The Way of Ruth
Of her humility and fruitful grace,
Of her wandering and embrace of truth,
Led forth by love from an alien place.
Attracted was she in her blossoming
To the handsome Ephrathite, a stranger
In Moab, with his father sojourning
Away from a drought and the LORD’s anger.
Tell, what was the glory that moved her heart?
What in the land’s stranger, humble or proud,
Enkindled her heart from her kin to part?
An inner confidence, a secret shroud
Of the true God? Ruth was drawn like a moth
To the family and their ways—unto she,
The mother, Naomi, cleansing with cloth
Their plates and cups for the good LORD to see—
Unto Elimelech, the father, who
Would gaze at his wide fields unlike others,
Not at the ground but far into the blue
Of the sky, pensive—unto the brothers,
Mahlon and Chilion, both vigorous,
Intelligent, quiet. She fell in love,
Until they all knew, “She is one of us,”
And her marriage came, not just from above,
Like a ripe pomegranate at harvest.
Yet sorrow’s strength, too, created a breach
With Elimelech’s passing, to contest
With the concord and joy, Ruth’s heart to reach.
Then Mahlon died. Then Chilion. Ruth’s heart
Was rent and, being rent, died to hopes past.
In her own death, Naomi yet could start
Each day the hearth’s fire and would humbly cast
To I AM WHO AM a suppliant’s prayer.
She grew to Ruth, in her depthless sorrows,
Like a pillar of strength, one who could bear
All the vast misfortunes of tomorrows,
A dignity with whom a life without
Would be no life at all. All Orpah’s tears
Were tears as well, evident without doubt,
But not from the still depths which purged her fears.
She would not part when Naomi spoke well
Of Ruth’s future, of her own barrenness.
She would not forsake the God in whose spell
Faith she found—within her forsakenness.
“Mother, wherever you go, I will go–-
For there will I lodge and there will I die.
Your people are my people. More, you know,
Your God is my God.” “Then, child, we must try.”
Then the two women went on, having left
Orpah who would not follow, and with hope
In the news that Judah was not bereft
Of God’s mercy, that there they yet could cope.
“No. I am Mara [Bitter].” She told the women
Who greeted Naomi in Bethlehem,
Who ignored her desire and told their men,
“Naomi has returned,” saying to them,
“Without Elimelech or sons” and thought
How great the LORD’s justice and punishment
On a family who strayed far—who sought
Strange wives, for whom Judah’s seed was not meant.
* * *
But Ruth went to seek the land’s LORD and grace
In the fields of its men, to glean remains
From the bountiful harvest, and to trace
The swaths of the young men on the field’s plains.
She came to a field where men were haying,
Their master soon arrived and greeted them,
“The LORD be with you!” They blessed him, praying.
He was Boaz, a man of Bethlehem.
And Ruth gleaned in his field in solitude,
Happy to gather the scythed grains, singly,
Unaware of the heat, with joy imbued,
Unaware how one watched her willingly.
Who is this quiet woman? Boaz thought,
Gleaning in my field, her mother to feed?
He pondered and wondered how the LORD brought
Her into His fold—and why? How He freed
Her from her idols’ strength, remembering
The great exodus. “Out of depths He calls,”
He thought, and he wondered, while instructing
His men to leave her be. “None her befalls!”
He warned and told to let fall from all hands
A few barley grains. Later, they watched him
Speak with her in the field—he who commands
Listening, alert, to the figure slim.
They let her walk amongst them at mealtime,
Respectful with their eyes as she sat near,
Sharing a few words quietly. In time,
Under the sun, they rose, the sheaves to clear.
Slowly Ruth dipped her bread into the sauce
At the invitation of Boaz, and
Their eyes met—a moment—with each across,
In the horizon of a far-reaching land.
Ruth rose to glean and gleaned until evening.
Amazed at her bounty, the field’s rich grace,
She returned to Naomi her gleaning,
Trembling some in her smile, her eyes, and face.
