Coming Home
When Naomi saw that Ruth had her heart set on going with her, she gave in. And so, the two of them traveled on together (back) to Bethlehem. (Ruth 1:18-19)
It was a small house, simple but adequate: one large room on a dusty street. Its red-tiled roof was one of many in this extremely poor neighborhood on the outskirts of a Brazilian village. But it was a comfortable home. Maria and her daughter, Christina, had done what they could to add color to the gray walls and warmth to the hard dirt floor: an old calendar here, a faded photograph of a relative over there, a wooden crucifix. The furnishings were modest, too – a pallet on the other side of the room, a washbasin and a wood-burning stove. Maria’s husband had died when Christina was just a baby. The young mother, stubbornly refusing opportunities to remarry, got a job and set out to raise her young daughter by herself. And now, fifteen years later, the worst years were over, or so she thought. Though Maria’s salary as a maid afforded few luxuries, it was a reliable job and paid well enough to provide for their food and clothing. And now Christina was old enough to get a job so she could help out.
Some said Christina got her independence from her mother, but she bristled at the traditional idea of marrying young, like her mother, and raising a family. Not that she couldn’t have had her pick of husbands, mind you. Her olive brown skin and big, brown eyes kept a steady stream of potential suitors always at the door. And she had an infectious way of throwing her head back and filling the room with laughter. She also had that rare magic some women have that makes every man feel like a king just by being near them. But it was her high-spirited curiosity that made her keep all the men at arm’s length, at least for a time. Christina spoke often of going to the “Big City.” She dreamed of trading in her dusty, grimy neighborhood for the exciting avenues and bright lights of city life. Of course, the thought of this absolutely horrified her mother. Maria was always quick to remind Christina of the harshness and brutality of the big-city streets. “People don’t know you there. Jobs are scarce, and life is cruel. And besides, if you went there, what would you do for a living?”
Maria knew exactly what Christina would do, or – worse yet – would have to do for a living. That’s why her heart broke when she awoke one morning to find her daughter’s empty bed. Maria knew in an instant where her daughter had gone. She also knew what she had to do to find her. So, Maria quickly threw some clothes in a bag, gathered up all her money, and ran out of the house. On her way to the bus stop she entered a drugstore to get one last thing: pictures. Maria sat in the photograph booth, closed the curtain and spent all she could on pictures of herself. Then, with her purse full of small black-and-white photographs, she boarded the next bus to the “Big City” – Rio de Janeiro.
Maria knew Christina had no way of earning money. She also knew that her daughter was too stubborn to give up on her dreams of big-city life. Maria knew that when pride meets hunger, a human will do things that … well … were unthinkable before. Knowing this, Maria began her search. Bars, hotels, nightclubs, any place with a reputation for streetwalkers. She went to every last one of them. And at each place she left her picture. Pictures were taped on a bathroom mirror, or tacked to a hotel bulletin board, or even fastened to a corner phone booth. And on the back of each photo, she wrote a note.
It wasn’t long before both her money and the pictures ran out, and Maria had to go home. Weary and heartsick, Maria put her head in her hands and quietly wept as the bus began its long journey back to the small village. Meanwhile, it was only a few weeks later that young Christina descended the hotel stairs. Her face, once so young and full of life, was now tired and lifeless. Her brown eyes no longer danced with youth but spoke of pain and fear. Her laughter, which once filled a room, was broken and empty. Her dream of big-city life had become her worst nightmare, and her heart ached a thousand times over to trade those countless beds for her secure pallet. Yet her little village was, in so many ways, all but a distant a memory. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Christina’s eyes noticed a familiar face. She looked again, and there on the lobby mirror was a small black-and-white picture of her mother. Christina’s eyes burned and her throat tightened as she walked across the room and removed the small photo. And written on the back of the picture was her mother’s note: “Whatever you have done, whatever you have become, it doesn’t matter. Please come home.” And Christina did.
The story of Ruth is many things, but at its core it’s the story of a believer coming home. Naomi has been a long way from home, but even farther from God. Now we find Naomi coming home, coming back to God. In fact, you can almost hear Naomi saying, “What a waste of time! I followed my husband and my two sons to the desert on some wild goose-chase and look where it’s gotten me? They’re dead, and I’m alone. Terrific.” But then, like a shaft of light coming through a cloud-strewn dawn, she thinks, “But I can go home. There’s certainly nothing keeping me here anymore. The promises of food and success have vaporized, just like my joy. And the dream of a life that I thought I would share forever with a husband and my boys who loved me has died with them. Now I’m alone, but I can still go home. Yeah, I’ll just turn around and go home. Lord, I’m coming home.” In Naomi, we see a pretty stark example of failure. We see her bitter experiences of being far away from God. But we also see a wonderful example of forgiveness. We see in Naomi the blessings we can experience when we set our hearts for home.
