Does life have meaning?  Purpose?  Or is it all just one big accident?  When we find ourselves in the margins of life—caught somewhere between expectation and reality—we find ourselves asking: “Is God in this?”

Few today would agree that our world has any intrinsic purpose or meaning.  Terrorist attacks, an unstable stock market, rising divorce rates—all of these have had a profound psychological impact on western civilization. In a 2012 article in the New York Times, Todd and Victoria Buchholz noted that among young people, the word “random…has morphed from a precise statistical term to an all-purpose phrase that stresses the illogic and coincidence of life.” While the generation of the 1960’s could still express some measure of idealism, today’s world is fraught with pessimism and uncertainty.  Life, at its core, is unpredictable.

What, then, becomes of faith?  If life is full of uncertainty, if meaning is in the eye of the beholder, then Christianity—nay, all religion—shrinks to the level of mere therapy.  A beautiful dream—but nothing more than an opiate to numb ourselves to the problems of our world.

Yet are we really satisfied with such a bleak description?  Of course not; this is arguably why we remain captivated by the power of story.  In his 2004 book Jesus Goes to Harvard, cultural analyst Harvey Cox writes that stories represent a “common vocabulary.”  Though the students of his Harvard University classroom have been taught to be suspicious of “absolute truth,” deep down they seem to recognize that “there [is] something fundamentally inadequate about moral relativism.”   Indeed, our world’s most enduring stories—such as the Star Wars saga, or Lord of the Rings—open to us a world of depth and meaning, calling us subtly toward a truth bigger and better than any celluloid fantasy.

This is why the stories of Scripture become so valuable.  For in these pages we find a world sensitized to the beautiful way that God enters into the human situation, to set us free from the dolor and lifelessness of a world without meaning.

Now Naomi had a relative of her husband’s, a worthy man of the clan of Elimelech, whose name was Boaz. ² And Ruth the Moabite said to Naomi, “Let me go to the field and glean among the ears of grain after him in whose sight I shall find favor.” And she said to her, “Go, my daughter.” ³ So she set out and went and gleaned in the field after the reapers, and she happened to come to the part of the field belonging to Boaz, who was of the clan of Elimelech. ⁴ And behold, Boaz came from Bethlehem. And he said to the reapers, “The Lord be with you!” And they answered, “The Lord bless you.” ⁵ Then Boaz said to his young man who was in charge of the reapers, “Whose young woman is this?”⁶ And the servant who was in charge of the reapers answered, “She is the young Moabite woman, who came back with Naomi from the country of Moab.⁷ She said, ‘Please let me glean and gather among the sheaves after the reapers.’ So she came, and she has continued from early morning until now, except for a short rest.”

In his analysis of Ruth, Ronald Hals points out just how great this story is:

“…the author’s real meaning in 2:3b is actually the opposite of what he says. The labelling [sic] of Ruth’s meeting with Boaz as ‘chance’ is nothing more than the author’s way of saying that no human intent was involved. For Ruth and Boaz it was an accident, but not for God.” (Ronald Hals, A Theology of the Book of Ruth, p. 61)

Is it possible there’s no such thing as chance?  Is it possible that God is already at work—seeking to reverse the fortunes of this young woman and her family?

⁸ Then Boaz said to Ruth, “Now, listen, my daughter, do not go to glean in another field or leave this one, but keep close to my young women. ⁹ Let your eyes be on the field that they are reaping, and go after them. Have I not charged the young men not to touch you? And when you are thirsty, go to the vessels and drink what the young men have drawn.” ¹⁰ Then she fell on her face, bowing to the ground, and said to him, “Why have I found favor in your eyes, that you should take notice of me, since I am a foreigner?” ¹¹ But Boaz answered her, “All that you have done for your mother-in-law since the death of your husband has been fully told to me, and how you left your father and mother and your native land and came to a people that you did not know before. ¹² The Lord repay you for what you have done, and a full reward be given you by the Lord, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to take refuge!” ¹³ Then she said, “I have found favor in your eyes, my lord, for you have comforted me and spoken kindly to your servant, though I am not one of your servants.”

¹⁴ And at mealtime Boaz said to her, “Come here and eat some bread and dip your morsel in the wine.” So she sat beside the reapers, and he passed to her roasted grain. And she ate until she was satisfied, and she had some left over.¹⁵ When she rose to glean, Boaz instructed his young men, saying, “Let her glean even among the sheaves, and do not reproach her. ¹⁶ And also pull out some from the bundles for her and leave it for her to glean, and do not rebuke her.”

Boaz is impressed with Ruth.  In part this is due to her hard work ethic, and I think it adds a human touch—maybe even a comedic one—that he seems really into the fact that she’s such a hard worker.  Some guys like broad shoulders, I guess.

