Hidden Hands, Daring Choices: The Tapestry of Grace (Ruth 4)

No sooner had Boaz gone up to the gate and sat down there than the next-of-kin of whom Boaz had spoken came passing by. So Boaz said, “Come over; sit down here.” And he went over and sat down. Then Boaz took ten men of the elders of the town and said, “Sit down here,” so they sat down. He then said to the next-of-kin, “Naomi, who has come back from the country of Moab, is selling the parcel of land that belonged to our kinsman Elimelech. So I thought I would tell you of it and say: Buy it in the presence of those sitting here and in the presence of the elders of my people. If you will redeem it, redeem it; but if you will not, tell me, so that I may know; for there is no one prior to you to redeem it, and I come after you.” So he said, “I will redeem it.” Then Boaz said, “The day you acquire the field from the hand of Naomi, you are also acquiring Ruth the Moabite, the widow of the dead man, to maintain the dead man’s name on his inheritance.” At this, the next-of-kin said, “I cannot redeem it for myself without damaging my own inheritance. Take my right of redemption yourself, for I cannot redeem it.”

Now this was the custom in former times in Israel concerning redeeming and exchanging to confirm a transaction: the one took off a sandal and gave it to the other; this was the manner of attesting in Israel. So when the next-of-kin said to Boaz, “Acquire it for yourself,” he took off his sandal. Then Boaz said to the elders and all the people, “You are witnesses today that I have acquired from the hand of Naomi all that belonged to Elimelech and all that belonged to Chilion and Mahlon. I have also acquired Ruth the Moabite, the wife of Mahlon, to be my wife, to maintain the dead man’s name on his inheritance, in order that the name of the dead may not be cut off from his kindred and from the gate of his native place; today you are witnesses.” Then all the people who were at the gate, along with the elders, said, “We are witnesses. May the Lord make the woman who is coming into your house like Rachel and Leah, who together built up the house of Israel. May you produce children in Ephrathah and bestow a name in Bethlehem; and, through the children that the Lord will give you by this young woman, may your house be like the house of Perez, whom Tamar bore to Judah.”

So Boaz took Ruth, and she became his wife. When they came together, the Lord made her conceive, and she bore a son. Then the women said to Naomi, “Blessed be the Lord, who has not left you this day without next-of-kin, and may his name be renowned in Israel! He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age, for your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has borne him.” Then Naomi took the child and laid him in her bosom and became his nurse. The women of the neighborhood gave him a name, saying, “A son has been born to Naomi.” They named him Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David.

Now these are the descendants of Perez: Perez became the father of Hezron, Hezron of Ram, Ram of Amminadab, Amminadab of Nahshon, Nahshon of Salmon, Salmon of Boaz, Boaz of Obed, Obed of Jesse, and Jesse of David. --Ruth 4 (NRSVue)

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One of my favorite things about early summer in Minnesota is the explosion of life all around us. The trees are heavy with new green leaves, and the gardens are beginning to sprout, even if it’s been a little cool lately. In nature, summer feels like a steady state of plenty. It is a "green muchness" that feeds our souls deeper than we often realize.

To see how this connects to our faith—and to the end of the Book of Ruth—I want you to picture another landscape. Early in my ministry, I served a church in Goshen, Kentucky, just on the outskirts of Louisville. It is a place of wide-open, rolling green hills that look like waves of deep bluegrass. You can drive for miles past the black and white fences of famous horse farms, where the rich soil makes the grass look painted.

This is the home of farmer and poet Wendell Berry. He has spent his life teaching us that nature moves in reliable cycles. Even the deepest winter deprivation eventually returns to abundant fields and orchards. This is a perfect frame for the end of Ruth. As theologian Parker Palmer writes, summer is when the promises of a difficult season finally come due, repaid with compounded interest.

The climax of Ruth and Naomi’s story takes place at the city gate. In the ancient world, this was the local hub for law and business. Boaz goes there to settle the matter of Naomi’s family land, left behind years ago during the famine. While there, Boaz meets a closer relative to Naomi. The Hebrew text calls him paloni almoni—the ancient version of "Joe Schmo."

Boaz offers Joe the deal. At first, Joe is enthusiastic because he sees a material gain. But then Boaz shares the fine print. By law, buying the land means marrying Ruth—the Moabite foreigner. He must do this to maintain the deceased heir's name on the inheritance.

Suddenly, Joe gets cold feet. He refuses, claiming it will damage his own estate. Joe is living a calculated life of self-preservation. He sees his legacy as a secure stockpile that would be diminished by helping an outsider.

In contrast, Boaz refuses to live with a scarcity mentality. He accepts the legal and social risk. In doing so, he shows us the true meaning of hesed—a word that means far more than steadfast love. It means extraordinary, self-sacrificing faithfulness. Boaz weaves his life into the histories of two destitute widows, trusting that by passing grace around, he creates more of it. 

Choosing this kind of faithful risk requires a deep peace. Wendell Berry wrote about this in his famous 1968 poem, "The Peace of Wild Things." Written during a time of national despair—amid assassinations, racial injustice, and the death of our illusions—his words remind us that we can choose joy and courage. We can lean into a grace that doesn’t depend on our own anxious schemes. He writes:

When despair for the world grows in me

I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief...

