Occasional Sermons

We have all had our ups and downs, but our downs, it is safe to say, have been nothing compared to the downs of Naomi from our Old Testament lesson. Her downs were so severe, so sustained, and so numerous that they are nearly impossible even to image. A famine struck her homeland of Judah. She, along with her husband and two sons came to know hunger, and shortly thereafter came to face the prospect of starvation. Facing this dire prospect, they became refugees, and like the countless millions of today’s refugees, were forced to leave it all behind – their vocations, their homes, their possessions, their neighbors, their friends, and the political security that citizenship often affords. They made their way to the nearest country outside the scope of the famine, which happened to be Moab. The Moabites, unfortunately, were the sworn enemies of the people of Judah. And so they were surrounded by people who ostracized and stigmatized them. They lived under scorn and hostility -- precariously at the whims of their enemies. And this was but the beginning of Naomi’s downs, the tip of the ice burg. As the famine in their homeland raged on, her sons grew to marrying age. They were somehow able to take as their wives two Moabite women. Here at last was some small progress. The family grew bigger and stronger, and the Moabite wives could help them to negotiate being strangers in a strange land. But then, in short order and out of the blue, Naomi's husband died, and soon after that both of her sons. Naomi thought she had known loss prior to this, but here now was loss. Anyone who has experienced loss can perhaps glean in some small way what Naomi experienced. Loss is such a strange thing. Viewed from the outside, it would seem that loss is simply about the loss of a loved one - that person’s death, that person's absence from your life, and end of that person's hopes and dreams. And this would surely be enough to constitute loss -- more than enough in fact. But there are so many unforeseen ramifications of loss. You don’t see them coming until they arrive. There is the realization that any semblance of permanence in life is an illusion. We may have long runs of security and happiness, but they aren’t permanent. Loss forces you to learn that what is permanent is not life. What is permanent is death. Then there is regret. There is the irreversible fact that you lived too much for yourself, not enough for the one you lost. There is the irreversible fact that you should have given him or her more time, more affirmation, more appreciation, more understanding. There is the irreversible fact that you should not have left so many things unsaid. But it's too late now. Then there is something else, another ramification. This one is hard to describe. It’s goes to the fact that the person that you have lost is a person that you have cared for, and you will never care for that person again. Sometimes we erroneously think that caring for someone is a heavy burden or onerous responsibility. Best to have no strings. Best to be footloose and fancy free. But this, as I said, is erroneous thinking. This the sure path to emptiness and loneliness. No, if you think about it, we are who we care for. It gives us our identity. It gives us our standing. It gives us our purpose, our mooring, our very reason to be. It is, in fact, our most cherished role. When we suffer loss, we suffer the loss of all this. A woman I know who suffered loss recently told me she now felt like a nobody. This is because it was caring for someone that made her feel like a somebody. I have accompanied many people though grief. And if one facet of grief does them in, breaks their heart beyond healing, it is this. It is losing the one they care for. This then was the lowest of the lows for Naomi. She lost husband and her children. She lost her entire family. She had no one to care for. She was forced to drink from the cup of sorrow right down to the dregs. Famine. Forced migration. They were nothing compared to this. This is why we blithely say, "Nothing matters, so long as we have each other." It's because it's true. Yes, we all have our ups and downs, but our downs can't hold a candle to Naomi's. The famine finally lifted in Judah, and Naomi, desolate, made her way home. As she set out, she sent Ruth and Orpah, her Moabite daughter-in-laws, back to their families of origin. They were young. They could start again. Youth is resilient. But for Naomi, it was over. But not quite over. It was not quite over because of Ruth. Ruth has got to be one of the greatest figures in the entire Bible, in all of history really. She is such an astounding woman. Because of Ruth it was not quite over. Yes, Ruth had known loss of her own -- her husband, her brother-in-law, her father-in-law. But Ruth, unlike Naomi, realized she still had someone to care for. She had Naomi. She had someone to give her her identity, her standing, her purpose, her mooring, her very reason to be. She had that most cherished role. It was due to this realization that Ruth refused to leave Naomi. She refused to return to her family of origin. And Ruth was proved right. Together they returned to Judah. Ruth set up a humble household and found a way to provide for Naomi by gleaning in a nearby field at harvest time. They established a homely routine, not wholly unlike our own -- Ruth laboring by day, returning in the evening and sharing news of the day over their evening meal. And as Naomi's grief and despair eased just a scintilla, she too realized it. She too realized that she had someone to care for. She had Ruth. And like a good Jewish mother, Naomi set about to find Ruth a husband. In their mutual caring, the seeds of healing took root and grew. The book of Ruth yields many truths, one deeper than the next. But today it yields this truth -- that caring for someone, or something for that matter, is one of our most important needs. Being deprived of caring for someone or something is one of our greatest losses. We can't find fulfillment unless we have someone or something to care for, and in caring for someone or something, we find our greatest fulfillment. This is how God created us. This is what God has ordained for us. We are made to care. He is a God of love after all. Today is Stewardship Sunday, and so it bears recalling that God created and ordained us to care, that we are made to care. We are made to care for the world that God created, but more than this. We are made to care for that world that God has created and redeemed through his son Jesus Christ. This means that our caring is dedicated to the God of Jesus Christ - predicated upon his his righteousness, his justice, his mercy, and his love. And place we are formed for this holy caring is the church. That is why we are committed to care for the church - that we may ever be God's caregivers. Amen.