Sharing God's Love and Grace

Meditation on Luke 3:15–17, 21–22

Baptism of Our Lord Sunday

Rev. Karen Crawford

Jan. 12, 2025

We have just made a new memory together! One more for the history books!

We remembered our baptisms and recognized those who have been baptized in our church. Most of those present today who were baptized in our church were baptized with water from our beautiful marble baptismal font, dating back to 1939.

Did you know that our baptismal font has eight sides? Do you know why? Eight is for the day after the Sabbath, when Christ was raised, and there was a NEW CREATION.

YOU, my friends, are now raised to live abundantly and eternally with Him.

Edward N. and Samuel H. Abbey gave the font to the congregation in memory of their parents. Dr. Edward Abbey served as minister here from 1903 to 1937. Our history book says, “He was a stately and dignified man who was active in the community. He helped establish the first bank; campaigned for an organized fire department; worked earnestly for a new public school. His wife Augusta Hammill Abbey died in 1934. Three years later, in his 89^th year, Dr. Abbey retired for health reasons.” He died in his sleep that same year. But at his 89^th birthday party, he said, “People are my hobby. I love to meet them and help them with their troubles. And when I can no longer help people, I shall know my mission is over.” [1]

From what I have heard about Rev. Dr. Abbey, I believe his caring, servant spirit captures the spirit of our congregation, the First Presbyterian Church in Smithtown. Yes, we are a Church of Jesus Christ. We belong to Him. But we are all about people. Our calling, as Dulcie McLeod shared in her Epiphany message last Sunday, is to BELIEVE. We believe in people, and we make it our aim to help one another find our callings and live out our baptisms, knowing and doing the Lord’s will for our lives and our church. And we believe in ourselves, as God has made us, and the Spirit is transforming and recreating us, and as we are affirmed by the love and grace of one another. And we believe in our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who brought light into our darkness, claims us in our baptisms, and strengthens us daily to live faithfully.

Merriam Webster says BELIEVE means “to be true or honest, to accept the word or evidence of, or to hold as an opinion,” or “suppose,” such as “I believe it will rain soon.” When we say BELIEVE IN, we change the meaning slightly, “to accept something as true, genuine, or real, to have a firm or wholehearted religious conviction or persuasion,” such as regarding “the existence of God as a fact” or “to have a firm conviction as to the goodness, efficacy, or ability of something” or someone. To NOT BELIEVE is “to be astounded at.”

This word we sometimes translate in English as BELIEVE is pistis in Greek, with some different connotations than our English word. Pistis “in Greek mythology was the personification of good faith, trust, and reliability.” Pistis in the New Testament is often translated as “faith” and shown to be the opposite of fear. After Jesus calms the storm in Mark chapter 4, he says to his disciples, cowering in the boat, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” Faith here is pistin—same root as pistis. But when the New Testament talks about BELIEVING IN something or someone, that word pistis may be translated TRUST.

TRUST, to me, is different from BELIEVE. TRUST involves commitment and loyalty. TRUST isn’t just a matter of the mind or intellect. TRUST engages the heart, mind, and soul and empowers us to do what we never imagined we could have done before. Like the Apostle Paul says in Philippians 4:13, “I can do all things through Him that strengthens me.”

In our passage in Luke today, the people are coming in droves to be baptized, filled with hope and anticipation that they will meet their long-awaited Messiah. They expect him to be John the Baptizer, but then God surprises them, exceeds their expectations. The heavens open and the Holy Spirit descends on Jesus like a dove. A voice speaks from above, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

A few days ago, I said to my husband, “What was I thinking when I went away to seminary? Driving to Princeton every week for two years and leaving my husband and family behind in York, PA?” That must have seemed crazy to the rest of my family. It certainly did to my editors at the newspaper where I worked as a journalist. It was a hard thing to do. Many times, I cried myself to sleep at night, with only my shelty, Molly, at my apartment in Princeton for company. I wiped away tears as I made the 2 hour and 15-minute drive one way on the Pennsylvania Turnpike every Monday morning.

