A Window to the Gospel in the Story of Ruth

One of the most compelling books in the Old Testament is that of Ruth, which follows its namesake’s journey from Moabite widow to covenantal member in the family of promise. Despite the myriad theological significances of this four-part narrative, the book proceeds scarcely mentioning the Lord at all, as the unknown author opts to unfurl the heart of Yahweh by setting it against the backdrop of what my pastor and mentor from Florida used to refer to as the greatest love story ever told. Most scholars agree, citing Ruth as a premier specimen of ancient writ. “As a piece of literature,” says Daniel I. Block, “the book of Ruth is one of the most delightful ever produced.” Nathan Tiessen agrees, writing, “The book of Ruth is one of the most well-crafted pieces of literature in the Old Testament.” Even so, this isn’t your run-of-the-mill biblical rom-com. There’s much more going on under the surface than one might suppose.

The Silent Providence of Ruth

Apart from passing mentions in chapters 1 and 4, the narrator of Ruth avoids attributing anything that transpires to the direct involvement of God (cf. Ruth 1:6; 4:13). God’s apparent hiddenness does not, however, correspond to a narrative that is any less divine than, say, the narratives of Elijah and Elisha, where Yahweh’s supernatural activity is made manifest. What it does suggest is the godlessness of the times. It’s no accident that Ruth follows the record of Judges in the canon, as the concluding verse of the latter serves to illustrate the brutal world in which the former story takes place (Judg. 21:25). Thus, as a book of grim ordinariness, Ruth offers a glimpse of everyday life, with all of its ups and downs and uncertain outcomes. It “raises the question of whether or not Yahweh can be trusted,” suggests Tiessen, with only subtle clues in the text itself affirming that he can. Accordingly, the ordinary story of Ruth conveys a testimony of extraordinary meaning, kindness, and hope, one that leaves little doubt as to whose hand is behind it all.

The opening five verses of chapter 1 function almost as a prologue to the main action of the book, setting the scene and the stakes for the rest of the narrative (Ruth 1:1–5). A devastating famine mobilizes a Hebrew couple, Naomi and Elimelech, to find a new home among the gentiles of Moab. The devastation follows Naomi even there though, as she is forced to watch her husband and both of her sons pass away, leaving her and her two Moabite daughters-in-law in one of the most hopeless situations in the ancient Near East. With no heir to carry on the family name, nor any male head of the household to offer provision for them, we are privy to a scene of searing desperation. This prompts Naomi to return home (to Bethlehem!), with Ruth pledging to go along with her, ignoring Naomi’s suggestion to go back home (Ruth 1:8–9). Instead, as Ruth appeals, wherever Naomi goes, she will go. “Your people shall be my people, and your God my God,” the Moabitess confesses (Ruth 1:16). After a string of inestimable loss, leave it to God to surprise one of his own with a demonstration of faithful love and gracious commitment from one outside the covenant community.

The First Glimpses of Grace

Circumstances are much different upon Naomi’s return home. As Tiessen well notes, after originally leaving “Bethlehem, ‘the House of Bread,’ ‘full’ of family and ‘empty’ of food, [she] now returns ‘empty’ of family, and finds Bethlehem ‘full’ of food.” This is indicative of the “divine happenstance” already at work in the lives of both Naomi and Ruth. The former’s experience of searing loss leads her to bemoan her life, understandably so (Ruth 1:20–21). And yet, the very one whom she saw as the instigator of her calamity was, in fact, the one who was even then orchestrating her recovery (Ruth 1:22). Naomi and Ruth’s return to the House of Bread “at the beginning of barley harvest” is only the first of many divine surprises, or what we might call incursions of grace, within the narrative. This trend reaches its high point when Ruth goes out to glean in the part of the field that “happened” to belong to Boaz who, it just so happens, is a relative of Naomi’s late husband (Ruth 2:1–3). Of course, despite his apparent hiddenness and the author’s emphasis on the unforeseen convergence of sufferers like Naomi and Ruth and a nobleman like Boaz, God’s fingerprints are all over these events.

