Greetje: New page: {{info}}"Grampa, when I put my three sheep
Down in the fold tonight to sleep,
Can you stay here, and tell me more
About great gramma Ruth before
I go to bed? Naomi said,
Bec...

Greetje — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 15:12:57 GMT

New page: {{info}}"Grampa, when I put my three sheep Down in the fold tonight to sleep, Can you stay here, and tell me more About great gramma Ruth before I go to bed? Naomi said, Bec...

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{{info}}"Grampa, when I put my three sheep Down in the fold tonight to sleep, Can you stay here, and tell me more About great gramma Ruth before I go to bed? Naomi said, Because Elimelech was dead, And both her sons, that when She came to Bethlehem again, There would be bitter memories And nothing more. Are these The only things, Grampa, that she Could see? Just grief? It seems to me That God was doing more." "Indeed He was. But, David, sometimes creed Can't keep up with the speed of pain, And has to make the meaning plain When suffering slows down. Do you Know what I mean?" "I think it's too Complex, Grampa." "I mean that what Naomi knew of God was not Rejected when she wept her way Back home to Bethlehem. The day Would come when tortoise faith would catch The bounding hare of pain and match His power, not his pace, and win. Judge not from how the two begin. Does that make sense?" "I think it does. But, Grampa, tell me what it was That turned it all around, and made Naomi glad again." 

"She prayed. And, David, when she prayed, God did A hundred miracles, and bid A barley field become a place Of quiet power; and there the race Of faith was won. My dad, your great Grandfather, Boaz, conquered hate, And loved a Moabite beneath The wings of God, and did bequeath Naomi, thus, more faith than she Had ever known or thought could be." "O, Grampa, that's the part that most Of all I'd like to hear. I'll post The gate and put the sheep away And you can eat with us, okay?"

"I have a better plan. You get Permission from your dad to let You spend the night with me, and we Will go down to my house and see The very place, the barley field, Where, seven decades past, God sealed A kind of love that's known by few: Between a Moabite and Jew. And, David, did you know that your Great grampa Boaz has a pure And faithful memory of what It cost him then? And there's a lot Of love still left, though he turns ninety-nine This year, and cannot see or walk. But line On line, he knows the story of His Ruth, and how they came to love Each other when the barley yield Was ripe and they met in the field. I think you're old enough to go And visit him. But he won't know Your name, or who you are. So bring Your harp, and maybe we can sing Our way into his mind, and set Some memory on wing, and get The treasure of his heart up to His lips."

At dusk the east wind blew, And as the sun was going down, The two approached the little town Of Bethlehem, and made their way Around the soft and splashing bay Of blowing barley waves. The house Was small, for neither had a spouse. "A servant in the loft and two old men, Can manage with a fox's den," Old Obed used to say, when folks Would pester him and try to coax The two of them to live at home With Jesse's family. "I roam The local hills at my own pace," He said, "and come back to my place."

Tonight Boaz was by the fire, And wrapped in blankets for attire. Young David stood in awe that here Was his own flesh, who, in a year, Would have a century of life On earth, and one whose wife Was his great gramma Ruth. He took His harp and cradled in the crook Of his small arm the music of A fam'ly's century of love.

When Boaz heard the song that he And Ruth had sung for sixty three Unbroken years, he blinked his blind And glassy eyes. And in his face a kind Of deep and strong and gentle joy Began to shine. "Come hear, my boy," He whispered. David stopped and sat Down at the old man's feet. "Is that A story you would like to know?" He asked. "How Boaz, long ago, Became the husband of a maid From Moab, even though he swayed A city with his wealth?" "Yes, sir, I would. Why did you marry her?"

"It wasn't easy, child, at least, For some. A woman from the east, And not a Jew, was barely good Enough to be a slave, and would Not enter any mind to be A wife. My father couldn't see What I could see. I still recall His speech: ‘Boaz, the gall, To bring this on our family! The girl's a Moabite, and she Has got no name. She was a slave, And Chilion a rebel knave To buy her as a virgin just To pique his mother and his lust. And don't you know, Boaz, the way Her people got their start? Don't say It was a noble thing that Lot Was drunk and lay down on his cot With his own daughter. She deceived Her grieving father and conceived A child by incest. And his name? Moab! A people born in shame. And, Boaz, will you sacrifice Your name and, by that price, Raise up a seed to Chilion So there is nothing when I'm gone? And while I live will you disgrace My silver head and go abase Yourself to marry such a thing? And even use your mother's ring?'"

He paused, as if the sting were yet Alive. "I never will forget Those words." "Great grampa, how did you Reply?" "I said to him, ‘It's true That she's a Moabite and that Her husband was apostate at The core, and that she was a slave And has no high-born name to save From stigma and contempt. And should The sin of Lot destroy the good For every generation, then There is no good in any men. I bid you, father, think with care, Lest you forget the evil pair, Five generations past, that bore Our father Perez at the door Of harlotry. Incest is not Unique to Moabites. We got Our life from Tamar's little trick To get the seed of Judah. Pick Your people, tongue, or tribe, for none Is pure from disrepute, not one. But, father, have you thought about What Ruth is like inside? I doubt That in a thousand Israelites One has embraced our God with heights Of faith one-half as free and great As she. Do you desire a mate For me with Jewish nose and skin, Or sacred Jewish faith within? And is there not more fruit in her Than can be hidden with a slur? For those who care about the truth There is none fairer than my Ruth. They all can see her love for God, How she has borne the biting rod, And loved Naomi without pay, And worked throughout the blist'ring day, And gathered only where the poor May glean. And kept her garments pure Among the men. This woman lives Beneath the wings of God. It gives Me more delight to share the shame Of faith and love, than save my name. I love you, father, and I pray, Please look at her another way.'"

"Grampa, I mean, Great grampa, sir." "Yes, son?" I'm glad you married her." "Me too. I think I better sleep Now, son. I'm sure the rest will keep Until tomorrow. So despite How much more I could say, good night."

And meanwhile in the darkness here, Where tribes and races hate and fear, O Lord, let Bethlehem ignite A flame of truth, and let us fight With love and joy to make it plain That fam'ly links are not a chain, And origins do not control, Half images are not the whole, Nor true, and take a rending toll, Beneath the skin there is a soul. And may we lift this light and truth For Boaz and for every Ruth.

Ruth, Part 2 - Revision history

Greetje: New page: {{info}}"Grampa, when I put my three sheepDown in the fold tonight to sleep,Can you stay here, and tell me moreAbout great gramma Ruth beforeI go to bed? Naomi said,Bec...

Greetje: New page: {{info}}"Grampa, when I put my three sheep
Down in the fold tonight to sleep,
Can you stay here, and tell me more
About great gramma Ruth before
I go to bed? Naomi said,
Bec...