For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

When we rest in that grace - when we rest in God’s grace, we can act with courage.

We see this courage ripple out into the community of Bethlehem. When Ruth gives birth to a son, the neighborhood women don’t just watch; they share the joy. They name the child Obed themselves and proclaim, “A son has been born to Naomi!”

These women make a radical statement. They tell Naomi that Ruth is “more to you than seven sons.” In that culture, seven sons represented complete security. Yet, these women declare that Ruth’s faithful love is Naomi’s greatest blessing. Naomi, who returned home entirely empty, now experiences the fullness of generations.

This brings us to the most profound part of this summer harvest. The genealogy at the end of the book reveals that Obed would become the grandfather of King David. Think about what this means. A widow, an immigrant, and a foreigner was the person God chose to join the lineage of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

God took a foreign widow from Moab and made her the foundation of a royal lineage of hope. By choosing community over secure stockpiles of wealth, Boaz, Ruth, and Naomi allowed God to weave their lives into a tapestry of grace. It was a legacy that outlasted them and that changed the history of the world. 

When we hold tight to what we have, we create a world of lack. But when we trust the flow of God’s abundant supply and pass it along, abundance flourishes. Community is the very definition of that abundance. In choosing it, we open ourselves to God, letting God re-shape our empty spaces into a royal inheritance of hope.

And this is the ultimate promise of the harvest: in God's kingdom, no one is an outsider to grace. The borders we build, the secure stockpiles we guard, and the lines we draw between "us" and "them" melt away at the city gate of God's love. Naomi’s once-empty lap was transformed into a space of generational fullness because an outsider was welcomed in.

So as we go forth into this bright summer season, let us open our hearts, open our hands, and expand our circles. Let us trust that when we choose community, we allow God to turn our personal emptiness into a royal legacy of hope. Amen.

Preached Sunday, June 21, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

 

God Creates Family: Wrestling With God

Have you ever seen a wrestling match in person? Now, I’m not talking about professional wrestling - although, I'll be honest, I’ve seen a few of those matches. I’m talking about real wrestling. Where you have two men (or women) in close - really close - proximity to each other. Using grappling-style techniques like clinch fighting, throws and takedowns, pins and other holds to gain points. It’s a combat sport where there is little to separate you from your opponent. One of the oldest forms of combat - there are drawings from 15,000 years ago that portray wrestling matches.

I first really became aware of wrestling in 1988. That was the year of the Olympics in Seoul, Korea. It just so happened that there were two sets of twins wrestling that year - two sets of twins from South Dakota. (That’s was a big chunk of SD’s population then! haha) One of the sets of twins - Jim and Bill Scherr - was from Mobridge, the town where I went to high school. So, naturally, my interest was really piqued and I followed them throughout the competition. 

It takes incredible strength to be a wrestler. Strength, flexibility, and just overall scrappiness to be a good wrestler. But, it’s not just about the physical. Wrestling is really a mind game. Developing strategies, psyching out your opponent, pacing oneself. Being a wrestler and participating in a wrestling match is a full mind and body contact sport.

It's this sport - wrestling - that is central to our story today. A wrestling match between Jacob and God. Between Jacob and, well maybe, God. 

A lot has happened since last week’s story. Who remembers who we were talking about last week? Yes, Sarah and Abraham. And, near the end of the story, we met Isaac, the son born to them at ages 90 and 100, respectively. The beginning of their family. The beginning of God’s family, of God’s special people.

Since then to today, we’ve jumped 10-12 chapters in Genesis. In the time between, we’ve seen Isaac married. To Rebekah. Rebekah, like Sarah, was painfully barren until her later years, when God blessed her and Isaac with a child. Well, actually, two children. Sons. Twins. Esau, the first born. And Jacob, second born. They came out of her womb with Jacob holding onto Esau’s heel. It’s why Jacob was named Jacob. His name means “heel.” 

Jacob was a heel. A trickster. A deceiver. Stealing Esau’s inheritance, something that Esau would have been entitled to as the oldest. Yet, tricked out of it by his younger brother. Then, in chapter 27, Esau is tricked once again. This time, Jacob, with his mother’s help, deceives Isaac into giving him his spiritual blessing. This deception was the last straw for Esau. He swore to kill Jacob. It was only with Rebekah’s help that Jacob was able to flee - to run away to the east to stay with his uncle, Laban. It is here where the trickster is himself deceived. In this new land, Jacob meets Rachel, falls in love, and is tricked by her father, Jacob’s uncle Laban, into marrying her older sister, Leah, before he can marry the woman of his dreams. The trickster tricks the trickster. 

As the years pass, Jacob’s household grows and grows. God has continued to bless him with children and with wealth. By the time our story opens today, Jacob is a rich man and has 66 children. Sixty-six! He has convinced Leah and Rachel that it is time to return to Jacob’s homeland. Which they do.