After scooping up whatever Boaz’s reapers had left behind, he takes notice of Ruth, learns of her story, and proceeds to demonstrate an immeasurable dose of kindness and favor toward her (Ruth 2:4–13). Boaz’s eyes are full of grace as he takes Ruth into his care, protecting and feeding her at his very own table “until she was satisfied” (Ruth 2:14), even going so far as to arrange additional bundles of grain for her to gather (Ruth 2:15–16). Notably, he undertakes each of these actions prior to any knowledge of familial connection or obligation. It is goodness and grace being dispensed in surprising ways on unlikely individuals. After learning of the day’s events, Naomi is overcome with joy (Ruth 2:19–22), since not only was Boaz a relative, but he was also a kinsman-redeemer. “The man is a close relative of ours,” Naomi gleefully says, “one of our redeemers (גָּאַל)” (Ruth 2:20). This is an allusion to the right of the kinsman-redeemer, which details how a next of kin could lawfully come to the aid of his needy relatives, relieving them from their barrenness and brokenness. The fundamental objective, Robert L. Hubbard explains, was “to repair family wholeness broken by the trouble [and] continue a childless family line on its land through the marriage of its widow to a relative.”

Ruth’s Portrait of Redemption

It goes without saying that the note of redemption and specifically the activity of the kinsman-redeemer is a prevailing theme of the Book of Ruth. Hubbard even suggests that it is its “central motif.” Despite the scant appearances of this familial right in the biblical canon, that shouldn’t lead one to diminish its gravity on the rest of Scripture. From the prophetic real estate deal in Jeremiah 32:1–15, to the legal explanations of Numbers 35:9–34 and Deuteronomy 25:5–10, to Job’s anguished invocation (Job 19:23–25), the function of the kinsman-redeemer gestures to the prerogative of the ultimate Redeemer, the divine Author at work within and behind every moment. Accordingly, Ruth’s narrative serves as an extended drama throughout which the notes of redemption are highlighted. “The author of Ruth,” Brad Embry says, “has constructed a story in which two of the primary characters, while functioning within an unfolding story of loss and restoration for a particular household, can also be emblematic of Yahweh’s actions on behalf of Israel.” This, of course, becomes more apparent as the drama unfolds.

Knowing full well that she was beyond her childbearing years (Ruth 1:11–12), Naomi encourages Ruth to make herself known to Boaz, the one who could redeem them from their current situation (Ruth 3:1–5). As foreign as these instructions might sound to our modern ears, with Ruth being told to situate herself at her possible suitor’s feet and to uncover them at some point during the night, they amount to a hopeful bride courting—somewhat aggressively, sure—a potential bridegroom. Some interpreters, perhaps too inoculated with the modern milieu, find a bevy of sexual overtones in what transpires here. However, this nighttime encounter is anything but an attempt at seduction or some risqué rendezvous. Even with some allowances on how to translate Boaz’s “feet,” any apparent or supposed impropriety is easily dismissed once you remember this meeting took place on the threshing floor, a worksite that was open to the public. Rather than some sultry advance, Ruth approaches Boaz in a communal setting to have a personal conversation. Despite the oddities, Ruth’s actions are wholly pragmatic: uncovered feet are cold feet, leading to restlessness and eventually wakefulness. “When he wakes up,” we might understand Naomi’s words, “he’ll have to notice you.”

Ruth does as her mother-in-law suggests, and things unfold just as she predicted. Boaz is roused from his slumber and is startled to find a visitor staring at him at the foot of his makeshift bed of grain (Ruth 3:6–8). Although he couldn’t perceive who it was, Ruth cleared that up lickety-split. “I am Ruth, your servant,” she whispered. “Spread your wings over your servant, for you are a redeemer” (Ruth 3:9). Again, the implication of this request isn’t a sexual dalliance but covenantal marriage (cf. Ezek. 16:8). Though somewhat foreign to our Western sensitivities, the gist of her appeal is a matrimonial proposal, one that was rooted in the legal and covenantal bylaws of Boaz’s heritage. Ever the consummate gentleman, Boaz responds with dignity and grace, preserving Ruth’s reputation since he knows she is “a worthy woman” (Ruth 3:11; cf. Prov. 31:10ff). Even at that dim hour, God’s faithful providence was beginning to take shape.

