On Ruth

I want to close this portion of my blog with a look at cordial consent through a study of the book of Ruth. One of the shorter books of the Bible at only four chapters, it yet illustrates the consent of God to man (and woman) in a very profound way. I strongly recommend reading it; I’ll try to summarize it somewhat here, commenting along the way, but the whole thing deserves to be read.

Ruth opens quite succinctly; there’s a famine in the land, and a man from Bethlehem in Judah – with his wife Naomi and two sons – move to Moab. The man dies, and after marrying two Moabite women, the sons die as well. In just five verses, Naomi is bereft of husband and sons, and left with two daughters-in-law, Ruth and Orpah.

The next section begins by saying that the Lord had come to the aid of the Israelites by providing food. (So often we overlook such common providence, despite being told again and again that all good things come from God.) Naomi decides to go back to her country, since nothing is left for her in Moab. She urges her daughters-in-law to return to their country and, after some resistance, Orpah decides to stay in Moab. But, it says in verse 14, Ruth clung to her.

Here, an interesting several statements are made. First, in verse 15, Naomi says to Ruth: “Look...your sister-in-law is going back to her people and her gods” (italics mine). But Ruth replies in verse 16: “Your people will be my people and your God my God” (italics mine, again). We don’t have a clear picture how much of Israel’s God Ruth knew about, and frequently in the Old Testament we have people acknowledging God almost arbitrarily. Often, in cultures then, new gods were nothing new. As Paul notes in Corinth in the New Testament, the people had a temple to an unknown god, just in case there was one they were missing out of their myriad gods. So it is uncertain, given the text, whether Ruth clung to Naomi for Naomi’s sake, or whether she truly believed in God. But there is a further statement in verse 17 that we see often in the Old Testament; Ruth says: “May the LORD deal with me, be it ever so severely...” But once again, this is a very common oath, and is sometimes used by those whose hearts are far from God. In 1 Kings 19:2, for instance, Jezebel makes the oath of her gods dealing with her if she does not kill Elijah. (According to biblegateway.com, Ruth is actually the first instance of this oath, which is interesting.) What seems most important, however, is that we have – not only in the book of Ruth, but the fact that Ruth is even a book in the Old Testament – someone who is not from Israel coming to believe in Israel’s God -- and, to jump ahead a little, not only believing in Him, but being blessed by Him. This is significant, because God is commonly in the Old Testament called the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – that is, the God of Israel. There was a common belief that God only dealt with Israel, had chosen them as His people, and that others could not come to God without conforming to Mosaic Law.

However, it is after returning to Bethlehem that we begin to see God’s cordial consent to Ruth, a Moabite. By chance, as the text says, Ruth finds herself gleaning in the fields of a relative of Naomi’s. From the start, when seeing Ruth work, this man – named Boaz – orders his men to look after her. Boaz himself tells Ruth to glean only in his fields, and the he will do well by her. It may be easy to see this as Boaz’ consent to Ruth, but lest we forget, Boaz is a man directed by God. His introduction is by saying “The LORD be with you!” to his harvesters (Ruth 2:4). He further blesses her, in verse 12, asking God to repay her for the kindness of keeping with her mother-in-law, Naomi.

Throughout the book, roughly nine times, the LORD is invoked to give blessings, or is shown to give blessings – whether directly or indirectly through others. The ultimate blessing, it may be argued, is Ruth’s inclusion in the line of David, which is the line of Jesus. (As an aside, I’ve always found it interesting that the line of Joseph, Mary’s husband, is the line which is traced – even though Joseph had nothing to do with the conception of Jesus.) Ruth’s great-grandson would be David himself – all because she did not return to her people and her gods, but chose – whether with full heart or half – to make Naomi’s God her God. I may perhaps be biased toward Ruth’s half-knowledge of God, because I do not want to make it seem that Ruth had to act first, and only then did God bless her. So may we instead keep in mind that people make real choices, and the right choices will lead to blessings, while wrong choices lead to pain. But even these wrong choices may be redeemed; Naomi did not retrieve her sons or husband, and that loss would be with her the rest of her life. But after Ruth had conceived, the people declare “Naomi has a son!” (Ruth 4:17) Truly an interesting statement, since we would say Ruth has been given a son. But the point, I believe, is that God has redeemed Naomi from her state of despair, because of her faithfulness to put herself and her daughter-in-law in the way of God’s blessings.