Looking back, I know I was living into my baptism—seeking to follow God’s will for my life. It’s easy to see that now, but then, it was scary. What empowered me was that I was so grateful for God’s faithfulness to my family and me. I wanted to be a blessing to the Church. The only way I could have done such a thing was with the loving support of my husband, Jim. I could not have done it without him. He believed in me. His love strengthened me to trust in our relationship, trust in myself, and trust in the Lord, who exceeded, without a doubt, my expectations.

This year, as we celebrate God’s faithfulness for 350 years of ministry in Smithtown and 200 years in this sanctuary, let us TRUST in one another. May we encourage everyone to live into and live out our baptisms more than ever before. May our TRUST build our love, unity, and peace, and strengthen us for ministry for the next 200 years.

May our TRUST in ourselves rub off on others, so that they who may be insecure or fearful may be emboldened and delighted to serve, to stand firm as God’s Beloved, who can never fail!

May we, as Proverbs 3:5-6 tells us, Trust in the Lord with all our hearts and lean not on our own understanding. In all our ways, may we acknowledge and give thanks to the Lord God, who directs our paths.

This is my hope for you this year, my friends. May you be filled with expectation, like the crowded coming to be baptized by John, that you will meet your Messiah every time you enter into worship with your church family. May you leave your doubts outside these old walls, doubts about other people, doubts about yourself. Leave them all behind in the parking lot! And don’t pick them up again when you depart from this place in the love of God, peace of Christ, and power and unity of the Spirit.

Sisters and brothers, we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us!

TRUST in the One who will meet all your needs and help you moment by moment, day by day.

TRUST in the One who will fill you with hope and exceed your expectations.

Will you pray with me?

Holy, Triune God, thank you for your love for us and the whole world and for revealing Your Son, the Messiah, at the River Jordan, where for us and our salvation, he was baptized by John. Thank you for your faithfulness to our congregation, for guiding and equipping us for ministry in Christ’s name for 350 years. Strengthen us to live into and live out our baptisms every day, led by the Spirit, seeking to be obedient to your will. And as we learn to TRUST in other people, in ourselves, and in you, most of all, fill us with hope. Grant us peace as we anticipate that you will exceed our expectations. Amen.

     [1] J. Richard Mehalick. Church and Community (1675-1975) The Story of the First Presbyterian Church of Smithtown, 2^nd edition, 2010.

Meditation on John 14 and Second Corinthians 5:1-9

In Memory of John H. Davidsen

November 27, 1927 to November 22, 2024

Pastor Karen Crawford

December 1, 2024

John Davidsen was a builder by trade and calling, a master carpenter. He learned his skills by working alongside his Norwegian immigrant father, his Uncle Dan, and his brother, Alfred. They built houses and churches across Long Island. He eventually became employed with Nastasi White in New York City and took great pride in having helped remodel Carnegie Hall, The Museum of Natural History, and the Cornell University Alumni Center.

He didn’t expect to follow in his father’s footsteps. He had other hopes and dreams.

He was born on November 27, 1927, in Brooklyn—two years before the Wall Street crash. The Great Depression would shape his formative years and his character, personality, and life experiences. Difficult times made him realize what was important in life—family, friendships, faith. He was a calm man, courageous and confident. An explorer and adventurer. He always had a smile. Maybe the most amazing thing that I heard about John was that he rode a bicycle, when he was 13 or 14, from Brooklyn to Baltimore with his best friend, Ralph. Although they did see a movie in Baltimore, the journey itself, including the friend he was with, was likely the reason for traveling and not just the destination.

The third of four children born to Harriet and John Davidsen was a hard worker from his youth. He was willing to work where he could find it and people trusted him to do a good job—setting up pins in a bowling alley, working for a dry cleaner, selling flowers, and assisting at a printing press. The printing press job led to his pursuit of education, training, and graduation in June 1945 from the New York School of Printing in Manhattan, now the High School of Graphic Communication Arts.