The Other Redeemer

The only hiccup in this arrangement is, as Boaz notes, “There is a redeemer nearer than I” (Ruth 3:12). Another kinsman had the ability and the right to fulfill the need for redemption for Naomi and Ruth, and he had to be consulted first. Determined to resolve this matter speedily, Boaz finds a spot at Bethlehem’s marketplace and waits for the arrival of this “other redeemer,” who, interestingly enough, is never named (Ruth 4:1, 3, 6, 8). This, as I see it, is the author’s subtle allusion to the fact that this other kinsman is an absent and inactive redeemer. Instead of alleviating his destitute kin, he has left them in the lurch to manage by themselves. As it happens, this other redeemer had business in Bethlehem that day, but little did he know the deal that was waiting for him. Boaz spies him out and convenes a formal meeting with him alongside the elders of the city, where he proceeds to detail what was his right to redeem as a relative of Elimelech (Ruth 4:2–4). What Boaz fails to mention, though, was that this real estate deal comes with a marriage proposal (Ruth 4:5–6). This prompts the other redeemer to bow out, giving up his right as the kinsman-redeemer and letting it fall to Boaz, who wastes no time putting everything in order, publicly and legally (Ruth 4:7–10).

Soon after, Boaz and Ruth are married, and they start a family (Ruth 4:13–17). The narrative, which began with such excruciating pain, has found its resolution in a redeemer, who gives himself to the widowed and begets a progeny with her. Even though the structure of this narrative might feel rather banal, it is one that subsists on the scaffolding of God’s sovereign grace, in which there is no such thing as happenstance. “The story of the book of Ruth,” J. Andrew Dearman writes, “is one of God’s provision in the aftermath of deep loss.” Famine has yielded to harvest, exile to homecoming, widowhood to matrimony. This accords with the biblical pattern showing God’s prerogative to graciously provide for those who are poor, needy, and suffering. “The circumstances of David’s great-grandparents, whose story is being told precisely because they are his family,” Dearman goes on to say, “also reflect YHWH’s preserving power.” But there’s more to it than that.

The Gospel According to Ruth

The Book of Ruth isn’t excluded from Jesus’s framework of everything finding its fundamental concern in him (Luke 24:27). Indeed, although less blatant, Ruth’s inclusion in the Old Testament corpus caps off a stunningly ordinary example of divine intervention that perpetuates the family of promise. This, to be sure, is the underlying premise behind the concluding genealogy, which, as Block asserts, “reminds the readers that the story just told is more than an inspiring tale of a family of genuinely good people.” The apparent oddity of concluding this narrative with a catalog of names purposefully ushers the reader into the age of the kings by ending with David’s name, while also prophetically gesturing to the one who would be both David’s Son and Lord (cf. Matt. 21:41–45; Ps. 110:1). “The genealogy,” Dearman affirms, “concludes the account in an explicit effort to point forward, literarily speaking, to a subsequent phase in national history brought about by YHWH’s providential work.” In other words, a straight exegetical and homiletical line can be drawn from the end of Ruth to the beginning of Matthew’s Gospel and the recounting of the Messiah’s family (cf. Matt. 1:1, 5–6).

It is no perfunctory detail that Ruth, a Moabite widow, is incorporated into God’s covenant family, let alone that she serves as a grandmother of the long-awaited Messiah. Her inclusion is a token of what her promised Progeny would accomplish—namely, making a way for all who are “far off” to be “brought near” (Eph. 2:11–21). “Ultimately,” notes Justin Jackson, “Boaz’s redemptive work in purchasing himself a Moabitess bride sets readers on a typological trajectory that undeniably leads to Jesus.” What Boaz does for Ruth and, by proxy, Naomi’s heritage is what the gospel announces has been done for the entire world through the work of the true and better Kinsman-Redeemer—the Christ of God, who “partook of the same things” with which humankind is subjected, that is, “flesh and blood,” so that he might be humanity’s nearest redeemer, rescuing us from all our places of need, loss, sorrow, and sin (Heb. 2:14–18). He alone takes all the initiative and does all that is necessary to bring about our redemption “because of the great love with which he loved us” (Eph. 2:4). The ordinary story of Ruth, therefore, is one that is imprinted with the fingerprints of the God who weaves every moment of our lives into a tapestry of his grace.