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"Devotion" by Sandra Herrmann
Devotion
by Sandra Herrmann
Ruth 1:1-18
The soil was dry, and fine as dust. Elimelech stood up and looked to the west. Not a cloud in the sky. Nor had there been for a year. He was used to this in the summer. But the equinox had passed, and still there was no rain. There was nothing to eat in his house, and his flocks were thin, too thin to think of making a meal on them. They had cheese, but soon even their tiny bit of barley and oil would be used for a last meal. His shoulders sagged. He had only two sons at home now, but they needed more than bread and cheese.
He stood, and his despair turned to determination. He strode back to the one room house and washed his feet at the door. “Naomi! Mahlon! Chilion!”
“Yes, Father!” That was Mahlon, always strong-willed, but also eager to win his father’s approval. He came around the corner of the house, carrying his sling, ready to stone the first rabbit that might cross his path. “What do you need from me?”
Elimelech looked at his son with pride. Always hopeful, this one. Not what you would expect from a child as sickly as he had been. It had been touch-and-go with him as a baby, one earache after another, when he would scream with the pain. They had had to watch the doctor use a tiny needle and stick it in his ear, letting loose the pus behind the eardrum, while Mahlon shrieked in pain. It had been only the first time he needed to have that ear drained, only the first of many sicknesses for this boy.
“Where is your brother?”
“Down at the well. The goats were getting dry. As is the well,” he added grumpily. “What are we going to do?”
“I’ll tell you: we’re going to leave this God-forsaken land and go east. Moab often has rains that pass over us.”
“Moab!? You can’t trust a Moabite! They’ll steal everything we have.”
“So no problem,” his father said wryly, “since we have nothing left for anyone to steal.” They hadn’t a coin to spare, so when one of the boys tore a hem on brambles, retrieving a kid, Naomi’s slave had to mend it. If a pot slipped and fell to the floor, they had to make do with what was left. Naomi had had to start taking her dowry coins off her headdress many months before, one at a time, to pay the doctor, to buy hay for their few remaining lambs, to patch a hole in the roof. She had only the coins that graced her forehead left, and Elimelech refused her permission to buy anything more from that source. They had finally sold their slave to Naomi’s brother, with many tears between the women.
Chilion came to his father just as Elimelech had finished these thoughts. He shook off the memory and asked, “How are the goats now?”
“Watered,” Chilion replied. “But they keep trying to eat the hay for the sheep. We’re going to have to watch them, or they’ll bloat.”
“Never mind. They’ll have enough browse in another two days. We’re leaving for Moab. Get your things packed, both of you, so we can leave tomorrow.”
The boys exchanged a glance. They both knew better than to question his authority, or even his plans, when he was in this sort of mood.
“I don’t have much worth taking, Father. I’ll go help Mother first.” With that, Chilion went inside. He was such a lovely boy, Elimelech thought. They had named him “Restrained” because even as a baby he was so quiet. He never complained, never laughed loudly, seemed to be always somewhere else in his mind. But he never tried to shirk off his work, and Elimelech knew he could count on him. With that thought, Elimelech began gathering his tools and binding them in leather sacks, tying them with twine and laying them out of sight so no one would try to steal them before his family could be gone.
They left on schedule, the few goods they still had lashed to their donkeys. They walked as far as they could each day, and watched as the earth around them became greener. They began to feel hopeful at this, and by the time they reached Moab, they were looking forward to settling there. It’s never easy, being an immigrant: they had new customs to learn, a new language to speak (though the language was similar enough to that spoken in Bethlehem that they were able to make themselves understood in a few days), find a piece of land they could afford (with two of the coins Elimelech had sworn Naomi would never take from her headdress) and establish themselves as good neighbors. Nine years flew by. The flocks were fat, they had enough to ear, even enough to buy brides for both of their sons, brides Naomi approved of and even liked.