But John wanted to serve his country, help with the war effort, and see the world. When he turned 18 later in 1945, he enlisted in the U.S. Navy. Aboard the Destroyer USS Mayrant, DD-402, he traveled to Bikini Atoll, a coral reef in the Marshall Islands, arriving at the end of May 1946. The Mayrant was designated as a test ship for Operation Crossroads, the 1946 atomic bomb tests. John would witness the first underwater nuclear bomb detonation. Afterward, John boarded the destroyer USS Chevalier, DD-805, toured the Western Pacific, and spent time moored off China. He saw parts of the country before the culmination of the Communist Revolution and “The People’s Republic” in 1949. He was stationed in Hawaii before it became our 50th state, when it was still wild and beautiful, before it was all built up.

The good natured, optimistic man met the love of his life, Eleanor Benes, on a blind date. They were married on Nov. 7, 1953. John drove Eleanor to California for their honeymoon to see his pal, Ralph, who couldn’t make it to the wedding. I imagine the journey there and back was a great adventure, perhaps as much fun as the destination.

John and Eleanor rented an apartment in Manhattan in their first years of marriage. But they saved up and bought the property in Massapequa in 1956. John worked every Saturday for 18 months, with the help of family and friends, building their dream home in which they would live out their lives together. They would make many memories and raise three children there—John, Nancy, and Robert.

The children were baptized and confirmed at St. David’s Lutheran Church in Massapequa. Sundays remained “family days” for many years, while Saturdays would be days that John did side jobs for extra money, with the help of his buddy Ryan. Growing up, the three children remember how their father never raised his voice, never lost his temper, never argued with his wife, and always carved out time for family vacations. This was despite the fact that when he took off from work, he didn’t get paid. He and Eleanor wanted the kids to see and learn about the world around them. They piled in the car, and he drove them to Maine and Montreal and down south to visit museums and battlefields.

When their children were grown, John was happy to spend Saturdays fixing and making improvements on his children’s homes. He inspected and knew his wood, could spot the “keepers” and the ones from Lowes or Home Depot that were “no good.” What he built, he built to last. He worked long hours for his family, sometimes 12 hours at a time, and took pride in his work. Nothing was done halfway. Nothing was just good enough.

The apostle Paul, in his second letter to the Corinthians, uses the analogy of building when he talks about life and death, and everlasting life in the glory that is to come. We live in earthly tents now—not just wood and bricks and mortar homes, but flesh and blood bodies that God created for us to live in the loving ways that God has ordained. These earthly tents are, as Paul says, wasting away, as we age. Paul often complained about his physical problems, partially due to the persecution and imprisonment he experienced as a church planter and ambassador for Christ.

Some people assume that our mortal bodies didn’t matter that much to Paul, but that isn’t true. He is just trying to give us hope in our trials, lift us out of the stress and darkness of our world and see the bright hope of what is to come. But he also wants to strengthen us by giving us a vision of what is possible right now, when we walk by faith and don’t just live by sight. You see, each of us are already fully clothed with the Holy Spirit.

Paul describes our existence in this earthly tent as a kind of groaning, while we long for suffering, pain, and hardship to end and yearn for the promise of God to be fulfilled—our resurrection with Christ. One day, we will have new bodies and will be “further clothed with our heavenly dwelling,” so that “what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.”

Please understand that Paul isn’t saying anything bad about people who build houses on earth—houses made with human hands. In fact, Paul was a tentmaker by trade, and people often lived in and traveled long distances by staying in tents along the way.

Jesus, too, was a carpenter who learned his trade from his earthly father. Jesus uses the language of building houses and preparing rooms when he seeks to encourage his disciples when his life on earth was near the end and the cross was in the road ahead. In John 14, Jesus tells his followers and all of us that he is going to prepare a place for them, for us, in his Father’s House of many rooms. And he will come again and take us there, so that where he is, we will always be with him.