“In whose fields were you, my daughter?” inquired
Naomi, who heeded all Ruth’s response
And trusted: Boaz, a cousin—admired.
“Stay in his fields then and give no offense.”
The harvesters harvested and Ruth gleaned,
And with Naomi each day blessed the LORD
For the gracious succor He provided:
Boaz did not begrudge the poor or hoard.
Ruth labored in the fields by day and learned
Of the LORD: of Moses and Abraham,
Of faith, forbearance, of what the law warned,
Of Jacob, Joseph, of Eve and Adam.
Naomi exchanged Ruth’s gleanings for wool
And spun the wool and wove. They did not lack.
Ruth saw Boaz, as the weather grew cool,
A figure, distant—when he turned his back.
Ruth hearkened to the flight out of Egypt
And the tribes’ journey to the promised land,
Of all the sins and hopes the people kept,
Of the manna which they gathered by hand.
“I am here but am I?” oft Ruth wondered,
In the fields of milk and honey gleaning,
Rethinking her life, how she had wandered,
Of Mahlon, of Moab, with hopes, yearning.
* * *
With the fields all scythed and stubbled, Ruth stayed
Inside with Naomi whose brows furrowed
As she wove. “Daughter, heed me. I have prayed
And thought of Elimelech who followed
The LORD and his fathers. Boaz will thresh
This evening. He is our relative. Go
Bathe yourself and dress well. Make yourself fresh
And visit him though do not let him know
Of your presence until he is done with
Eating and drinking. But when he lies down,
Take note of where he is. Later, forthwith,
Uncover a place at his feet. Your own
Self lie there. He will tell you what to do.”
Ruth heard these words, and heaven passed away
Above her and the ground beneath: what new
Humiliation must she suffer? Say
No? Thoughts of Lot’s daughters, Potiphar’s wife,
Abraham with Isaac, dizzied her mind
In silence. For whom—for what—was her life?
“I will do so,” she said with faith, resigned.
Later, in twilight, Ruth stood at her door:
Innumerable stars were beginning
To appear. She left for the threshing floor,
Cloaked, freshly bathed, cleanly dressed, wavering.
She passed by homes, wives their meals preparing,
Subduing feelings of shame yet compelled
By her promise to Naomi, caring
And yet unfeeling how she was upheld.
Ruth came near to the threshing floor and saw
Boaz threshing the grain, concentrating
On every pitch and toss, sweat on his brow,
With other men with meal and drink feasting.
When Boaz stopped threshing and ate and drank,
Ruth turned away from the circle of light,
And further into the darkness she sank,
Crying in her spirit, “O LORD, what might—
He think!! This good man, this lord of men—how
Will he know I am not what I will seem?”
She stared numbly across the fields. A cow
Lowed and plodded nearby. Ruth sighed. “This scheme
Is not my doing.” She pulled tight her cloak
And turned and espied Boaz and waited,
Watching men leave the floor. Outside, they spoke
Of their lord’s bounty. Ruth contemplated
What they might think of her. She felt the cool
Night air. Boaz bid the last harvester
Good night with his blessing. “Now, little fool,
Be brave,” thought Ruth. No sound to suggest her
Presence, she watched and she waited until
Boaz lay down beside his sheaves and slept.
Ruth stole then into the floor to fulfill
Her promise. She uncovered a place, kept
Quiet, and gave thanks Boaz slept. Later,
In the middle hour of the night, he turned
And started up: “Who are you? Whose daughter?”
“I am your servant Ruth.” “Yes, I have learned,”
Thought Boaz, “of all you’ve done for your kin.”
“Spread the corner of your cloak over me,
For you are my next of kin.” “It’s no sin
For me to do so,” he thought. “Naomi,”
He surmised, “might have done as much herself,
And here’s this girl.” Then a silence between
Them. “May the LORD bless you, daughter, Himself,
For you have not run after the younger men,
Whether rich or poor. So be assured, now,
I will do for you whatever you say.