¹⁷ So she gleaned in the field until evening. Then she beat out what she had gleaned, and it was about an ephah of barley. ¹⁸ And she took it up and went into the city. Her mother-in-law saw what she had gleaned. She also brought out and gave her what food she had left over after being satisfied. ¹⁹ And her mother-in-law said to her, “Where did you glean today? And where have you worked? Blessed be the man who took notice of you.” So she told her mother-in-law with whom she had worked and said, “The man’s name with whom I worked today is Boaz.” ²⁰ And Naomi said to her daughter-in-law, “May he be blessed by the Lord, whose kindness has not forsaken the living or the dead!” Naomi also said to her, “The man is a close relative of ours, one of our redeemers.” ²¹ And Ruth the Moabite said, “Besides, he said to me, ‘You shall keep close by my young men until they have finished all my harvest.’” ²² And Naomi said to Ruth, her daughter-in-law, “It is good, my daughter, that you go out with his young women, lest in another field you be assaulted.” ²³ So she kept close to the young women of Boaz, gleaning until the end of the barley and wheat harvests. And she lived with her mother-in-law.

Ruth and Naomi’s fortunes are starting to turn.  For the first time, the story begins to ascend out from the margins and into the light.  Can God do the same for us?  Deep down, this is what every human heart longs for.  Yet for many of us, we’ve yet to really wrap our minds around the sheer absurdity of our circumstances.

In the 2002 film Signs, Mel Gibson plays a former minister who lost his faith.  When strange lights appear in the skies overhead, the world is gripped by fear.  Gibson’s character comforts his brother:

“People break down into two groups. When they experience something lucky, group number one sees it as more than luck, more than coincidence. They see it as a sign, evidence, that there is someone up there, watching out for them. Group number two sees it as just pure luck. Just a happy turn of chance. I’m sure the people in group number two are looking at those fourteen lights in a very suspicious way. For them, the situation is a fifty-fifty. Could be bad, could be good. But deep down, they feel that whatever happens, they’re on their own. And that fills them with fear…But there’s a whole lot of people in group number one. When they see those fourteen lights, they’re looking at a miracle. And deep down, they feel that whatever’s going to happen, there will be someone there to help them. And that fills them with hope. See what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way: Is it possible that there are no coincidences?”

Is it possible that there are no coincidences?  I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, but I don’t believe that there’s any such thing as mere accidents.  God is weaving a great story in which each of us has a part.  It’s a story about Jesus—the center and focus of all human history—yet in an incredible act of grace God allows us to be a part of this story, to allow Christ to be the “author and perfecter of our faith” (Hebrews 12:1).  Don’t live life as if it were random.  Don’t live life as if it were mere chance.  Live instead as if all of life were a gift from God, and live as if all of life were a chance for love.

“Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.”  These immortal words were spoken by little Zuzu, played by Karolyn Grimes in the beloved Christmas classic, It’s a Wonderful Life.  But for Grimes, “life has never been wonderful.”  In a 2011 interview with NBC news, she chronicles the death of her parents at age 12, her upbringing by her religiously-strict aunt and uncle, her husband’s cancer, her son’s suicide.  Yet she could always find comfort in looking back at the film that granted her early fame:

“It’s not a Christmas movie, not a movie about Jesus or Bethlehem or anything religious like that…It’s about how we have to face life with a lot of uncertainty, and even though nobody hears it, most of us ask God to show us the way when things get really hard… and (like in the film) it can be in Martini’s (bar), not a church on Christmas.”

Many people in our world feel the same—that religion has let them down, that Christmas can’t possibly bring us the joy it promises, as though Hallmark had written a check reality could never cash.

Jesus’ family tree contains a similar story.  In Matthew 1:5 we read that Jesus’ genealogy contains “Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth…”

The story of Ruth is a story of faith in hard times, of finding joy even in the margins.  The story is set during the time of the Judges, and its opening chapter deals a shocking blow as we narrow our focus to the characters of Naomi and Ruth:

In the days when the judges ruled there was a famine in the land, and a man of Bethlehem in Judah went to sojourn in the country of Moab, he and his wife and his two sons. 2 The name of the man was Elimelech and the name of his wife Naomi, and the names of his two sons were Mahlon and Chilion. They were Ephrathites from Bethlehem in Judah. They went into the country of Moab and remained there. 3 But Elimelech, the husband of Naomi, died, and she was left with her two sons. 4 These took Moabite wives; the name of the one was Orpah and the name of the other Ruth. They lived there about ten years, 5 and both Mahlon and Chilion died, so that the woman was left without her two sons and her husband.