On this day, when we celebrate John Davidsen’s wonderful life, let us remember that the earthly tents that we live in—our miraculous bodies—are also beautiful gifts from a loving God, who is with us always in Spirit. This is a God who has made his home with mortals. We are not alone here. And what we see is not all there is.

John, who witnessed amazing things in his nearly 97 years, with all his journeys across the country and around the world, always knew what was important. And it wasn’t the destinations. It was the journey itself and the people who shared it with him.

He lost the love of his life on April 24, 1998, after a long battle with cancer.

Every Sunday continued to be Family Day after that, when she exchanged her earthly tent for her forever dwelling place. A building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.

Every Sunday, he drove to the cemetery to visit with Eleanor. Then, he would spend time with his children and grandchildren, eating Chinese takeout at the home he dreamed of and built long ago in Massapequa, on Saturdays, with the help from family and friends.

He slipped away to eternity, holding on to his youngest son’s hand, on November 22, leaving us to remember his stories, his love, his goodness and generosity, his ever present smile and ready tool box and miter saws. And his way of never doing anything halfway. Nothing just good enough. How he always said how he never had any regrets. And his advice to his daughter, Nancy, when her husband, Kevin, left this world too soon, “You’ll never stop missing him. But the pain won’t be as sharp.”

I leave you now with the encouraging words of our Savior, who has prepared a place for each of us to live with him, in His Father’s house of many rooms.

^“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

Amen.

Meditation on Psalm 139

In Memory of Ethel Kraft

December 11, 1931 – October 16, 2024

Ethelmay Swindlehurst Kraft grew up in Jermyn, PA. The former coal mining town of a few thousand people is located on the Lackawanna River, 12 miles northeast of Scranton.

She was the only child of Ken, a coal miner, and Alice, a gifted seamstress, who worked at a factory.  Alice wanted more children, but her health prevented it. Ethelmay was close to her mom and helped care for her as she recovered from her many surgeries and times of illness. This may have stirred Ethel’s unfulfilled desire to be a nurse. Her hardworking parents couldn’t afford a home of their own when they were first married, so they lived with Alice’s parents. Eventually, they were able to move into a rented home.

Ethelmay despised her name and shortened it to just plain “Ethel” for people outside her immediate family. She tried to leave it behind her, with the small town she left as a young woman. I never knew that was her real first name—Ethelmay, all one word—until this week when I saw her engagement announcement from the Scranton Tribune from November 1952. But just plain “Ethel” had nothing plain about her, despite her humble beginnings. She wore red lipstick, and looked great in it, and always felt better when she was wearing it. Her hair was curled and perfectly styled. She chose her clothing with care. Her outfits always matched, including the jewelry, and her shoes coordinated with her pocketbooks. She was model thin as a young bride, just a wisp of a thing, a tiny waist for her wedding dress, with a waterfall skirt. It was handmade by her mother, along with all the other bridal attendant’s dresses described in detail in the newspaper story. Her favorite colors were pink and purple. She loved flowers.

Ethel Swindlehurst married Karl Kraft at her church, First Methodist of Jermyn, on June 20, 1953. She was 21, and he was 23 but looked much younger.

Her eyes twinkled when she told me how she met Karl. Her girlfriend, Betty Taylor, attended a Lutheran church in neighboring Archbald, PA, and sang in the choir there with Karl. One day, she showed him a picture of Ethel. He wanted to meet her. She was 16. He was 18.

They went on a double date with Betty and her beau, meeting at Jimmy Mullaly’s ice cream shop for sundaes—chocolate ice cream with hot fudge sauce.

Ethel’s mother had a long talk with her daughter after the double date, warning her against dating older men. “Ethelmay,” her mother said, “you are only in high school. You should go out with other young men. You should go to your dances.”

To make matters more complicated, when Ethel and Karl met, he was preparing to leave town to serve in the U.S. Air Force.  “I just met him,” Ethel said, “and now he was going.”