So let me close this chapter with this: Put yourself in the way of God’s blessings. As Annie Dillard says, beauty happens whether we will it or not, and all we can do is put ourselves in beauty’s way. Edwards defines beauty as cordial consent; put together, then, we put ourselves in the way of God’s consent, and we consent as well. The rain falls on the righteous as well as the unrighteous, and the sun shines on both, too. The question is, do we seek the sun? God is in the work of beautifying, as Edwards says; by His presence, He makes beautiful. How can we not believe, then, that by putting ourselves in His presence, He will not make us beautiful? And this is most beautiful, so let me state it plainly: We will suffer, as long as we live and breathe in this world. This is so critical to understand that seeking God’s presence does not mean there is no longer pain in our lives. But without His presence, the best we can do is to try to ignore the hurt. And when we seek God’s presence, He will not rewrite history so that the pain never happened, but he will make beautiful the stain left on our hearts. Oh, what hope we can have in the LORD! Just as, when we do the dishes, we do not make it as if the dish was never dirty; but we redeem the dish, cleansing it of food so that it is sparkling and clean once more. So may be our lives, when we seek the Light of the Son.

Amen, Lord; may it be so.

On Artists

Deeply entrenched with the idea of beauty are artists, whether painter, sculptor, writer, or composer. There is, perhaps, some broad agreement as to what constitutes an artist, if not what constitutes art itself. But I would wager that, should the question come up on Family Feud, few contestants would respond with cook. This perhaps lends some light into a curious situation in Isak Dinesen’s story Babette’s Feast, published in 1986 by Vintage Books.

In the story, two young women – daughters of a man known as the Dean – are given charge of one Babette, a refugee and exile from France, where Babette had been Communard, fighting against the French aristocracy of the time. The daughter’s names were Martine and Phillipa. Early in the story, Martine is greatly admired for her beauty by then-Lieutenant Lorens Loewenhielm. Shortly there-after, a “great singer Achille Papin of Paris”¹ came by the tiny village in Norway in which the sisters lived. Achille happened to chance into the church on a Sunday in which Phillipa would sing – and she sang very well. Well enough, in fact, for Achille to take her under his tutelage with the intent of taking her to Paris to become a prima donna.

Both loves failed to secure their goal, and a short time later Babette arrives at the sisters’ house with a letter from Achille recommending her to them. In the letter, Achille once again praises Phillipa’s voice, saying: “In Paradise...you will sing...as God meant you to sing. You will be the great artist that God meant you to be. Ah! How you will enchant the angels.”² Then, almost as a post-script, he states: “Babette can cook.”³

As the story progresses, the sisters prepare to celebrate the 100^th anniversary (for he had died long before) of the Dean. Babette, now in their services for 12 years, begs them to let her cook a meal in accordance with her wishes. For 12 years, she had been cooking only what the sisters allowed her; ascetics that they were, it consisted primarily of split cod and ale-and-bread-soup.⁴ Now, to celebrate the Dean, Babette wished to cook as she had in France.

Mortified but what she might concoct (in France, after all, they ate frogs⁵) Martine begs the invited Brothers and Sisters of the Dean’s sect to say nothing about the meal when they came to eat, no matter what Babette might make for them. The Brothers and Sisters duly vow they would “be silent upon all matters of food and drink.”⁶

Then-Lieutenant Lorens Loewenhielm is now General Loewenhielm, and is a well-traveled officer; furthermore, he has returned to Norway in time to come to the celebration dinner. When he arrives and begins to eat, he recognizes the caliber of the food and wine, and is flabbergasted that the other guests eat and drink with barely a murmur out of the ordinary to one another. As it turns out, Babette could cook – and used to do so for the finest restaurant in Paris, the Café Englais.

Which begs the question: why the understatement in the letter by Achille saying, simply, “Babette can cook”? Babette likens herself to Achille; an artist, who seeks to do her utmost in her art, with the line quoting Achille Papin: “Through all the world there goes one long cry from the heart of the artist: Give me leave to do my utmost!”⁶ Can we imagine Babette, for twelve years, an artist who crafted the finest of meals for the most expensive of tastes, forced to only cook split cod and ale-and-bread-soup? While in her heart, she cries “Let me do my utmost!”

Martine was appreciated for her external beauty – indeed, both sisters were beautiful; Phillipa was appreciated for her singing. But everyone overlooked food. When taking their vow of silence over the upcoming meal, one Brother said: “On the day of our master we will cleanse our tongues of all tastes and purify them of all delight or disgust...keeping them for the higher things of praise and thanksgiving.”⁷ Could we imagine if Babette had heard such an oath? In the whole sect, the Brothers and Sisters looked forward to the New Jerusalem, and renounced the pleasures of the world.⁸

So what of the artistry of Babette, then, with such vows? While there are many themes in this story, and some stronger than others, this one is certainly made: God has made our senses, and made things to delight our senses; who are we to reject entirely that which he has made to delight us? When we think of beauty, it is possible to elevate it to idol status; in our fallen, imperfect nature, that is possible with anything. But we are still in this world, and as Edwards tells us, God continues to say “Yes!” to the world; are we to disagree and say “No!”? No to the sin in it, certainly; but as Watchman Nee tells us, just because we must walk through the dust of this world does not mean we must lie down and roll in it and cover ourselves with its dirt.⁸ If there is true beauty, that which points back to God, we must praise Him for it with full-throated worship. If we do not, the rocks will.