And then one day Elimelech could not rise from his bed. His limbs were weak, shaky, and he was bathed in sweat. Naomi did what she could, but it was not enough. When the doctor came, he shook his head. “This fever will not die without taking your husband with it. I’m sorry, but I cannot take more of your money when it will do no good.”
Elimelech died two days later.
Naomi truly mourned Elimelech’s death. He had been a good man, and she had depended on him. She knew she was too old to find a husband, and her husband had had no brothers to take her in. She sat in the yard and cried daily until her tears dried up. If it had not been for her two daughters-in-law, she would have given up and died. But day by day Orpah and Ruth had made her broth with pieces of meat and lentils in it, and she had gradually recovered her ability to face each day.
It was a year almost to the day later that her two sons were working on the roof of a neighbor’s house when it fell out from under them, and they crashed to the floor of the house. Mahlon was dead when they arrived, and Chilion two days later. Naomi was stunned, as were her two daughters-in-law. They buried the sons with their father and sat, stunned, as the days of mourning were observed. The neighbors came and brought food, sat with them and wailed, but then went back to their own homes, their own families, and were kinder to their own husbands and sons, aware for a while that they, too, could be left alone and without the protection of their men. They clucked over Naomi’s hard luck: no one should have to bury their adult children. Her future had been taken away. She had no grandchildren. Even if her daughters-in-law married again and had children they would not be Naomi’s grandchildren. Would those new husbands even think they owed anything to Naomi?
Thinking these thoughts, Naomi decided that she needed to go home to Bethlehem. Not that it was any more home than Moab was at this point, but at least there she had some family who by law had to help her. She prepared lamb and vegetables that day and invited Orpah and Ruth to share it with her. When she told them her intentions to return to Bethlehem, they both declared that they would go with her. What did they have to hold them to this land? Their husbands were dead, and they loved Naomi.
Naomi objected, but the girls were adamant. They spent the next day selling off what they could not carry, and set their faces to the west. But as Naomi had suspected, it was hard going, and none of them were used to walking such great distances. After several days of this, Naomi had them stop under a tree and sit in its shade.
“Look,” she said, “this is hard going, and for me it’s a return to family. But what do you have to look forward to? Go back to your husbands’ families. They’ll take care of you. I’ll go on without you.”
Both Orpah and Ruth both cried, and protested that they loved her and would go one with her. Naomi shook her head. “Let’s sleep on it, and we can decide in the morning.”
By morning, Orpah had decided that Naomi was right. She could go back to her mother’s house. So with many tears, she turned back to the east and left without a backward glance. But Ruth was younger, and had loved Naomi for half her life, and could not imagine going back to her family. What could they do for her that Naomi could not? She refused.
“No, I will follow you,” she insisted, and made a pledge:
“Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God, Where you die, I will die, and there will I be buried. Not even death will part me from you!”
Naomi looked at Ruth as she had never looked at her before. The girl’s eyes were full of tears, burning with intensity. The love she was declaring was so strong, her face was flushed. They stood there for a long minute, while Ruth’s body trembled. It seemed there was nothing left to say, so Naomi picked up her bundle. But Ruth was swifter than Naomi. She took the bundle, lashed it to the donkey, and then tied hers on the other side. Taking the rope tied to the donkey’s neck, she started down the road as Naomi shook her head and gladly followed after.
Sandra Herrmann is pastor of Memorial United Methodist Church in Greenfield, Wisconsin. In 1980, she was in the first class ordained by Bishop Marjorie Matthews (the first female United Methodist bishop). Herrmann is the author of Ambassadors of Hope (CSS); her articles and sermons have also appeared in Emphasis and The Circuit Rider, and her poetry has been published in Alive Now and So's Your Old Lady. She has trained lay speakers and led workshops and Bible studies throughout Wisconsin, Iowa, and Indiana. Sandra's favorite pastime is reading with her two dogs piled on her.
*****************************************
StoryShare, November 1, 2015, issue.