She followed her mother’s advice. She went to all her dances, enjoyed dressing up and spending time with her friends. But Karl wrote Ethel letters, and she wrote back. He visited her twice a year, when he was home on furlough.

When she graduated from high school, she found a job working as a buyer for children’s wear at Mr. Edelstein’s Globe Fashion Shop in Carbondale. And she waited for Karl. He served his country for four years, learning then teaching radar, and rising to the rank of Technical Sergeant. On his way home after being discharged from the Air Force, he interviewed with GE and IBM and bought Ethel a diamond ring.

They honeymooned in Atlantic City and moved to Rochester, New York. The next 6 years, the small-town girl and guy would have to pick up and move 7 times as Karl’s career took off with IBM.

Ethel fell comfortably into her role as housewife and mother, having two children—Kenny and Debbie—when they were living in Pennsylvania. She made friends with the women who stayed home during the day with their children. She made sure dinner was on the table every night at 6:30. When they moved to Commack, they quickly made friends with their neighbors and enjoyed getting together with other couples in each other’s homes.

When I asked Debbie if she ever played Bridge, like so many women of her generation, Debbie said no. She never played cards or Bingo, perhaps a holdover from her childhood upbringing in a Methodist family. But Karl and Ethel did dance at weddings and then on cruises in their later years.

The young couple joined the First Presbyterian Church in Smithtown not long after they moved here, on June 4, 1959. Their faith and church family would forever be important in their lives. Karl served on the building committee for the new Christian Education wing, dedicated in 1963, and would become a Trustee. Ethel joined a Women’s Association group and would later host a circle in her home. She crocheted with friends and for our prayer shawl ministry. Ethel and Karl’s children would be raised in Sunday School and church, just as they were active in church as children and youth.

Ethel never gave up her longing to be a nurse, but then found fulfillment in volunteering at what is now St. Catherine of Sienna Hospital. She became the Director of the Candy Stripers. She was requested to serve in the Emergency Room because she was “so calm.” She was shocked when they wanted her there, knowing that she wasn’t naturally a calm person, but her special gifts for compassionate ministry strengthened her to be the peaceful presence of Christ in times of crises, when others were in need. She had the gift of encouragement, enjoyed talking with people, in person and on the phone. She often sent thinking of you, get well, and sympathy cards.

I treasured my visits with Ethel and Karl, celebrating Communion and sharing stories. I brought news from the church, as she was hungry to hear what was happening. She told me about the small town in Pennsylvania where she was from and about meeting and marrying Karl and his passion for gardening, before his health declined. She was lonely, she said, especially during the height of the pandemic, when they seldom left their home, and no one came to visit. She always had a box of chocolates ready to share with guests. She talked with me about her concerns for her grown children—that never ends, no matter how old our children become. I told her that I worried about my children, as well. It bothered her that she was growing increasingly unsteady, even with a walker. She was grateful for the wonderful aides who were like family and were there every day to care for them, so Karl and Ethel could stay together in their own home for as long as possible.

I always asked if I could pray for her near the end of my visit or call. She always said yes. Those were intimate moments, sharing with the Lord what she had shared with me and asking for God’s help, comfort, healing, guidance, and rest—and that Ethel would feel the Lord’s loving arms around her and not feel lonely or afraid anymore. We experienced peace in those moments, a peace that goes beyond understanding. I assured her of the God who knows her completely, as we read about in Psalm 139—a God who, “formed my inward parts; knit me together in my mother’s womb.” This is a God who knows everywhere we are ever going to be, and will be present with us, wherever we might go. This is a God who knows when we are sitting or lying down or rising up; a God who discerns our thoughts, before they become prayers; and knows what we will say before the words are on our tongues.