But, the closer they get, the more anxious Jacob becomes. He knows that, when he left, his relationship with Esau was completely broken. He is fearful that time hasn’t healed the wounds between them. That, if he returns, Esau will kill him. Jacob is worried. In the verses before our reading today, we learn that Jacob has sent messengers to go Esau, to tell him that Jacob has been staying with Laban and that he is now returning with much wealth. It is this wealth that Jacob hopes will impress Esau, erase the hard feelings, and buy his good favor. Because Jacob is convinced that Esau is bent on revenge. Jacob’s fear is real and reasonable.

It is here where our reading today begins. With a prayer. Spoken by Jacob in his fear and anxiety.

Jacob said, “Lord, God of my father Abraham, God of my father Isaac, who said to me, ‘Go back to your country and your relatives, and I’ll make sure things go well for you,’ I don’t deserve how loyal and truthful you’ve been to your servant. I went away across the Jordan with just my staff, but now I’ve become two camps. Save me from my brother Esau! I’m afraid he will come and kill me, the mothers, and their children. You were the one who told me, ‘I will make sure things go well for you, and I will make your descendants like the sand of the sea, so many you won’t be able to count them.’”

Jacob spent that night there. From what he had acquired, he set aside a gift for his brother Esau.  --Genesis 32:9-13 (CEB)

Have you ever prayed a prayer like this? Where you’ve done what God has told you to do or gone where God has directed you to go and you are terrified about what will happen. And you pray to God. And you say, “Remember, God? You were the one who told me to do this. You were the one who said it would go well for me.  But, it doesn’t feel like that - that everything will be okay. In truth, it feels like everything will fall apart. And that, in some way, I will be badly hurt by this, by following where you have led me.” 

Have you ever prayed like this? Afraid. Fearful of being badly hurt.

Jacob got up during the night, took his two wives, his two women servants, and his eleven sons, and crossed the Jabbok River’s shallow water. He took them and everything that belonged to him, and he helped them cross the river. But Jacob stayed apart by himself, and a man wrestled with him until dawn broke. When the man saw that he couldn’t defeat Jacob, he grabbed Jacob’s thigh and tore a muscle in Jacob’s thigh as he wrestled with him. The man said, “Let me go because the dawn is breaking.”

But Jacob said, “I won’t let you go until you bless me.”

He said to Jacob, “What’s your name?” and he said, “Jacob.” Then he said, “Your name won’t be Jacob any longer, but Israel, because you struggled with God and with men and won.”

Jacob also asked and said, “Tell me your name.”

But he said, “Why do you ask for my name?” and he blessed Jacob there. Jacob named the place Peniel, “because I’ve seen God face-to-face, and my life has been saved.”  --Genesis 32:22-30 (CEB)

As Jacob is all alone on the other side of the river, the wrestling match begins. His opponent know his tenacity. His ability to trick and to deceive. This Jacob the Heel. As the dawn approaches, Jacob’s opponent becomes concerned. Is it that he doesn’t want Jacob to see his face? Remember the words from Exodus 33 - “No one who has seen God face to face has lived?” Jacob’s opponent wants his freedom. But Jacob holds on and will not let him go. Demanding that his wrestling opponent bless him. Maybe if he can just hold on long enough, he can get it. That blessing. 

Finally, Jacob’s opponent declares that he will now have a new name. Israel. Meaning “one who struggles with God.” And, although this mysterious stranger refuses to tell Jacob his name, he blesses him. It is then that Jacob names this place, Peniel. Which means “face of God.” And we now know who this wrestler is. God. Jacob has been wrestling God. The God of his ancestors. 

Do you wrestle with God? With the God of Jacob’s ancestors? With the God of our ancestors? It is not easy - this life in God’s kingdom. Just as Jacob wrestled with God, we do, too. Perhaps it is with fear, like Jacob’s, that you wrestle with God. Seeking - no, demanding - God’s blessing. God’s assurance that everything will be okay. That everything will go well. Or perhaps it is with stubbornness. That you struggle with God's will for you or your will for yourself. Or perhaps it is with doubt, that you wrestle with God. Seeking that small blessing of faith that seems to elude us at times. 

Do you wrestle with God?

Jacob was forever changed that night as he wrestled with God. It wasn’t only his name that changed. He, himself, was changed. Wounded in the struggle. Walking from that point on with a limp. Perhaps it was that wound that was a reminder for him of God’s presence. Of God’s blessing. Of God’s love and faithfulness that night. Just as the wounds on the hands and feet of Christ are a reminder for us of God’s presence. Of God’s blessing. Of God’s love.

We are all walking wounded. Whether it is because of messes we have created, relationships we have fractured. Or wounds that have been inflicted upon us. We, like Jacob, all walk wounded. Yet, may we remember that as we, in our tenacity and in our faith, continue to cling to and, yes, to wrestle with God, we, too, like Jacob, have received God’s blessing. We, too, like Jacob, live. Wounded, but alive in Christ. And we, too, like Jacob, will see God face to face. 

Thanks be to God! Amen.

Preached Sunday, September 22, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 15
Readings: Genesis 32:9-13, 22-30; Mark 14:32-36