In a primitive, patriarchal society, this was harsh news—and in some ways represented a possible death sentence.  Without the support and security of husbands, these women were forced to fend for themselves—made all the worse by the fact that “there was a famine in the land” (Ruth 1:1).

What would become of Naomi’s daughters-in-law now that their husbands had passed on?

6 Then she arose with her daughters-in-law to return from the country of Moab, for she had heard in the fields of Moab that the Lord had visited his people and given them food. 7 So she set out from the place where she was with her two daughters-in-law, and they went on the way to return to the land of Judah.8 But Naomi said to her two daughters-in-law, “Go, return each of you to her mother’s house. May the Lord deal kindly with you, as you have dealt with the dead and with me. 9 The Lord grant that you may find rest, each of you in the house of her husband!” Then she kissed them, and they lifted up their voices and wept. 10 And they said to her, “No, we will return with you to your people.”11 But Naomi said, “Turn back, my daughters; why will you go with me? Have I yet sons in my womb that they may become your husbands? 12 Turn back, my daughters; go your way, for I am too old to have a husband. If I should say I have hope, even if I should have a husband this night and should bear sons,13 would you therefore wait till they were grown? Would you therefore refrain from marrying? No, my daughters, for it is exceedingly bitter to me for your sake that the hand of the Lord has gone out against me.” 14 Then they lifted up their voices and wept again. And Orpah kissed her mother-in-law, but Ruth clung to her.

In his commentary on Ruth, Frederic Bush observes that given the primitive living conditions of the ancient world, it’s understandable that these women would abandon their mother-in-law in favor of finding their own security.  In some ways, it’s almost like on the airplane when you’re told that in an emergency, you should secure your own oxygen mask before you try and assist someone else.  But at the same time, we may marvel at the faith of Ruth—who clings, we’re told, to Naomi even though she’s not flesh-and-blood.

15 And she said, “See, your sister-in-law has gone back to her people and to her gods; return after your sister-in-law.” 16 But Ruth said, “Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God. 17 Where you die I will die, and there will I be buried. May the Lord do so to me and more also if anything but death parts me from you.” 18 And when Naomi saw that she was determined to go with her, she said no more.

Now the story has established this elegant yet sad partnership of Naomi and Ruth.  Like some men come to a funeral, these two women came to the town of Bethlehem.

19 So the two of them went on until they came to Bethlehem. And when they came to Bethlehem, the whole town was stirred because of them. And the women said, “Is this Naomi?” 20 She said to them, “Do not call me Naomi; call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt very bitterly with me. 21 I went away full, and the Lord has brought me back empty. Why call me Naomi, when the Lord has testified against me and the Almighty has brought calamity upon me?”

22 So Naomi returned, and Ruth the Moabite her daughter-in-law with her, who returned from the country of Moab. And they came to Bethlehem at the beginning of barley harvest.

In the ancient world, names could often be used to reveal (or at least reflect) the contents of your heart.  So Naomi changed her name from Naomi (which meant “sweetness” or “pleasantness”) to Mara (meaning “bitter”).

At this point in the story, we find no real hope of resolution.  And perhaps we needn’t search for one.  The story, of course, is not over, but we remain confronted by the reality that life will not always bring comfort or immediate satisfaction.  Suffering is a part of life—part of the Christian journey, in fact.  Disappointment haunts us; anxiety lurks around every bend.  At Christmastime, these emotions become magnified by memories of loss, and reminders of failure.  The Christmas cards you sign by yourself—and not with your husband or wife.  The mantle that features one fewer stocking than last year—or the dinner table with one less plate.  Go through these experiences—endure these hardships—and Naomi’s name-change will no longer seem so strange.  Freud once argued that when we lose someone, we mourn not just the loss of the person but the loss of our role in relationship to that person.  He used the example of mothers who lost sons during wars.  These mothers grieve not just their sons, but also their identity as mothers.  Naomi experienced this same thing—and perhaps you do, too.  She missed her husband, she missed her sons—but she also had to grieve the fact that she was no longer a wife or a mother.

We can be thankful, then, that in our suffering we can still cling to the hope that we are adopted into God’s family.  Our earthly identities—whether as parents or spouses—may shift with the harsh winds of time and pain.  But the enduring truth is that we may count ourselves connected to God and his great family of believers.

And we can be all the more confident that God’s story hasn’t finished yet.  It’s no accident that the church historically celebrated “Advent”—looking not just to Jesus’ first coming, but his second.  A time when all would be made new.  When death and pain would be conquered.  Christmas—insofar as it is a day on the calendar—cannot possibly contain all of this hope.  All of this joy.  We must therefore learn to suffer as we look forward to this new day.

Just hold on.  Try to hold on.