As the months passed, Ethel began to show more signs of confusion and unsteadiness. She often had bad dreams that she thought were real. I visited her several times in a memory care setting in Lake Grove. She recognized me, though her vision was going; she greeted me with a smile and was anxious for a prayer and our usual chitchat, though she was miserable with the living situation at the time. She asked me what was going on with me, and I don’t know why I chose to share this bit of news, but I told her that I was back in school working on my doctorate. And the woman who didn’t always know where she was or recognize her family, encouraged me that this was the right thing to do for my career. “A doctorate!” she exclaimed. “That’s job security for you.”

And there were other moments, Holy Spirit moments, when unusual clarity, peace, and restored vision would come over her—such as the time when Jason Kraft came to visit with his children. She recognized them and had a conversation with them, looking directly into their faces, commenting on how much they had grown. Watching this miracle unfold, Debbie was overwhelmed by emotion.

The God who knows us, a God from whom we cannot keep secrets, has a good plan for our lives. The Lord may seem far away, at times, and slow to respond to our prayers and desires. But then, we see these glimpses of the world to come, small miracles that are true miracles, nonetheless, signs of God’s grace and power, right here with us. Brothers and sisters, what we see in this world is not all there is!

Psalm 139 particularly speaks to me as I consider my friend Ethel and her struggles. No, the Lord didn’t take them all away. But her family and her kind aides served her lovingly and patiently; they did so much to try to help her in her times of weakness, pain, confusion, fear, and anxiety. Debbie lost sleep worrying about her mom and agonized over weighty decisions that had to be made about her living situations and healthcare. I believe the Holy Spirit was working through these helping hands and caring hearts and minds here in this world, as Ethel grew closer to passing into the loving embrace of her Savior.

The day Ethel went home to be with the Lord, I was preparing to visit her and bring flowers from the church. I was getting my pastoral care bag ready so that I could anoint her with oil and say a prayer for healing and wholeness. Then Debbie texted me. Her mother had passed. Her passing was peaceful, she would tell me later. Debbie was holding her mother’s hand.

Dear friends, God’s Word assures us that we can share all the dark feelings and thoughts with our loving Lord—our sadness, grief, greatest disappointments and dashed hopes. Our God of mercy never runs out of mercy and never grows weary of forgiving and comforting us in our distress. Our God can turn our darkness, the darkness we all feel at times, into light, our restlessness to shalom, our mourning to joy. The psalmist says: “If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall cover me, and night wraps itself around me,’ even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you.”

He ends the psalm with these words of vulnerability and trust, words that I hope you will feel confident in praying, ^“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked way in me and lead me in the way everlasting.”

Our God who is present with us, who has searched us and knows us, will lead us to our forever home.

Amen.

Meditation on Ruth 1:22-2:13

Pastor Karen Crawford

First Presbyterian Church of Smithtown, NY

Oct. 20, 2024

We planted a daffodil memorial garden in the churchyard yesterday in front of a low stone wall. Betty Deerfield and Nancy Swanson measured precisely and made the holes. Brianna and Nicole Swanson placed 100 bulbs into two freshly dug flower beds. We worked together to cover the bulbs with bone meal, soil, peat, compost, and mulch. Brianna and Nicole took care of watering with a watering can before enjoying Betty’s homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

Digging and preparing the flower beds on Thursday was the most difficult part of the project, perhaps. The ground was hard, unforgiving, and the wind was chilly, but the sun was shining, and Betty and Tom Sartain had the right tools–spades, wheelbarrow, tarps, and a rototiller. Betty brought zucchini bread and hot chocolate for fortification. Tom entertained us with stories. I arrived late, just in time to survey their work, make jokes about how the beds looked like cemetery plots, thank the gardeners, and enjoy refreshments.

Throughout the planning, digging, planting, fertilizing, and mulching, we laughed and talked and I got to know two of my Confirmation students and their gracious mom just a little bit better. Throughout our labor and conversation, we held onto the vision of what the garden might look like, not how it is at this moment in autumn—with only plain brown bulbs covered with soil and mulch—but how we imagine the garden will look like in March, April, and May next year, with bright yellow flowers opening on green stems and leaves.