Copyright 2015 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"Devotion" by Sandra Herrmann
Devotion
by Sandra Herrmann
Ruth 1:1-18
The soil was dry, and fine as dust. Elimelech stood up and looked to the west. Not a cloud in the sky. Nor had there been for a year. He was used to this in the summer. But the equinox had passed, and still there was no rain. There was nothing to eat in his house, and his flocks were thin, too thin to think of making a meal on them. They had cheese, but soon even their tiny bit of barley and oil would be used for a last meal. His shoulders sagged. He had only two sons at home now, but they needed more than bread and cheese.
He stood, and his despair turned to determination. He strode back to the one room house and washed his feet at the door. “Naomi! Mahlon! Chilion!”
“Yes, Father!” That was Mahlon, always strong-willed, but also eager to win his father’s approval. He came around the corner of the house, carrying his sling, ready to stone the first rabbit that might cross his path. “What do you need from me?”
Elimelech looked at his son with pride. Always hopeful, this one. Not what you would expect from a child as sickly as he had been. It had been touch-and-go with him as a baby, one earache after another, when he would scream with the pain. They had had to watch the doctor use a tiny needle and stick it in his ear, letting loose the pus behind the eardrum, while Mahlon shrieked in pain. It had been only the first time he needed to have that ear drained, only the first of many sicknesses for this boy.
“Where is your brother?”
“Down at the well. The goats were getting dry. As is the well,” he added grumpily. “What are we going to do?”
“I’ll tell you: we’re going to leave this God-forsaken land and go east. Moab often has rains that pass over us.”
“Moab!? You can’t trust a Moabite! They’ll steal everything we have.”
“So no problem,” his father said wryly, “since we have nothing left for anyone to steal.” They hadn’t a coin to spare, so when one of the boys tore a hem on brambles, retrieving a kid, Naomi’s slave had to mend it. If a pot slipped and fell to the floor, they had to make do with what was left. Naomi had had to start taking her dowry coins off her headdress many months before, one at a time, to pay the doctor, to buy hay for their few remaining lambs, to patch a hole in the roof. She had only the coins that graced her forehead left, and Elimelech refused her permission to buy anything more from that source. They had finally sold their slave to Naomi’s brother, with many tears between the women.
Chilion came to his father just as Elimelech had finished these thoughts. He shook off the memory and asked, “How are the goats now?”
“Watered,” Chilion replied. “But they keep trying to eat the hay for the sheep. We’re going to have to watch them, or they’ll bloat.”
“Never mind. They’ll have enough browse in another two days. We’re leaving for Moab. Get your things packed, both of you, so we can leave tomorrow.”
The boys exchanged a glance. They both knew better than to question his authority, or even his plans, when he was in this sort of mood.
“I don’t have much worth taking, Father. I’ll go help Mother first.” With that, Chilion went inside. He was such a lovely boy, Elimelech thought. They had named him “Restrained” because even as a baby he was so quiet. He never complained, never laughed loudly, seemed to be always somewhere else in his mind. But he never tried to shirk off his work, and Elimelech knew he could count on him. With that thought, Elimelech began gathering his tools and binding them in leather sacks, tying them with twine and laying them out of sight so no one would try to steal them before his family could be gone.
They left on schedule, the few goods they still had lashed to their donkeys. They walked as far as they could each day, and watched as the earth around them became greener. They began to feel hopeful at this, and by the time they reached Moab, they were looking forward to settling there. It’s never easy, being an immigrant: they had new customs to learn, a new language to speak (though the language was similar enough to that spoken in Bethlehem that they were able to make themselves understood in a few days), find a piece of land they could afford (with two of the coins Elimelech had sworn Naomi would never take from her headdress) and establish themselves as good neighbors. Nine years flew by. The flocks were fat, they had enough to ear, even enough to buy brides for both of their sons, brides Naomi approved of and even liked.
