Awakened Hope: Ruth 2:1-23

Sermon given at Brunswick Presbyterian Church in Troy, NY on 2007-08-09 and 2007-08-12.

Last week Judy Wilson introduced us to the book of Ruth, and the ways in
which its sweet idyllic nature contrasts with the dark and bloody book of
Judges. It is difficult to follow Judy, not only because of the skill and
grace with which she delivered her sermon, but also because of the nature
of the text; it’s awkward to be a man delivering a message based on one
of the few books in the Bible where a woman is allowed to take center
stage.

It is a rare situation we are dealing with. Ruth is one of only two books
named after women in our Bible; the other is Esther, and it is
interesting that both books deal with the positive aspects of
intermarriage, a concept that runs against the current of much of the
Hebrew Scriptures.

When we read a book like Ruth it is important to have a sense of the time
and place in which it was written, and the attitudes and assumptions of
the original audience. When we read that Ruth is a Moabite, it causes us
no alarm; what is a Moabite to us?

Likewise the fact that Ruth is a woman does not create the expectations
for us that it would have for the original audience, so it is difficult
for us to immediately grasp how daring this story is, how drastically it
inverts traditional expectations.

In fact, when we look at Ruth in the context of the Old Testament, and
especially in its place in the canon following the violence of Judges
and much of the Pentateuch, it seems to involve a challenge to many of
the assumptions that might come from reading these earlier books.

Books like Ruth, Jonah, Job, Ecclesiastes, these are books that run
against expectations, books that offer counter-traditions that contrast
with what could otherwise seem to be unchallenged assumptions: that men
are normative, and women are the deficient other, that God’s concerns to
not go beyond Israel, that a moral and obedient life always results in
prosperity and well being.

Ecclesiastes tells us that even if God does bless you with riches; it can
be a curse in disguise. Job tells us that an honest life may earn
calamity, Jonah is about how God’s love and concern extend beyond Israel.
Ruth counters expectations about gender and about the stranger among us.

The Bible is a complex book. It contains texts composed over a great span
of time, with themes and narratives that interweave, double back, sharply
contrast, and overlay each other: it’s a type of mosaic. As with any
mosaic you have to step back a bit and try and take in the whole thing to
understand what it is depicting.

So it is with the Bible’s attitude toward women. The charge is often made
that the Bible is a patriarchal text that oppresses and degrades women.
The Bible has certainly been used for that purpose, even as it has been
used to defend slavery, warfare, and the oppression of various
minorities. There are at least two responses to this that are common,
logical, and wrong.

The first is to embrace the patriarchy as God ordained; to proclaim that God made man to lead, and women to follow, preferably three steps behind. In these media savvy times this stance is
rarely made so blatantly.  Whatever language is used, however, the basic
message is the same: that the male dominated social structure of ancient
Israel is the universal norm for all people everywhere. The other error
agrees that the Bible advances notions of male dominance and superiority,
but concludes that this invalidates its worth; this approach could be said to throw the baby out with the
bathwater, even as the first approach could said to drown the baby in the
bathwater.

Both of these errors result from failing to account for the voices of dissent that occur within the Bible. Books like Ruth act as self correcting mechanisms that cause us to reevaluate assumptions that we might otherwise make. The very fact that we have a book named after a woman, a book where two women are the central characters, is jarring.

Tom Stoppard wrote a well known play called Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
are Dead, which retells the story of Hamlet from the vantage point of two
minor characters; that which was peripheral moves to center stage, and it
changes how perceive characters and relationships. Having a biblical
story that revolves around two women has the same effect. And this is a
story about two women: in fact the characters of Elimlech, Mahlon, and
Killian are so minor that they pass away without saying a word, and we
know nothing of them other than there names. We don’t even know which
brother Ruth was married to until the last chapter.

Ruth is going to have something new and unique to say about gender. But
that is not all; the story also has much to say about the stranger, the
alien.

Many scholars believe that Ruth was written in the post exilic period of
Ezra and Nehemiah. You may remember the story; after years of exile, the
Israelites are permitted to return to their homeland and rebuild their
temple and the walls of their city. You may remember that we did a sermon
series on this period a few years ago; there was a lot of emphasis on the
wall, and I kept wondering anyone was going to work Pink Floyd into their
sermon, but it never happened.

There was a remnant of Israelites who had never gone into captivity, and
many of these men took gentile wives and had children with them during
the period of the exile. After they were reunited with the majority of
Israel and the rebuilding had begun, there was a movement to purify the
people from foreign influences, including the worship of strange Gods.
The gentile wives and their children were seen as bad influences, and
their Israelite husbands and father were ordered to divorce and disown
them. The wives and children were sent away, essentially abandoned. A
similar situation took place in the middle Ages, when the medieval church
ruled that priests should be celibate; priests who were married were
forced to abandon their wives and children. A horrendous scene, when you
think about it.

