Is THAT in the Bible? 4: God Never Gives Us More Than We Can Handle

Scripture (Ruth 1:1-22) can be found here

t’s called the Book of Ruth, but really, it’s Naomi’s story. Naomi is the one whose heartache and hope are central to this tale, written both in and about a time of chaos and loss for nations and for families.

 

The story starts with a famine in Bethlehem—literally, a famine “in the House of Bread,” which is what “Bethlehem” means in Hebrew. House of Bread. So, we know things are upside down, topsy turvy. Elimelech and Naomi and their sons travel to where there is bread, and where do they travel? They go to Moab. There is probably no more despised location in the Hebrew Scriptures than Moab, this place which one psalm compares to a chamber pot. But Moab has food, and, it turns out, good people. Like I said: everything is upside down, so we’re on alert to expect the unexpected.

 

After her husband dies, Naomi’s sons marry Moabite women, Orpah and Ruth. After Naomi’s sons die, she is left alone with her two daughters-in-law.

 

There is a reason that scripture—in both testaments—lifts up widows, orphans, and strangers as those who are in special need of care and concern. These are the most vulnerable members of any population, because they have no means of support… women and children and travelers from other lands, people with no head of household to take responsibility for their welfare and survival. In his last will and testament to the covenant people, Moses tells them,

For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who is not partial and takes no bribe, who executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and who loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing. You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.
~Deuteronomy 10:17

Now Naomi and her daughters-in-law are completely vulnerable. They have no relatives in Moab to care for them, since they’re refugees. They have no head-of-household or spouse to earn a living for their support. The die is cast: they must return to Bethlehem, especially since the House of Bread is once again full. The famine in Bethlehem is over.

 

But Naomi realizes she would be leading her daughters-in-law into greater exposure. In Moab, Orpah and Ruth are near kin. What can Naomi offer them in Bethlehem? She tells them to stay, to go back to their families. The young women protest, they weep: they want to stay with Naomi. But Naomi tries a little humor to soften her stern instructions, What, I should have babies at my age? And you should wait for them to grow up and marry you? I don’t think so.

 

Then, we get to the crux of the matter, what is really on Naomi’s mind. “No, my daughters,” she says. God is against me. I am cursed. I am full of bitterness. Go back. Go home. Go to safety, and to the gods you know, and the parents who reared you. God has given me more than I can handle.

 

There are many modern-day Naomis, as there have been throughout history. People live through things we think are unendurable. How do they do it? Especially—as in Naomi’s case—how do they do it if they have a belief system that convinces them, or strongly suggests to them, that such losses are a sign that they are out of favor with God, that they are being punished for sin?

 

One daughter-in-law, Orpah, is finally convinced. She turns away, towards her mother’s home.

 

It’s important to remember that Orpah does nothing wrong. In fact, she obeys the wishes of the one person in her life with parental authority over her. At Naomi’s insistence, she returns to her parents, something that is never easy once we’re think we’ve launched. But she does nothing wrong. By Naomi’s lights, Orpah does the right thing.

 

But Ruth goes another way. She refuses to leave, and instead, cleaves herself to Naomi with words that sound very much like a wedding vow.

Where you go, I go;
and where you live, I’ll live.
Your people are my people,
your God is my god;
where you die, I’ll die,
and that’s where I’ll be buried;
so help me God—not even death itself is going to come between us! (“The Message”)

OK I take it back. These words promise more than wedding vows. Wedding vows generally take us to the point of the death of one or the other party… they’re intended to last “as long as we both shall live.” This vow extends beyond the boundaries of life. “So help me God, not even death is going to come between us.” Ruth’s commitment to Naomi is extraordinary. It might even be described as God-like.

Maybe God does, at times, give us more than we can handle. On the other hand, it’s possible that God has nothing whatsoever to do with the random events that impact our lives: the unknown aneurism; the chance meeting (for good or for ill); the embezzling scoundrel. If God played puppet master with our lives, wouldn’t the world would be at peace? Wouldn’t we all thrive and live to a ripe old age? God does seem, in the name of allowing us free will, to allows things to happen—some of them, terrible things. And sometimes we buckle under the weight of those terrible things.

But sometimes things that are too much for us to handle alone are things we can handle when someone stays to walk beside us.

In her book Contemplative Knitting Episcopal priest Julie Cicora describes a young girl who loses everything that is important to her when she discovers she is afflicted with brittle bone disease. Tina had known she would be a dancer almost before she was able to talk. Her parents described the kicking she would do as an infant whenever she heard music. By the time she was ten, with long, willowy arms and legs, she was taking class with the high school students and dancing the leads in recitals. All this until the day her femur broke for no apparent reason. When the reason was discovered, Tina was angry. Angry at God, and angry at her church. She wanted to know why, and no one could offer any reason. All they could offer were their prayers and their presence, so that’s what they gave.

The… people [of the congregation] continued to pray for Tina. They surrounded her with their love. They sat silently with her while her leg healed. They read to her, they played games with her, they helped her with her schoolwork, and they listened to her. The consistent love of the visitors from her church penetrated her dark night. Eventually she opened herself to a different way of interacting with music other than dancing…[i]

The turning point of the story of Naomi doesn’t come in chapter 3 when Boaz and Ruth have their sexy encounter on the threshing floor. It comes right here, in chapter 1, when Ruth refuses to leave Naomi in bitter hopelessness. Even though Naomi turns away without a word. Even though she describes herself as bitter to her friends (even to the point of attempting to change her name). If this is the story of Naomi’s heartbreak, Ruth steps into the role of Naomi’s hope, and insists on walking beside her. Literally. It is Ruth’s persistence and her vow of presence, of solidarity, and of commitment that turn the tide of the story from emptiness to fullness, from night to day, and from despair to hope.

 

Does God give us more than we can handle? Or is it just life, the universe as it has evolved from God’s initial speaking it all into existence? There are some things we can’t know, until we have the privilege of seeing God face to face. But what we can do, is persist. Heartbreak is all around, but those of us who are able can persist in our love of those who are experiencing it. There are things none of us can handle if we insist on going it alone. But in good company—the company of those who pray for us, offer us their presence, and walk beside us—we can find our way again.

Thanks be to God. Amen.


[i] Julie Cicora, Contemplative Knitting (New York, NY: Morehouse Publishing, 2021), 146.