¹ Dinesen, Isak. Babette’s Feast and Other Anecdotes of Destiny. New York; Vintage Books. 1986. Page 8.

² Ibid., p. 14

³ Ibid.,

⁴ Ibid., p. 16

⁵ Ibid., p. 26

⁶ Ibid., p. 48

⁷ Ibid., p. 27

⁸ Nee, Watchman. Love Not the World. Wheaton, IL; Tyndale. 1978. p. 86

Poem on Beauty

What is it for which men search ‘neath every rock and tree?

This thing, this essence, telling us there’s more than what we see?

We see it, know it, let it go, and yet we can’t define

And so we start to tell ourselves it lives just in the mind.

But even though, around the world, the definite resists,

Still this longing, burning question, refuses to desist.

It is not apprehension of, or managing of fright,

For even those “uncivilized” can sense it, it is right.

Nor is it just merely “pretty,” a drink just for our eyes,

For when it lives internally, it wears a different guise.

When God said in the beginning “I see it, it is good.”

The echoes of His proclamation showed us, if we would.

And when the Lord Himself proclaims “The rocks themselves will cry,”

We should perhaps take just a moment to ask within us, “Why?”

When Augustine asked of the world “Are you the God I know?”

They answered him with pointing limbs “Seek not here below.”

As Edwards tells us, contra-world, beauty’s not a whim.

But rather God says “Yes” to us, and we say “Yes” to Him.

This consent pervades the world, a lovely wafting smell

As Guroian’s roses of the garden eloquently tell.

And pilgrims out at Tinker Creek, through frogs and diving birds,

Proclaim to all who listen for it the sweetness of His words.

But in return for all this beauty in the world we find

We cannot sit, but actively assault the daily grind.

As Norris tells us, little things are oft of great importance,

Just as the smallest shifting step can make, or break, the dance.

And so we strive, with every breath, to beautify the day,

In everything we think or do, and to our Lord we pray:

“Help us never to forget what is our solemn duty

To give thee praise, oh Lord our God, whenever we see beauty.”

Driving Me (_______)

According to some random statistic I dug up, 70% of Americans drive a car each day. Regardless if this is entirely accurate, it is safe to say many people drive each day – to work, to school, to who-knows-where. I drive to my fiancée’s house, to college, to church – hardly a day goes by when I don’t drive. This isn’t going to turn into a blog about going green; the point I’m trying to make is how something daily like driving can actually be a significant experience.

You see, as I look back on my few years of driving experience – well, I’ve packed as many miles of driving into those few years as possible – a curious thing strikes me in my attitude when approaching driving. There was a period of my life where driving was my salvation, sometimes: salvation from over-thinking, at the very least. At a time when I was un-employed, living at home, and doing anything I wanted and nothing I didn’t, there would be nights where at 11pm, 12am, 1am, I would have to drive. My thoughts would be driving me nuts, and I had to get on the road to clear my head. I eventually made a route around the four surrounding counties that encompassed 170 miles and took me better than three hours to drive. (This at a time when gas prices were over the $3.00 mark) But that was still a time when I could not live without driving.

Contrast that with a year later; I had started college, had a job, and the thought of driving made me sick to my stomach. The difference was, by then, I was stuck in a rut and blinded by a single desire for a girl. But I was meeting no one, and I traveled the same Y-shaped route from home to school to work to home. At that time, the driving I was doing was the epitome of the rut I was in. I felt if something didn’t change, I would be doing the same routine twenty years later, and that was encapsulated in the drive. One day I remember distinctly I turned left instead of right, just to take a different route home. I absolutely could not bear the thought of traveling that same route again.

Then, another year or two later, I don’t have a job, I’m still in school but at a different college – and driving is fun again. Something did need to change, but it wasn’t the route. I finally met a girl, and we’re engaged now; but at the old school I only went to classes four days a week. Now, it’s five days a week, further away, and the exact same route back and forth. It wasn’t the route that needed to change, or even the schedule; it was my heart. The biggest difference between the old route and the new route is that now I drive the route fully contented in Christ. I was a Christian, and have been since age five; but I was so distracted by dissatisfaction that I thought I had to get things to change. When I was stuck with the duty of school and work, I felt like I would never break free. But we are not always given freedom from our situation, but freedom in our situation in Christ.

Driving is something I must do every day, and it may seem the most basic thing; and sometimes I wish I could live nearer to things so I could ride a bicycle back and forth. But the driving can be my barometer; if I am happy in my driving, my spiritual life is often where it needs to be. When driving seems a chore, the dissatisfaction is almost always coming from somewhere else. That half-hour between home and school in the morning and again in the afternoon or evening also gives me one uninterrupted chunk of time in which to put in a good CD and worship God. Having that twice a day all week cannot but help to focus my thoughts where they need to be: on God.

Having that is one of the most beautiful things in the world.