Nancy said, “I can’t wait for spring!”

We pray that the garden will bring us closer as a church family, as we have shared the names of our loved ones with our dedications. And we pray that the garden will, every spring, stir us to enjoy the beauty of the long-lasting, early blooming flowers and remember the precious gift of our loved ones’ lives. May we also remember to tell their stories and love one another today.

The story of Ruth is, indeed, a love story. Some themes of this book include life and death; the resilience of families in grief and loss; persevering through famine and hunger; migration to foreign lands and going home; marrying outside the faith; and childlessness. In the four beautiful chapters is the story of real hardships by those living in a subsistence culture and their reliance on their faith in YHWH’s generosity, loyalty, and lovingkindness or hesed in Hebrew.

Hesed is the essential quality of covenant relationship. Everyone who enters into covenant with YHWH is then expected to demonstrate that same quality of hesed, lovingkindness, in all their relationships. “The prophet Micah (in 6:8) offers the memorable instruction, ‘And what does YHWH require of you—but to do justice, love hesed, and walk humbly with your God?’” [1] 

The interesting twist in Ruth is that she is an outsider, a foreigner. She hasn’t been born into covenant with God, and yet she is welcomed into the fold and is held up as the example of loyalty and faithfulness. At the beginning of the book, an Israelite man named Elimelekh and his wife, Naomi, and two sons leave Bethlehem because of famine. They move to Moab. Elimelekh dies and the sons take Moabite brides, Ruth and Orpah. Then the sons die, leaving three childless widows; Naomi decides that it is time to return to her homeland. She has heard that YHWH has visited God’s people and given them bread in Bethlehem, a word that means “House of Bread.” Long years of famine have ended. And she wants to die with her own people.

 Intermarriage with foreigners was expressly forbidden in the Torah (Exodus 34:16 and Deut. 7:3). Moses specifically forbids Moabites and Ammonites from coming into the congregation of YHWH, “even to the 10^th generation… because they did not meet you with food and water on your way out of Egypt….”

But only love and acceptance may be detected in Naomi’s relationships with her daughters-in-law. She tells them, when they try to come with her to Bethlehem, “Go, turn back, each woman to the house of her mother.” She blesses them. “May YHWH do good faith (hesed) with you, just as you have done with the dead and with me. May YHWH grant it to you: Find rest, each woman in the house of her husband.” She kisses them. They lift up their voices and weep.

Orpah obeys Naomi and goes home to her mother, her people, and the faith of her birth, tearfully kissing her mother-in-law goodbye. Ruth is determined to stay with Naomi and embraces her new faith, saying, “Don’t press me to leave you, to turn back from following after you. For where you go, I will go. And where you stay the night, I will stay. Your people (is) my people, and your God, my God. Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. So may YHWH do to me, and may he add more to that—it is only death that will come between me and you.”

Ruth and Naomi return to Bethlehem at the beginning of the barley harvest.

We see hesed—God’s lovingkindness reflected in the lovingkindness of human beings—numerous times in this passage. Ruth and Naomi are hungry, so Ruth goes to work in the field of one of Naomi’s husband’s relatives. His name is Boaz. He is a man of faith and considerable means.

Ruth is given permission by the field supervisor to glean behind the hired harvesters and keep what she has gleaned, though she is an outsider. She is protected by an Israelite practice, a law, actually, that required Israelites to deliberately leave some grain in the field. “The unharvested grain was to be gleaned by the most vulnerable members of society: widows, orphans, and sojourners….” [2] People like Naomi and Ruth.