And then one day Elimelech could not rise from his bed. His limbs were weak, shaky, and he was bathed in sweat. Naomi did what she could, but it was not enough. When the doctor came, he shook his head. “This fever will not die without taking your husband with it. I’m sorry, but I cannot take more of your money when it will do no good.”
Elimelech died two days later.
Naomi truly mourned Elimelech’s death. He had been a good man, and she had depended on him. She knew she was too old to find a husband, and her husband had had no brothers to take her in. She sat in the yard and cried daily until her tears dried up. If it had not been for her two daughters-in-law, she would have given up and died. But day by day Orpah and Ruth had made her broth with pieces of meat and lentils in it, and she had gradually recovered her ability to face each day.
It was a year almost to the day later that her two sons were working on the roof of a neighbor’s house when it fell out from under them, and they crashed to the floor of the house. Mahlon was dead when they arrived, and Chilion two days later. Naomi was stunned, as were her two daughters-in-law. They buried the sons with their father and sat, stunned, as the days of mourning were observed. The neighbors came and brought food, sat with them and wailed, but then went back to their own homes, their own families, and were kinder to their own husbands and sons, aware for a while that they, too, could be left alone and without the protection of their men. They clucked over Naomi’s hard luck: no one should have to bury their adult children. Her future had been taken away. She had no grandchildren. Even if her daughters-in-law married again and had children they would not be Naomi’s grandchildren. Would those new husbands even think they owed anything to Naomi?
Thinking these thoughts, Naomi decided that she needed to go home to Bethlehem. Not that it was any more home than Moab was at this point, but at least there she had some family who by law had to help her. She prepared lamb and vegetables that day and invited Orpah and Ruth to share it with her. When she told them her intentions to return to Bethlehem, they both declared that they would go with her. What did they have to hold them to this land? Their husbands were dead, and they loved Naomi.
Naomi objected, but the girls were adamant. They spent the next day selling off what they could not carry, and set their faces to the west. But as Naomi had suspected, it was hard going, and none of them were used to walking such great distances. After several days of this, Naomi had them stop under a tree and sit in its shade.
“Look,” she said, “this is hard going, and for me it’s a return to family. But what do you have to look forward to? Go back to your husbands’ families. They’ll take care of you. I’ll go on without you.”
Both Orpah and Ruth both cried, and protested that they loved her and would go one with her. Naomi shook her head. “Let’s sleep on it, and we can decide in the morning.”
By morning, Orpah had decided that Naomi was right. She could go back to her mother’s house. So with many tears, she turned back to the east and left without a backward glance. But Ruth was younger, and had loved Naomi for half her life, and could not imagine going back to her family. What could they do for her that Naomi could not? She refused.
“No, I will follow you,” she insisted, and made a pledge:
“Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God, Where you die, I will die, and there will I be buried. Not even death will part me from you!”
Naomi looked at Ruth as she had never looked at her before. The girl’s eyes were full of tears, burning with intensity. The love she was declaring was so strong, her face was flushed. They stood there for a long minute, while Ruth’s body trembled. It seemed there was nothing left to say, so Naomi picked up her bundle. But Ruth was swifter than Naomi. She took the bundle, lashed it to the donkey, and then tied hers on the other side. Taking the rope tied to the donkey’s neck, she started down the road as Naomi shook her head and gladly followed after.
Sandra Herrmann is pastor of Memorial United Methodist Church in Greenfield, Wisconsin. In 1980, she was in the first class ordained by Bishop Marjorie Matthews (the first female United Methodist bishop). Herrmann is the author of Ambassadors of Hope (CSS); her articles and sermons have also appeared in Emphasis and The Circuit Rider, and her poetry has been published in Alive Now and So's Your Old Lady. She has trained lay speakers and led workshops and Bible studies throughout Wisconsin, Iowa, and Indiana. Sandra's favorite pastime is reading with her two dogs piled on her.
*****************************************
StoryShare, November 1, 2015, issue.
Copyright 2015 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
