There are moments in life when God’s pursuit of us seems like that of a persistent mosquito, constantly buzzing around our heads and causing pain, and we are utterly powerless to shake him off. Certainly, Naomi was thinking of God in those terms in the second half of Ruth 1. Having departed from the Promised Land with a husband and two sons to go to the greener fields of Moab, she had been left utterly bereft of support by their death. Moab was no longer a viable place for her to live; she had no choice but to return home. There was food at last in Bethlehem, and perhaps she too, widow that she was, might yet be able to eke out the rest of her miserable existence there.

But what should Naomi do about her two Moabite daughters-in-law, Orpah and Ruth? At first, they all set out to go back to Judah together. But was the choice Naomi was making, to go home to Bethlehem, the right choice for them as well? This was the dilemma Naomi faced on the road out of Moab (vv. 6-13). While Bethlehem had once been Naomi’s home, it was never theirs. Her people were not their people. And if Orpah and Ruth came with her, it would mean two more mouths to feed on a fixed and limited budget, two more bodies to clothe and house, all the while dependent on the charity of family members.

What made it far worse for Naomi to contemplate, though, was the fact that these two were foreigners who would hardly be welcome in polite society in Bethlehem. Orpah made the sensible choice and went back home (v. 14). Orpah looked her situation in life clearly in the face and made the necessary decisions by using exactly the same logic that Naomi had followed earlier: the fields of Moab looked far greener than the land of Israel. With that simple, sensible choice she marched off, out of the pages of the Bible.

Then there was Ruth. Ruth was a nobody, an outsider, a Moabite of all things. There was nothing kosher about Ruth. Conventional wisdom shouted for Ruth to follow the way of Orpah, the most likely way of worldly security and significance. But Ruth was not Orpah and there was nothing conventional about her. She would not let Naomi go on alone to her empty future. Ruth was glued to her mother-in-law, and nothing and no one could send her away (v. 15). But in a crescendo of commitment, Ruth poured out her heart to Naomi (vv. 16-17). Here is an astonishing act of surrender and self-sacrifice. Ruth was laying down her entire life to serve Naomi.

In response, Naomi said nothing (v. 18). Isn’t Naomi’s silence an astonishing response to her daughter-in-law’s words? Ruth’s words were far from welcome words for Naomi in her state of bitterness. She had nothing to say to this unwanted outpouring. For confirmation that this was indeed her line of thinking, consider what she said when she and Ruth finally reached Bethlehem, and the townswomen gathered around her (vv. 19-21).

As she returned to Bethlehem Naomi summed up her experience while she had been away. “Don’t call me Naomi (“Pleasant”) anymore,” she said. “Instead, call me Mara (“Bitter”). I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty. I left here with everything; now I’m left with absolutely nothing.” But if Naomi evaluates her present situation on her return to Bethlehem as having absolutely nothing, what does that make Ruth? Less than nothing?

Naomi may have been returning to the Lord’s land in body, but she was not exactly returning to the Lord with a broken spirit and a contrite heart. Mara, “Bitter,” was exactly the right name for Naomi now. It was a name with a history, a history of God’s people rebelling at His perceived lack of provision for their needs. It was at Marah in the wilderness on the way out of Egypt that the children of Israel grumbled against the Lord because they couldn’t drink the water (Ex. 15:23-24).

Like her ancestors, Naomi’s heart was angry with God for the way her life was turning out. She was experiencing the pain of life in the desert and felt that the judgment that had befallen her were all God’s fault. The Lord had “testified against” her (v. 21); that is, He had called her to account. Her losses were attributable directly to the Almighty’s acts of judgment against her. In response, her heart had grown hard and bitter toward Him, both recognizing and at the same time resenting His power in her life. At this point, there was no whisper of acknowledgment in her heart of her own responsibility in choosing the path of disobedience that had led her away from the Promised Land in the first place.

Naomi was simply resentful that the greener pastures of Moab, outside the land of promise, had actually turned into a desert in her experience. The prodigal daughter may now have been back home in her Father’s land physically, but she was back only because she didn’t see any prospect of continued survival among the pigs in the far country. Her body may have made the journey home, but her spirit was still far from restored.

So, what does this passage say to us? In the first place, it addresses us as people who are just like Orpah and Ruth. Like Orpah and Ruth, there was nothing kosher about us when we were born. On the contrary, we were outsiders to the gospel, outsiders to grace, by nature objects of God’s wrath, even if we grew up in a Christian home. By nature, we were dead in our transgressions and sins, as Paul puts it (Eph. 2:1). We all need a new birth – to be born of the Spirit, as Jesus told Nicodemus – in order to enter the kingdom of God (John 3:5).

Like Orpah and Ruth, as natural-born outsiders, we cannot simply slide into the kingdom. We are all faced with a crucial choice at some point in our lives, a dividing of the ways. We can continue to seek our security and significance in the world’s way, as Orpah did. We can seek to find meaning and value in our career, our family, our health, or our wealth. Or, alternatively, we can choose the way of Ruth; choosing the gospel way to true life. It is a daunting path that can be taken only by faith, by throwing oneself on the mercy and favor of Israel’s God. As outsiders, we have nothing to offer Him except our emptiness.

Ruth embraced that emptiness, and trusted that Naomi’s God would be her God also. This road necessarily passes through the way of the cross, the way of dying to self and to our own interests. In one sense, the gospel road is the easiest path in the world, for we bring to it nothing except our own need. In another sense, though, it is the hardest path, for the cross is a continual stumbling block to anyone who wants to bring anything to contribute to one’s own salvation. The way of the cross means constantly dying to self-interest, putting the needs and desires of others first, whether or not their response is one of gratitude and thanks. It means pouring out our lives for others, even in the face of their bitterness of spirit.

If Naomi in her self-pitying myopia failed to look back to God’s grace in the exodus as the source of her hope, what about us as we face our own trials? What do we need to remember? The gospel is the fundamental answer to Naomi’s need and to our own. Tremendous asset that she will prove to be, Ruth is not the final answer to Naomi’s needs. Ruth is simply a pointer to the gospel, a small symbol of God’s grace that pointed Naomi to the great symbols of God’s grace. The gospel is the fundamental answer, both for our lack of trust in God and for our lack of concern for the nations.

Ruth 1:6-22 Study Questions:

Why does Naomi so forcefully oppose the idea of Ruth and Orpah returning with her to Bethlehem (vv. 6-13)? What other difficulties might they face in the land of Israel, given their Moabite ethnicity?

What do you notice about Ruth’s impassioned speech to Naomi? What commitments does she make? What does she affirm? Is there evidence, in her words, of genuine faith in God? What is surprising about Naomi’s response to Ruth?

As the chapter ends, why might the narrator have included the detail about the beginning of the “barley harvest” (v. 22)? How is this a hint that God is not yet finished with Naomi? How is this detail a reminder of God’s grace to His people – both then and now?