Preparing for Christmas with Ruth

I like to think of the Old Testament book of Ruth as ‘the story behind the Christmas story’…

If we’re half familiar with this little book, we’ll know that it culminates in the arrival of a baby, also born in Bethlehem, and who incredibly ends up being the great, great, great (add a few more!) grand-father of Jesus.

But there’s so much more to Ruth than its famous ending. So much more that will help us prepare for Christmas.

For a start, it all begins with famine.

The Cupboards Are Bare

Now, I know that’s a bit of a gear-change at this time of year.

We tend to think of Christmas as a time of feasting: platefuls of mince pies, chocolate stashed in every room of the house, marzipan-lined cake, and turkey with all the trimmings (don’t tell me it’s an overrated bird – haters gonna hate…).

And so the opening verse of Ruth can feel like a contrast: ‘…there was a famine in the land.’ (1:1)

But if we linger here, we’ll see that this prelude has an important, and even refreshing, word for us today.

The ‘land’ here refers to ‘the promised land’, Israel, a haven of blessing, provision and security that God had promised to Abraham and his descendants. It was the place into which God’s people had finally staggered during the book of Joshua, but only after forty years of wandering in the desert, a punishment for their disobedience.

So if this was meant to be a land of blessing, why on earth was there a famine?

Great question.

Warning Lights

We need to read between the lines here. We’ve already been told that Ruth is set in the time ‘when the Judges ruled’ (1:1). As a quick glance at the final verse in Judges will indicate (21:25), this was short-hand for God’s people being on a downward spiral of disobedience and idolatry.

But we also need to know that in the Old Testament, a famine represented something very specific.

When God outlined the nature of his covenant relationship with his people, he gave them the Old Testament law to set out what that relationship looked like. Within the law were clear consequences if God’s people disobeyed him and turned after false gods. Crucially for us here, one of these consequences was famine (take a look at Deuteronomy 28:15-29 to see this explicitly).

In other words, God’s people experiencing national widespread hunger was like a warning light flashing on the dashboard. It was a visible sign alerting God’s people to the reality that all was not well with their relationship with God.

And like all warning lights, it was meant to evoke a response…

Meet the Family?

Now, as we’re introduced to the initial characters, it’s notable that the very first thing we’re told about this family is not their names or characters or occupations, but rather where they’re from and where they go. In other words, we’re told their response to the famine. And we’re meant to see it’s not a particularly wise response.

Bethlehem was a small town within Judah, the promised land. In fact its name literally meant ‘house of bread’. But Moab on the other hand was one of the enemies of God’s people. We might rush past these place names as if they were irrelevant details, but the very first readers of Ruth would have raised their eyebrows at this family’s choice of destination: ‘You’re going where?! Moab?!’

And just to emphasise their decision, the narrator repeats it in verse 3, sandwiching it around the family’s names: ‘They were Ephrathites from Bethlehem, Judah. And they went to Moab and lived there.’ (1:3)

Of course, we might think, ‘But aren’t they just doing what any reasonable people would have done in the face of famine?’

But, remember, this wasn’t any normal famine. It was a God-given warning light indicating that Israel needed to turn back to him in confession and repentance. It certainly wasn’t an invitation to flee further away.

Denial Strategies

But isn’t that what we do? When faced with the cold reality of our brokenness and corruption, it’s all too easy to turn away. To escape, rather than face the truth.

The narrator doesn’t dwell for long on the folly of this one family’s decision, although as we’ll see if we read to 1:5, it hardly leads to life-giving blessing. Given the context of Judges, you could say that Elimelek and Naomi’s move was just one lived-out example of a whole nation’s systemic denial of their real problem: a broken relationship with God and their desperate need for forgiveness.

All this might not seem very ‘Christmassy’, but that’s exactly why Christians have traditionally valued the period of Advent.

Remember, Christmas was the twelve days of celebration that began on December 25^th – hence the song! In contrast, Advent is about preparing for Christmas by facing up to the darkness. The darkness of a broken world and the desperate news that without Jesus all cannot be well with our relationship with God.