The greeting Boaz exchanges with his workers is a sign of hesed, God’s lovingkindness, and their faith. Boaz says to the harvesters, “YHWH—the Lord—be with you!” And they say, “May YHWH—the Lord—bless you!” These may be conventional greetings of the time, but they are included in the story to emphasize the good relationships Boaz has with his workers and that his relationships are governed by an “awareness of God as the Source of blessing and the One to whom we must answer for our treatment of others.” [3]

Boaz notices Ruth and asks, “To whom does this young woman belong?” That’s when we hear Ruth’s story told through the perspective of the supervisor of the harvesters. He doesn’t say anything bad about this foreigner. She is a Moabite, he says, who came with Naomi. She asked for permission to gather behind the harvesters. She is a hard worker—takes few breaks, he says.

Boaz reveals hesed when he warns Ruth, for her protection, not to “go gleaning in another field” but to stick close to the women working in his field. He has ordered the men not to touch her. He tells her that when she is thirsty, to go and drink from the jars of water the workmen draw.

Ruth notices his kindness, is moved by his graciousness, and falls on her face, bowing to the ground in gratitude and humility. She asks why he is being so kind, when she is nothing but a foreigner.

He knows her story, he says. He has heard what she has done for her mother-in-law after the death of her husband, and how she left her family and homeland behind to come and live with Naomi’s people, whom she didn’t know.

“May the Lord reward you for your deeds, and may you have a full reward from the Lord, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come for refuge!” Boaz says.

We see God’s hesed when he invites her to eat with them and serves her bread, sour wine, and roasted grain. She eats until she is satisfied and has some left over and goes back to gleaning. Boaz tells the workmen to leave even more grain behind for her to take home.

She gleans until evening, then threshes, and takes home 30 to 50 pounds of barley, a staggering amount for a worker to take in her time, when male workers usually received one or two pounds a day! [4]

This sets the stage for the courtship between Ruth and Boaz in the next chapter, a romantic scene on the threshing floor; the next day, Boaz negotiates for Ruth’s hand with a closer relative of Elimelekh’s kin at the city’s gate; and finally the marriage of Ruth and Boaz, and Ruth giving birth to a son. Ruth will be the great grandmother of David, the second ruler of the united kingdom of Israel and Judah. She is included in the genealogy of Jesus in the gospels of Matthew and Luke.

After I finished planting the daffodil memorial garden with Betty, Nancy, Brianna, and Nicole, I stepped into our parish hall, where all kinds of hesed—divine and human lovingkindness—was going on. The Organization of Open Mic Performing Artists (OOMPA) was hosting a coat drive there. Numerous musicians played instruments and sang for the gathering of church and community folks, a pile of donated coats heaped in front of the stage. At the end of the four-hour event, Joanna Huang and Karen Dow played violin and viola–“Be Now Our Vision” and “How Great Thou Art” with Pablo Lavandera on piano; the choir sang three hymns; Pablo played three songs from his native Argentina; and the entire room was invited to sing a parting, “Stand By Me” on the stage.

It was a hesed kind of day, with our church connecting in loving ways with the earth by planting a garden; and sharing food, music, and friendship with a gathering of church and community folks, all with the same mind to help our needy neighbors keep warm in winter.

Next spring, around the end of March or early April, we will all be looking for 100 yellow daffodils blooming in our memorial garden, planted in front of the low stone wall. May the garden continue to bring us closer as a church family. And may the yellow flowers in springtime stir us to remember the precious gift of our loved ones’ lives, tell their stories, and love one another today.

Let us pray.

Holy One, thank you for your hesed, your loyalty, generosity, and lovingkindness. Thank you for the faithful example of Ruth, the outsider in your Son’s family tree. Thank you for the hesed of the faith community, for those who gave coats to warm our neighbors, those who shared musical gifts, and for the gardeners who planted flowers to bring us closer and help us remember our loved ones and tell their stories. Give us a vision of hesed for our community and country and give us wisdom and courage to make it happen. Amen.

     [1] Ellen F. Davis and Margaret Adams Parker, Who Are You, My Daughter? Reading Ruth Through Image and Text, (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press), 17.

    [2] Ellen Davis, 43.

    [3] Ellen Davis, 43.

   [4] Ellen Davis, 59.