“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?

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[1]     Taken from The Message version by Eugene Peterson

“What does he mean?” (John 16:16-24)

I wonder how many of you may have seen Martin Scorsese’s film Silence when it was showing earlier in the year. Sadly, it has received far too little attention and was a failure at the box office. Yet I believe it is one of the most profound films to have been released in years. I won’t tell you too much about it, except to say that it is based on a novel by Japanese Christian author Shusaku Endo.

The story takes place in the late 1600s, with two Jesuit missionaries, Fathers Rodrigues and Garupe journeying to Japan to try to find their former mentor and fellow priest, Father Ferreira, who is rumoured to have abandoned his faith in the heat of the vicious persecution unleashed against Christians. Suffice it to say, the film is gruelling to watch, as the situation becomes bleaker and bleaker for the two priests, not to mention the Japanese peasants and villagers who have embraced the Christian faith.

Here at First Congregational you have been making your way through what are almost Jesus’ final words, spoken to his disciples as they shared their last supper together in the upper room. I can’t help but think that, as in the film Silence, there must have been an overpowering, almost palpable, sense of foreboding, indeed of bewilderment, as Jesus donned a servant’s towel and washed the disciples’ feet, as he warned that there was one among them who would betray him, as sent Judas Iscariot off into the night, and not least as he used the bread and wine of Passover to speak of his own body being broken and his life’s blood being shed for them.

No wonder, then, that the evening was filled with confusion and questions: “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” “Lord, who among us would ever betray you?” “Lord, where are you going that we cannot follow?” “Lord, how can we know the way?” “Lord, why do you intend to show yourself to us and not to the world?” And now, in this morning’s passage, “What does he mean? We can’t make head or tail of what he’s saying.” (Notice that at this point the disciples’ confusion has reached the stage where they don’t even bother to address their questions to Jesus any longer, but to one another.)

So it is that into the midst of this gloom and confusion Jesus speaks once more: “In a little while you will see me no more…” “You will weep and mourn…” “You will grieve…” Hardly words to instill confidence and hope! Yet I believe that as we look into them, as we take time to examine them, we will find that they are words bursting with a richness that is scarcely possible to fathom. So let’s turn in our Bibles to John 16, verses 16 to 24.

The Wonder of the Cross

The passage begins with Jesus saying to his disciples, “In a little while you will see me no more…” As I’ve suggested already, these words must only have added to their confusion. Twenty centuries later we have the advantage of hindsight. It is clear to us that what Jesus was speaking to them about was his death on the cross. Within a few short hours Jesus would be forced away from them to be humiliated in a series of mock trials before the religious council and the secular authorities. He would be savagely beaten and then subjected to the cruellest form of execution the Roman Empire had managed to devise—the slow, painful process of hanging exposed on a cross gradually to asphyxiate to death. By the time it came to that, however, all but one would have left the scene. Both through the wicked actions of the authorities and through their own weakness, the time was swiftly coming when the disciples would indeed see Jesus no more.

In my mind’s eye I can picture them on that first Good Friday going back to the places where they were staying or possibly to the upper room, their bowed heads and stooped bodies bearing silent witness to the profound dismay and utter bewilderment that filled their hearts. “You will weep and mourn,” Jesus warned them. “You will grieve…”

Yet little did they know that as their hearts were being ripped apart, so too was the veil of the Temple, the thick curtain that separated the Holy of Holies—revered as the very dwelling place of God—from the rest of the Temple. So holy was this place that only the high priest could enter it, and he only once a year, on the Feast of the Atonement (Yom Kippur). He would have a rope tied around his waist, so that if he happened to die or become incapacitated while performing his duties he could be dragged out and nobody need enter to rescue him.

What happened that day on a physical level, dramatic as it was, was only a sign of what was also taking place on a cosmic level. Through his sacrificial death on the cross Jesus had breached the separation between God and humankind that had been a reality since the days in the Garden of Eden.

Centuries before, the prophet Isaiah had proclaimed, “Your iniquities have separated you from your God; your sins have hidden his face from you…” (Isaiah 59:2) Now, because of Jesus’ death on the cross, the church can proclaim, “Therefore, brothers and sisters, since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain…, let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings…” (Hebrews 10:19-22).

