Kahu's Manao

Keawala‘i Congregational Church
United Church of Christ (USA)

Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time
Sunday, November 8, 2009

The Rev. Kealahou C. Alika

“Risk and Restoration”
Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17 & Mark 12:38-44

Because it is my family I cannot tell you what my cousin said but I can tell you what she did say she said at some risk. We met over lunch last Tuesday in Kainaliu, Kona on the island of Hawai‘i.

On my way from the Keahole International Airport I picked up a dozen white roses at a flower shop. I stopped by the cemetery at Lanakila Church to place some of the flowers on her mother’s grave. Her mother, my aunt died about two weeks ago. While at the cemetery I also placed flowers on my grandfather’s grave and on the graves of three of my uncles.

After lunch, we had a chance to drive by the house in which we grew up together. No one lives there anymore. The house is in disrepair and it is not likely that anyone will ever live in the house again.

We also had an opportunity to visit the grave of our maternal grandmother and an uncle who died when he was only a boy. It was over the course of our time together that we were able to share our stories and memories of those days that now seem so long ago.

We shared stories that were good. But we also shared stories that were not – stories of pain and jealousy, bitterness and anger, betrayal and sorrow – all of them stories essentially of broken relationships.

We somehow knew that unless we took the risks to say what needed to be said we would ourselves be bound to the past. By saying what needs to be said we began the process of releasing ourselves from being held captive to the past and thus restored to live our lives in more fruitful ways.

Overcoming the fear of taking such risks is often a daunting task. More of us would simply choose to walk away. Better to leave things unsaid, we reason. What is the point of saying anything, we wonder.

Whatever the reasons may be there comes a time and moment when we find ourselves compelled to say something. It usually begins with a question: “Did you know that . . . ?” or “I always knew . . . !”

My cousin and I had several such conversations. Rather than feel uneasy or uncertain, fearful or frustrated, I found myself grateful for the ways in which my cousin took the risks to say what needed to be said and in that way our relationship was restored.

Risk and restoration is what is at the heart of the story of Naomi and Ruth. Ruth chose to join Naomi. It was a decision made at great risk but one in which they formed an unlikely alliance for survival.

In our reading from The Book of Ruth, both Ruth and Naomi navigate the difficult social landscape as two widows. Naomi identifies Boaz as her “nearest kin.” (Ruth 2:20) The Hebrew word that is used for Boaz is go’el.

A go’el is a family member who restores something that another family member has lost because of debt or poverty. The word may also be translated as “redeemer.”

As our story begins this morning we find both women planning what they might do to secure their future. Naomi proposes an action to Ruth that is filled with what our Hawaiian küpuna or elders or ancestors would call kaona or double meaning.

For our kupuna such kaona would sometimes be filled with sexual undertones. It is no different for Naomi when she tells Ruth to meet Boaz. Everything that is said, while not explicitly sexual in nature, is nevertheless sexually suggestive.

It is the kind of kaona that we know well through one form of hula – the hula ma‘i – hula that celebrates procreation primarily of our ali‘i or chiefs. I remember from my days spent learning hula many years ago that there was always someone asking, “What do you mean the king was hälala, overly large?” Or, “Why would anyone say that the queen was ‘anapau or frisky?”

Our New England forebears may have blushed at the thought that such language was being put to hula. But I also imagine they may have blushed at the thought of Naomi’s instructions to Ruth when they realized by making herself “known” to Boaz and lying down with him, Ruth was not simply looking for a place to sleep. And when Ruth was told by Naomi to “uncover his feet” she was uncovering more than that.

Naomi and Ruth know that their very survival is at stake. With the death of their husbands they are both left economically desolate. They are both widows who have little or no means of financial support. (Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 4, Bartlett & Taylor, Editors, Westminster/John Knox Press, Louisville, Kentucky, 2009, page 267)

Because they live in a patriarchal society, one dominated by men, there is no way out for them except through Ruth’s marriage to Boaz. Ruth takes the initiative by asking Boaz to spread his cloak over her, an act that signifies a proposal for marriage. (Ruth 3:9)

Although he is startled by her action, he invites her to remain. In time Ruth will bear their son. The women in the neighborhood recognize the importance of the child and declare to her, “He shall be to you a restorer of life.” (Ruth 4:15)

The child is named Obed, not by Ruth or Boaz, but by the women who recognize that something miraculous has occurred. Ruth and Naomi are restored to new life and the nation will also be restored. It will be Obed who will become the father of Jesse and grandfather of David (1 Chronicles 2:12) and therefore an ancestor of Jesus. (Matthew 1:5; Luke 3:32)

It is through the struggle of Naomi and Ruth to survive that God restores hope to them and to Israel. The story affirms that God works through unexpected people and in unexpected ways in order to bring restoration. The story enlarges and deepens the story of God’s habit of always welcoming those who are most vulnerable – whether they are women or children; the lame or the blind; the sick or the destitute.

The story begs the questions we must ask of ourselves today: “When and through whom have we found our life restored, nourished and encouraged?” “For whose sake might God be calling us as the church to take a bold risk of continuing to welcome, love and accept all so that all may be restored?”

As my cousin disclosed some of her memories of the broken relationships she saw in our family I realized that my earliest memories of those years was when I was five years old. We drove by the grade school we both attended. The kindergarten building is still there.

“It’s amazing that the school is still here,” I said aware that it was no longer a grade school but a day care center.

My cousin was twelve years old at the time. She remembered things that I was not even aware of and as she spoke other things about our family began to make sense.

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