Escaping Advent

Of course, we don’t need to be legalistic about this. Marking Advent isn’t in the Bible. But it is biblical to face reality and see our personal and corporate need for a Saviour.

So what if the way that our culture rushes past Advent, or at least is so eager to bring Christmas in early, is symptomatic of trying to escape the reality of our brokenness? We turn away, rather than face the truth.

Tish Harrison Warren speaks of this ‘unhealthy escapism’, where we ‘run at breathless pace from sugar-laced celebration to celebration’:

“We suffer from a collective consumerist mania that demands we remain optimistic, shiny, happy and having fun, fun, fun.

But life isn’t a Disney Cruise. The tyranny of relentless mandatory celebration leaves us exhausted and often, ironically, feeling emptier. Many of us suffer from “holiday blues,” and I wonder whether this phenomenon is made worse by the incessant demand for cheer — the collective lie that through enough work and positivity, we can perfect our lives and our world.”

Look Hard at the Cracks

But who can do that for long? In a world that aches with sin, pretending everything is ‘endless cheer’ is both deceptive and exhausting.

As Warren puts it, instead we need the opportunity to ‘look long and hard at what is cracked and fractured in our world and in our lives.’

Things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be. The very fact that there was a famine in the ‘house of bread’ should have been a clear wake-up call to this truth.

And so Advent presents us with a choice: will we face up to that reality, or will we try and escape past it?

–

Why not take some time to reflect upon the ways you feel the world’s brokenness today. Acknowledge that things aren’t as they should be. This might be at a global, national and personal level.

Confess your own sin as part of this – are there ways in which you’re seeking to ‘escape’ from this truth? 

Give thanks that the Bible faces the reality of an aching world head-on, rather than pretending ‘all is fine’. How could this inspire conversations you have today? 

–

This post was adapted from a daily email Bible reflection for Advent from the book of Ruth, ‘Finding Hope under Bethlehem Skies’. You can sign up for these here. Each reflection will also include links to previous reflections.

I can’t remember where I saw it now, but a few months back I read an observation that one of the current, popular distortions of Christianity is what this particular writer had nicknamed Cashpoint Christianity.

Can you see where this is going? We’ve all used a cashpoint: you pop in your card, enter your pin, and then – bingo – out pops your cash.

And the point they were making is that sometimes Christianity is portrayed a bit like that. It’s all about an initial transaction: you get baptised/confirmed/pray a prayer and out pops forgiveness/a ticket to heaven. Now you can just sit back and wait. Enjoy your life ’til you pop your clogs. Job done.

Of course, as is the case with all distortions, there’s glimmers of truth in the forgery. God’s offer of forgiveness is free and the only response God is looking for is faith. It’s not about scrubbing up beforehand. As the old hymn goes, “the vilest offender who truly believes, that moment from Jesus a pardon receives.” Amen.

But…

Well, actually we’ll come back to the ‘but’ in a moment, because this got me thinking about another distortion that we can often take on board.

If sometimes we fall into the error of Cashpoint Christianity, surely just as common is the error of Club Christianity.

In this counterfeit, the package that we’re buying into is all about belonging to (what is effectively) a social club. Any commitment we make is a commitment to a group of people and – perhaps – a certain way of doing things. The emphasis probably lies on outward conformity and activity, without much else. You could say it’s all about the horizontal to the detriment of the vertical.

Now, again, we’ve got to watch we don’t chuck the baby down the drain along with all the dirty soapsuds. Christianity is about community, something that too often our individualistic culture can blind us to. But…

(Ok, so I know what you’re thinking: this is the point where I pull a long-eared cuddly creature out of my hat and offer an alternative, probably also beginning with the letter ‘C’. Well, yep, you got me  – and anyway you’ve already read the title, right?!)

…as a church family we were journeying through Paul’s letter to the Philippians a few weeks ago, and it struck me that there we find something altogether different. Have a read of these verses:

Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.

(Philippians ch2 v12-13)

So let me introduce you to – cue drumroll – Construction-Site Christianity.

But, just for a change, it’s not the church website or leaky roof that’s under construction.

It’s us.

It seems this Bible passage inadvertently corrects the two errors described earlier. It shows us what’s missing from both Cashpoint Christianity and Club Christianity. There’s no expectation of personal, inward change.

