Sermons

Next of Kin

John Wilkinson                                 Third Presbyterian Church  November 16, 2003               Ruth 1:1-18, Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17

Imagine a recent denominational meeting, held at a nice, innocuous, conference center, somewhere in the central time zone, a bit over air-conditioned but with a nice salad bar. After several hours of discussing denominational issues, which, believe me, is nearly as interesting as it sounds, we took a welcome break.

Then we did what I am sure all of you do when such breaks happen these days: we reached for our cell phones. You know the scene. Business people, lawyers, teachers, consultants. Calling back to wherever it is you would normally be. Did that meeting get set up? How is that delicate deal progressing? What do you mean that they said this, or that?

What struck me about this exercise this time around, however, was not the people on my end of the phone, but rather the places they were calling. Churches, mostly. Churches even like this one. Some a little smaller, some a little bigger. Some a little more conservative, perhaps a little more liberal. Some in different climates, who really seem befuddled by the weather we face in these parts and ask me about it relentlessly. Some that hold their worship services in Spanish or Korean, or with different styles altogether.

Communities, all of them, living, breathing organisms with real-life problems and real-life accomplishments, in many ways no different than the consulting firm or the law practice that others call back to during an all-too-brief meeting break.

Except for a couple of things, and they matter. Despite the all-too-familiar foibles of the institutional church these days, the nature of the institution, even this institution to which I am privileged to call back into, is different. Our primary end, as the old statement of faith says, is "to glorify God and enjoy God together."

That doesn't happen in every moment of every day. We have other, less glorious realities to face: leaky roofs, a copier that needs a new drum, a server that is down, health coverage for our employees. But even those problems, and their pursuit, channel into the vision of glorifying God and enjoying God forever.

Another way I like to say it is that the church, and only the church, seeks to find meaning and seeks to connect. In a broken and fearful world, we look for meaning, we seek together answers to life's largest questions, seek to make sense of a world that often defies sense-making. And we do so in community. That's a big difference as well. It is all so counter-cultural. The world in which we live seems so intent on dismissing the quest for meaning, replacing it with cynicism and fear. And community. Our culture works hard to keep us isolated, dis-connected. We know better.

Seeking God, in community, finding meaning through broadening our horizons, finding meaning through service to others, connecting by living beyond self and into community. That is who we are and what we have to offer. Thank God.

And so to grab a cell phone and to call back to a place with a vision like that is always interesting, always gratifying, but not always easy. Because we, all of us, all of us, are connected to one another in this place, it means that we are connected when tough things happen, bad things happen, sad things happen. People lose their jobs, and we are connected to their experience. People receive a tough diagnosis from the doctor, and we are connected to their experience. People become depressed, or addicted, and we are connected to their experience. People face death, and die, and we are connected to their experience.

Nearly a millennium before the life of Jesus, an extraordinary story emerged from the life of the Hebrew people. We have heard several chunks of it this morning: the book of Ruth. As stories go, it is about as good as it gets. As theology, it is even better.

There was a famine, and it forced a man, Elimelech and his wife, Naomi to move to a new place with their sons. Elimelech soon dies, and the boys marry in this new country. One boy marries a woman named Orpah and one a woman named Ruth. Soon, and without much literary detail, the sons die as well. Three widows. Naomi sets off for home - at least she knows people there. Orpah stays to be with her family. It is a fine choice, though filled with much weeping. Ruth chooses to stay with her mother-in-law, to go to what for her is a foreign country, a widow. That choice is also filled with lots of tears. It ultimately ends with a touching piece of biblical poetry: "where you go, I will go, where you lodge, I will lodge; your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die, I will die - there I will be buried."

We often read that passage at weddings, and rightly so. We often read it at funerals, and rightly so. The story continues, as you know. An interested gentleman, Boaz, enters the scene. He knows her story, and offers her food and protection - hospitality. An unlikely romance blossoms and blooms, leading to marriage and children and much rejoicing.

Two moments - two moments of faithfulness and loyalty and hospitality - in the face of death - are what define this story for me. Ruth clinging to Naomi when common sense and the custom of practice would dictate otherwise. Boaz offering Ruth food and protection, when religious convention and smart business practice would demand otherwise.