My townspeople, a worthy woman know
You are.” He felt her warmth near in the hay
And felt her relax at his words. Silence.
And he yearned to turn to her and embrace
Her, once, though aware of her innocence.
“But,” he thought, “I perhaps must cede my place
To my nearer kinsman.” And Boaz spoke
Of the matter to Ruth, without turning.
And Ruth listened and new worries awoke
In her heart. “Stay as you are ‘til morning.
“If he claims you, amen. But if he does
Not, then I shall. So lie here, Ruth, and rest.”
So each lay by the other with sharp throes,
Wrestling in their souls—as you may attest—
Until sleep stole over them. Then morning,
The dimmest light, awoke Ruth. Then the man
Looked at her and he spoke as with warning,
“Let it not be known that here this woman
Came to me. Take off your cloak. Hold it out.”
And he poured out six measures of barley
And helped lift it. Ruth left quickly, without
Turning back, restraining her tears, barely.
“And how have you fared, my daughter?” so spoke
Naomi, after she rose and found Ruth
Sitting and staring at her bundled cloak.
“I do not know—I do not know the truth,”
Whispered Ruth, revealing the six measures
Of barley. “He did not wish to send me
Back to you empty-handed.” “Our futures?”
Thought Naomi. “Tell—now tell Naomi
All that happened, all the words the man said.”
Ruth recounted all she had done and all
The words of Boaz. Quelling her own dread,
Naomi comforted Ruth. “The man shall
Not rest but this matter he will settle
Today. Wait here, daughter, and do not leave
‘Til you know. Go now and heat the kettle.”
Through the long day, Naomi would not grieve.
* * *
On that morning Boaz ordered his men
Where to store and where deliver the grain
And, he added, certain men to summon
To the city gate and not to refrain.
Later in the day, approaching the gate,
He questioned his intent, “A Moabite?
Will I the LORD’s decree then violate?
If so, against my own word turn and fight?”
“But not for my own gain will I be wrong,”
He concluded, at last, taking his place,
Ready come what may for Ruth to belong.
Elders arrived and sat to hear his case.
Then he called his relative to sit there,
Who did, willing to deal with Boaz, son
Of Salmon, a son of Nashson. “Aware,
You are that Naomi, our near kinsman
Elimelech’s wife, has returned? She will
Sell the piece of land that belonged to him.
I thought it best here out loud you to tell
And let you, as nearest kin, make your claim.
But if you do not want it, tell me so,
As I have the claim next and none prior.”
The man, pondering how much he might owe,
For the piece of land announced his desire.
“So be it,” said Boaz. “The land is yours
To purchase, and if it you then obtain,
You must take Ruth the Moabite, the heir’s
Widow and with her raise children you gain.”
“This I can not do. I must relinquish
My right. I have, as you know, an estate
That would be a folly to diminish.
The claim I renounce. It is yours to state.”
“This I do,” vowed Boaz, bowing his head.
The relative then took off his sandal
And passed it to Boaz, claimant instead,
Who took it there without pause or scandal.
“You are witnesses,” said Boaz, “this day
That I obtain from Naomi all claims
Of Elimelech and his sons. This way,
Too, I take Ruth as my wife, so their names
May not perish from among you.” “Agreed,”
Said the elders at the gate. “May the LORD
Let Ruth enter your house when you are wed
Like Rachel and Leah--true to her word--
Who raised up our fathers.” Adding, inspired,
“May your offspring with this girl then become
Like the house of Perez whom Judah sired
With Tamar and win fame in Bethlehem.”
So Boaz wed Ruth and she bore a son,
Enabled thus by the LORD to conceive.
Women of Bethlehem praised what was done,
Of Naomi’s barrenness, the reprieve.
Naomi, herself, nursed the baby boy,
Named Obed, father of royal offspring,
And her heart’s bitterness was turned to joy,
She who was faithful and long-suffering.
Amen.