Have you ever thought of yourself as a construction site? Maybe you’re someone who’s regularly in the gym or at the spa. We often talk about make-overs and diets and work-outs.

But here the expectation of change is internal. It’s at the level of our thoughts and desires and ambitions. And maybe that’s kind of awkward because we’ve become pretty accustomed to not letting anyone else go anywhere near those. 

And yet this isn’t something we’re to plough ourselves into single-handedly, as if God hands us the flat-pack, instructions and toolbox and just expects us to crack on.

Read those words again: “…it is God who works in you…”

That’s why Paul talks about having an attitude of “fear and trembling”. The God of the Universe wants to change little old me. That’s pretty breath-taking when you stop and think about it.

Mark Twain infamously quipped: ‘Few things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a good example.’ Yet in Christianity God doesn’t just tell us to do something. He comes and lives within us, by his Spirit. He comes and changes our desires.

Sometimes I want to do right, but I seem to lack the energy or ability to change. Other times, it seems like I don’t even want to do the right thing; my heart is dull and cold.

But these verses encourage me: God provides the desire, even when we do not have it. It encourages me to ask God for his help in working within me a desire to do his will.

Now we might hear that and just think, ‘why?’ Doesn’t God have better things to do with his time? Like saving the world? Spinning planets? Or hanging out with holy types in special buildings?

There’s even a way of phrasing that objection that makes God sound quite petty. Ever heard someone say, “What kind of a God is bothered about what I get upto in my bedroom?” Maybe one of the reasons we opt for Cashpoint Christianity or Club Christianity is that we know full well we sometimes don’t want to change. As I’ve written before,

“Change is something we campaign for out there, but it’s not something we particularly want in the depths of our hearts.”

But it all depends on your perspective. The Bible describes humans as being uniquely made in the image of God. That means we’re uniquely called to reflect God and honour him with all that we are. 

And so when I slip into ways of thinking about my faith that resemble Cashpoint Christianity or Club Christianity, I’m avoiding the staggering truth that God wants to change each of us. He wants to change me.

Do you still believe in Construction-Site Christianity?

—

You can take a longer listen to my reflections on Philippians 2v12-31 below:

As it happens I’ve never really written about a flower before (admittedly, apart from that metaphoric ditty I wrote about my first crush, Poppy, back in Year 6). But here I am getting mildly botanical, because over the last few weeks I’ve been particularly enthralled by Spring’s darling, the daffodil. Let me tell you why…

In the UK at least, the seasons of the year offer a vivid in-built illustration of new life from death and barrenness. As winter gives way to Spring, it’s hard not to see through these times of change to eternal realities. Martin Luther basically said as much:

Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime.

And surely there is no better example of this than the splendour of the daffodil. There it is, popping up in your garden or lining your local verge, all in various shades of sunburst. 

Just as the apostle wrote about the ‘last trumpet’ sounding when Jesus returns, signalling the day of resurrection (1 Corinthians 15:50-53), I reckon daffodils in springtime are like little resurrection trumpeters, vibrant and alert, declaring their good news to our dulled and distracted hearts. 

In fact, A. A. Milne has a line in one of his Winnie the Pooh books where he describes the daffodil as being a herald of life:

She turned to the sunlight, and shook her yellow head. And whispered to her neighbour: “Winter is dead.

Of course in this Easter time we have a seasonal opportunity to discover what the Christian seeks to recall daily: to look back to an empty cross and an empty grave and fix our hearts on these guarantees of God’s love, forgiveness and resurrection future.

But every sown seed that goes into the ground and ‘dies’, before being raised in the ‘glory’ of a flower, is also an enacted reminder that the new-life story is our story (1 Corinthians 15:35-44).

And yet the daffodil is not just a picture of transformation; she is a watchman who also raises her instrument and calls us to behold the new reality that has burst through the horizon in Jesus’ resurrection.

So as we approach Easter, I draw your attention to this little resurrection trumpet. Next time your eyes catch her joyful radiance, faithfully standing tall amidst this season of birdsong and April showers, why not take a moment to imagine her victory blast and remember what’s coming.