the subject of rumour and innuendo, homeless, in the company of the lowest of the low, threatened, persecuted, and a refugee. As we follow the gospel story, we find him hungry, thirsty, tempted, caught in a violent storm at sea, grieving over the death of a friend, in such intensity of anguish that his sweat becomes like drops of blood falling to the ground… So it is that the author of the Letter to the Hebrews can claim that in Jesus, We don’t have a priest who is out of touch with our reality. He’s been through weakness and testing, experienced it all” (Hebrews 4:15, The Message). “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.”

Darkness Today


The apostle Paul summarizes it in his famous hymn in Philippians, chapter 2:

Although in very nature God,
     he did not consider equality with God something to grasp;
rather, he emptied himself
     by taking the very nature of a slave,
     being made in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
     he humbled himself
     by becoming obedient to the point of death—
              and nothing less than death on a cross!

Jesus knows what it is to be poor, oppressed, homeless, a refugee… And so he stands beside such people; he stands beside you and me today. He is with us, not just for the good times, but in our moments of weakness and need, in our moments of doubt and sorrow, in our moments of anguish and grief. As we pondered in the sermon a couple of weeks ago, Jesus is Immanuel—God with us.

In the church where last served I had my eyes opened to what that means in extreme terms. One Christmas Eve we had the privilege of being “invaded” by the first of what became more than a hundred refugees. They were Karen people from Burma and they are among the most persecuted minorities in the world.

This past Friday Burma marked the seventy-first anniversary of its independence as a nation. Not one of those years has passed when the Karen people, along with other ethnic minorities, they have not been hunted, tortured, forced out of their homes and villages, and slaughtered by the Burmese army. They have been subjected to bombings, sniper shots, machine gun fire, torture, germ warfare and chemical attacks.[4]  Some of my parishioners had seen their relatives shot down in front of them. Others bore machete scars and bullet wounds. Still others had found escape only by risking their lives to walk through minefields. And when they reached the supposed safety of refugee camps in neighbouring Thailand, the Burmese army continued to shell them.

Yet through all of this they never lost their love for Jesus—and, more importantly, their confidence in Jesus’ love for them, Jesus’ presence with them. To hear them sing some of the old favourite hymns like “Take my life and let it be” or “O Jesus, I have promised to serve thee to the end”, and to see them come humbly and faithfully to the Lord’s table, for me was a deeply moving experience. They had known what it was for Jesus to dwell with them in the darkness.

Never Alone


It’s my sincere hope that 2019 will be a year of blessing for all of us. Yet inevitably there will be times of darkness. My prayer is that, as Jesus stepped into the darkness of Bethlehem twenty centuries and more ago, so you may know his presence with you both in the good times and in those moments when darkness seems to be closing in your life.

So allow me to conclude with a story:

At the end of time, billions of people were scattered on a great plain before God’s throne. Most shrank back from the brilliant light before them. But some groups near the front talked heatedly—not with cringing shame but with belligerence.

“Can God judge us? How can God know about suffering?” snapped a pert young brunette. She ripped open a sleeve to reveal a tattooed number from a Nazi concentration camp. “We endured terror, beatings, torture, death!” In another group a man lowered his collar. “What about this?” he demanded, showing an ugly rope burn. “Lynched for no crime but being black! We have suffocated in slave ships, been wrenched from loved ones, toiled till only death gave release.”

Far out across the plain were hundreds of such groups. Each had a complaint against God for the evil and suffering he permitted in his world. How lucky God was to live in heaven where all was sweetness and light, where there was no weeping or fear, no hunger or hatred. What did God know of all that people had been forced to endure in this world? “God leads a pretty sheltered life,” they said. 



So each of these groups sent forth their leader, chosen because he or she had suffered the most. A Jew, a slave, an untouchable from India, a 
person from Hiroshima, a prisoner from a Siberian gulag, a horribly deformed arthritic, a thalidomide child. In the centre of the plain they consulted with each other. At last they were ready to present their case. It was rather simple: before God could be qualified to be their judge, he must endure what they had endured. Their verdict was that God should be sentenced to live on earth—as a human being!

“Let him be born a Jew. Let the legitimacy of his birth be doubted. Let him champion a cause so just, but so radical, that it brings down upon him the hate, condemnation and efforts of every major traditional and established religious authority to eliminate him. Let him try to describe 
what no-one has ever seen, felt, tasted, heard, or smelled: let him try to communicate God to human beings. At the last, let him see what it means to be terribly alone. Let him be betrayed by his closest friends. Let him be indicted on false charges, tried before a prejudiced jury and convicted by a cowardly judge. Let him be tortured and let him die! Let him die the most humiliating death—with common thieves.”

As each leader announced a portion of the sentence, loud murmurs of
 approval went up from the assembled throng. When the last had finished pronouncing sentence, there was a long silence. No one uttered another word. No one moved. Suddenly all knew that God had already served his sentence.[5]




[1]     Adam Hamilton, The Journey, 113
[2]     Leon Morris, The Gospel According to St Luke, 84
[3]     Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, 902
[4]    See Andrew Boyd, Baroness Cox, A Voice for the Voiceless, 215-257
[5]     Author unknown