Ten years have passed since Naomi left Bethlehem-Judah with her husband and two sons. (Ruth 1:4) Now, a decade later, she’s coming home. But it’s a bittersweet homecoming. The home and family she had in Bethlehem are all but a distant memory, and she ponders her return to a place where she has nowhere to live, no place to work and no one to come home to. Oh, she has Ruth all right, but it’s still not the same. Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, Naomi knows that “There’s no place like home.” So, she turns her face for Bethlehem. And let’s face it, Naomi made a bad decision when she left Bethlehem. But she wasn’t stuck. Instead, Naomi used her experience and bad decisions as a prompt to make a good decision – to go back home to the Bethlehem and God that she once knew. Bethlehem was in the land of Judah, which means “praise,” and Bethlehem was the place where God was glorified and honored. It was the place where God was praised and exalted. Naomi was returning to that place where God’s presence was very real. Moab, she remembered, beckoned with promise, but it proved nothing more than a mirage when she arrived. Bethlehem, on the other hand, was a place where God’s presence was palpable. Not that the famine, which drove Naomi away from God in the first place, did anything to make her feel God in a more personal way. But now, in the desert, God’s absence was overwhelming; a darkness so thick that you could cut it with a knife. A suffocating darkness. A darkness that, with a little light, could be dispelled. Naomi had to get back to that place where she could be in God’s presence once again, and experience, first-hand, God’s loving-kindness.
When we’re away from God, our lives are barren of God’s blessings. It’s like that Mother Goose nursery rhyme, “Old Mother Hubbard.” Remember the story? She had plenty of cupboards, but they were all empty. She didn’t even have a bone for her dog. In other words, our “vacation” away from God is not the tourist destination it was cracked up to be. It’s barren; it’s empty; it’s alone. But it’s hard to come home, isn’t it? Oh, the coming home part is easy enough, but what will happen to me when I return? Worse yet, how angry is God going to be when he sees me? Just like a teenager, we’ve stayed out past curfew, broken the rules and thumbed our nose at authority. Now, Dad’s really going to get me.
Satan has that argument down pat; he uses it all the time. You know the one, “You’re a loser, you had your chance, you’ve really screwed up this time and you’ll never see God at work in your life, ever again.” Or “You’ve got one chance in this life and boy did you blow it!” The fact is that Satan’s a liar. He’s the father of lies. (John 8:44) So, why would you believe the father of lies? That would be like you believing that I had ocean front property in El Centro to sell you. The truth is that when we come home, we will find a forgiving God that will make himself known in our lives. He wants to be known, so why would he turn you away?
Naomi knew that Bethlehem was a place of God’s people. It was a place of kindred spirits and like-minded souls. In fact, you can probably think of someone that used to be in church and their seat was never empty; it was like they owned the pew. But now, that same person, or maybe family, is not only out of fellowship with God, but out of the fellowship of God. Prove it to yourself. Next Sunday, look around and see if you can’t spot an empty pew that was once filled by Mr. or Ms. Dependable. When Naomi got home, the people who knew her were shocked to see her. “Is this our Naomi,” they said? (Ruth 1:9) And then notice her answer: “Don’t call me Naomi; call me Bitter.” (v. 9) Naomi goes from “Mrs. Pleasant” to Mara, “Ms. Bitter.” In a word, Naomi testifies to the results and consequences of leaving God.
And isn’t it interesting that Naomi comes home during the spring? (v. 22) Coincidence, I guess. It was the time of the barley harvest, which is about the same time as Passover. A time of first fruits; a time for starting over; a time for forgiveness; a time when new life comes to bloom. And it can be springtime for you, too. You can come home, you know. You’ve seen the picture, haven’t you? You know, the colored photos of God you see plastered all over the place? And you’ve even read your Father’s message on the back, haven’t you? Yeah, that one. The one that says, “Whatever you’ve done, whatever you’ve become, it doesn’t matter. Please come home.”
Chinese philosopher, Lao-tzu said, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” So, go ahead. Turn your heart toward home. Take that first step because God still has your picture on his fridge.
Grace,
Randy
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