That is the church at its best, building community among strangers, making connection in the face of dis-connection, offering hospitality, sharing abundance in the face of scarcity.

The perceived scarcity is two-fold, and twice the response is abundance. We would look at Naomi and Orpah and Ruth and shake our heads and insist that they have nothing. What they have is each other. "Where you go, I will go." We would look at their economic situation and wonder how they would make ends meet, and Boaz provides a decent job in a safe place, and there are resources enough for all.

The story is not a preachy one, as biblical scholar Edward Campbell suggests. It is rather a story made true in its telling. People live out these truths. The Hebrew word is hesed, loving-kindness, steadfast love. The book of Ruth is not a discourse on this love, but rather a living of it, elusive yes, but attainable by all of us. (Anchor Bible Commentary, pages 28-31)

An obvious interpretation is to look in the mirror and aspire to be Ruth. Another is to look in the mirror and realize that we may be Naomi, the recipient of hardship after hardship. Her redemption is in many ways what the story seeks, and if God is overtly present at all in the story, and I believe that God IS present in the story, it is, as Edward Campbell suggests, in the shadows, exercising a light-touch providence that leads all of these characters into redemption.

It is that light providential touch that we seek, and we seek to exercise. It is present in community, even the church. Our task on a day like today, it would seem to me, is to live into that vision just a little bit more. It presents itself in strange and often elusive ways.

Perhaps you have heard of HIPPA. HIPPA is a new law that tightens the ways that information can be shared in medical settings. It is complex law, maybe even a good one, but what it means to us is that hospitals can't tell us anymore when you are in the hospital. So we've got to tell one another. And we've got to tell the church. You've got to tell the church. Every once in awhile we hear, "Oh, I didn't want top bother the church." It is not a bother. If you want to keep news to yourself, do so, by all means. We want to know not because we need to know, or that we want to invade your privacy, but because we, all of us, strive to live into the vision of community of Ruth and Naomi.

We are a big church, spread over many communities. Community does not happen automatically. We must work to make connection happen. That may mean introducing yourself to the person sitting next to you if you don't recognize them. Maybe they have been a church member for 50 years. Maybe you have. But you are brand new to each other, and the connection you make is vital and important and allows our sense of community to deepen.

We are an eminently human institution. We work hard to keep up with information. We are seeking to envision some new ways of connecting, of building community. NCNs. Fellowship groups. At the end of the day, though, the question is answered not by the cleverness of our technique, but by the abundance of our vision. The best resource we have is one another, people, God's people, gathered in unlikely community. And we have been given a story to share - "where you go, I will go" - and gifts to live into that vision, of connecting, of being with one another even in difficult moments. Job change. Parenting crisis. Health challenge. Cancer. Depression. Death.

We wonder how to respond, and there are no right answers, of course. Or, the answer is that God will provide the resources to respond. Our quest for eloquence of word should not be a stumbling bock to just doing the work of care and compassion. Send a card - funny or serious. Make a call. Whisper a prayer. Bake a casserole. Bake two casseroles. Be there, somehow, for someone else. Be the love of God to someone else. Read the Ruth story and realize that the opportunity to respond is met not with credential but rather with the simple human kindness, love, as eloquent and as powerful as we could imagine.
You are all generous in sharing stories and poems and book suggestions with me. I am grateful to receive e-mails and quotations and movie recommendations. Several thousand (!)of you have recommended The DaVinci Code to me and I am now working through it.

Here is one such shared e-mail. It is extraordinary only in that it is the story of many of us in the room this morning. It is our story. It is told by a nurse.

"It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am, when a gentleman, in his 80's, arrived to have sutures removed from his thumb. He stated that he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am. I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him.

I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound. On exam it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.

While taking care of his wound, we began to engage in conversation. I asked him if he had a doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.

I then inquired about her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was living with Alzheimer disease. As we talked, and I finished dressing his wound, I asked if she would be worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised, and asked him. 'And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?' He smiled as he patted my hand and said, 'She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is.'"

It would be too sentimental if it were not so true. "Where you go, I will go. Where you die, I will die." It is our story, a story of connection and community, of blessing and redemption, a story of wandering off to a far country, and a welcome home, a story of being people, real people, God's people, for and with one another. Thanks be to God for the abundance we discover in one another, and for the story we share. Amen.