Clearly all of this was far beyond the grasp of the disciples. Indeed theologians today still ponder over it with amazement. American preacher Fleming Rutledge spent eighteen years working on her more than 600-page book The Crucifixion. New Testament scholar Tom Wright, who himself has just published a book on the crucifixion, has written, “I am under no illusions that, even if I were to write a thousand pages on the subject, I would never exhaust it.”[1] Surely in the end our response to Jesus’ death on the cross can only be one of amazement and praise. In the words of Isaac Watts,

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an offering far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

The Wonder of the Resurrection

However, back to the disciples in the upper room… Jesus had warned them that their hearts would be filled with sorrow. But he also promised that they would be filled with exultation. “In a little while you will see me no more, and then after a little while you will see me… You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy.” And so the scene shifts from Good Friday to the first Easter morning, from Calvary to Joseph of Arimathea’s garden. If those first disciples could not come to terms with Jesus’ crucifixion, how were they to handle his resurrection?

It was only with great difficulty and after considerable persuasion that they came to believe the reality of Jesus’ resurrection after it occurred. They dismissed the women’s reports of the empty tomb and the angels as old wives’ tales. When Jesus appeared before them in the upper room, they at first assumed he was an apparition. So no wonder Jesus’ words about their sorrow being turned to joy and about not seeing him and then seeing him only left them befuddled and confused! I know for certain that I would have been.

Yet within a few short weeks they would be proclaiming, “You … put [Jesus of Nazareth] to death by nailing him to the cross. But God raised him from the dead… Therefore let all Israel be assured of this: God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Messiah” (Acts 2:23-24,36). The resurrection points to Jesus as an individual utterly unique in the course of history. And that alone would have been enough to blow the disciples’ minds—or anyone’s mind for that matter. But dare I say that that is only the tip of the iceberg?

Look at what Paul writes in his famous chapter on the resurrection in 1 Corinthians 15: “But Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep” (1 Corinthians 15:20). You see, Easter was only the beginning. Because of Jesus’ resurrection we can look forward to that day when, as Paul again writes, “the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious liberty of the children of God” (Romans 8:21).

It’s Jesus’ resurrection that assures us that all the injustices, all the seemingly pointless suffering, the atrocities and the horrors that human beings are subject to will one day be gloriously, mysteriously redeemed. Climatologists warn us that human existence may come to an end when our pollution of the environment reaches the point where human life is no longer possible. Astronomers warn of a collision with a comet of the proportions of the one that wiped out the dinosaurs sixty-five million years ago. Still others see us all being sucked into the oblivion of a black hole. None of them is a pretty picture. But Jesus’ resurrection tells that there is more, that God has greater plans for his creation than we could ever imagine—in Paul’s words, “that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18).

Now that does not mean that we are not to seek justice, to minister to the downtrodden, or to care for the environment. Quite the opposite: Jesus’ resurrection calls us to be outposts of that new creation that is to come, to be glimpses, even if ever so weak and glimmering, of the light that is to be revealed.

The Wonder of Communion

If all of that were not enough, Jesus reveals a third point of wonder for the disciples. The first is the wonder of the crucifixion; the second, the wonder of the resurrection; and I was going to call the third the wonder of prayer. But on reflection I think it is better to call it the wonder of communion. Listen to Jesus’ final words in this morning’s verses:

Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy. In that day you will no longer ask me anything. Very truly I tell you, my Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete.

On the surface it almost seems like some magical formula—the kind of thing we read about in fairy tales: “Make a wish and all your dreams will come true.” Yet I suspect that all of us have had enough of an experience of prayer to know that that just isn’t the case. Nor is it what Jesus is speaking about here. For prayer, as we all know, is not some mechanical formula—put a loonie in the slot and down slides a candy bar. No, prayer is a conversation, and like all conversations it is an expression of a relationship.

When we begin to see it in this way, we also begin to recognize that asking something in Jesus’ name is not just a matter of tacking those words onto the end of a petition—“… in Jesus’ name. Amen”—as though that makes our prayer valid in a way that it wouldn’t be without them. No, it seems to me that to pray in Jesus’ name is to pray the prayer that Jesus himself would pray. And that in turn means that a significant element of prayer is seeking his will. It means coming to him and allowing him to come alongside us, and to be with him in the Garden of Gethsemane as the disciples soon would be, where they would hear him utter, “Father, not my will, but yours, be done.”

In that gift of prayer, that gift of communion, of being able to come into his presence, of knowing that he is with us even when we are not conscious of it, Jesus has given us something again that we will never fathom, never understand, yet to those of us who have entered into its mysteries, a gift more precious than words could ever express.

The disciples asked, “What does he mean?” And like them, our minds will never fully grasp the mysteries into which our faith in Jesus leads us. But more importantly he who has died for us, who is the first-born from the dead, and who is ever-present with us—he has grasped us, and he will never let us go.

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[1]     “The Cross and the Caricatures”, Fulcrum, Eastertide 2007, https://www.fulcrum-anglican.org.uk/articles/the-cross-and-the-caricatures/