The Book of Ruth may be a reaction to the expulsion of gentile wives. It
can be seen as an argument that gentile women have value in God’s eyes
that God is more gracious than his followers want him to be. You find a
similar theme in the book of Jonah; although it gets lost in debates
about how literal or historical the story is supposed to be. The theme of
Jonah has little to do with marine biology; it is a satirical story about
how God’s grace extends beyond Israel. For this reason many scholars also
place the composition of Jonah around the post exilic period.

We can see Ruth as a subversive argument for the value of the outsider,
the despised, the rejected; a foreshadowing of the teachings and actions
of Christ. In his conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well, in
his telling of the story of the Good Samaritan,  in his indemnification
without the undesirable elements of society and his free association with
women: ”A Rabbi teaching women? “Unheard of, absurd!” Christ was making
the same point as the book of Ruth, only in a much more direct and
confrontational fashion. Movement in the Bible is in the direction of
including more and more formerly excluded peoples, people who were
excluded because they were thought sinful, impure, or inferior; if these
themes only become explicit in the Gospels, they were present in implicit
forms in the Old Testament.

Throughout the book of Ruth her ancestry is emphasized. She is not a
generic foreigner; she is a Moabite. The descendents of Moab were
despised above almost all other gentiles by the Israelites; they were
said to be descended from the incestuous coupling of Lot with his
daughters after the destruction of Sodom. The Israelites believed that
Moabites were disposed toward perversion because of this, and that as
descendents of the city of Sodom they had inherited that town’s notorious
inhospitality. These reputations were reinforced during the long trek
from Egypt to the Promised Land, where the early Israelites had several
run-ins with the Moabites.

So not only is this story about a woman, this is a story about a woman
from a despised race, a poor woman from a despised race. Some of the Old
Testament stories can give off a whiff of “Health and Wealth” theology,
the idea that if you play by the rules God is obligated to reward you
financially and physically. Christ countered this argument saying that it
his kingdom the first would be last and the last would be first, Ruth
will follow suite.

In chapter two, we begin to see just what kind of person Ruth is; and
surprise, she counters all of the stereotypes about women. Ruth is in a
predicament, and what does she do? She comes up with a plan. Women were
not supposed to be problem solvers. They were not supposed to take the
initiative. They were supposed to be helpless and hopeless without
husbands, fathers, or sons to take care of them and make decisions for
them.

The Sunday school picture that you often get of Ruth, standing up there
on the flannelgraph, concentrates on her loyalty, and she is indeed
loyalty, in contrast to the stereotype of the inhospitable and
treacherous Moabite. This can be emphasized to the point, however, that
she almost becomes someone you want to apt on the head. Good Ruth, good
girl. She can come off in these depictions as clingy, sentimental and
weepy, as in those famous lines from John n Keats’s Ode to a Nightingale

Perhaps the selfsame song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn

I don’t see a weepy Ruth here, and I don’t see a lapdog here. I see a
Ruth who is too busy ripping through fields of leftover grain to stand in
tears. Boaz’s servant says that she has been working all day without
stopping. If she has any homesickness, she doesn’t stop to dwell on it.

She is the soul of practicality. Have you ever noticed how women are so
much more practical than men? Men are helpless Romantics. Women may be
the primary consumers of Romance novels and soaps operas but they know
how to compartmentalize; OK, that was fantasy – now back to work. Men
have a much harder time separating their daydreams from reality, and they
and their families often pay a high price because of it.

Ruth takes a clear headed look at the situation and runs her plan of
action by Naomi. If she lived in our time she might take advantage of
some government program for widows to gain the skills to land a decent
paying job and lift herself and Naomi out of poverty. Those options were
not available to her, so she took advantage of the opportunities that
were. She instead plans to engage in gleaning, a early form of welfare
whereby the destitute had the right to take whatever crops were missed by
the professional harvesters, as well as crops in the corners of the
fields, crops that landowners were forbidden to harvest for just this
reason. Interesting that Ruth, a recent convert to Judaism, would be
familiar with this practice; there was no equivalent in the surrounding
cultures. She must have done her homework. Again, in our time she would
have taken steps to land a good paying job, in her time the only escape
from poverty is marriage, so she tells Naomi that she plans to glean
behind someone “...in whose eyes I may find favor”.

There was no dewy eyes romanticism in the ancient world’s understanding
of marriage. It is not about "love", or not what we call love. An ancient
Israelite who was presented with a look at our customs and the
sentimentality with which we view the institution and courtship, the
sheer volume of love songs, romance novels, love stories, romantic
comedies would be as flabbergasted as Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof, who
struggles to grasp the idea that his daughters want to marry for
love..."Love, " he tells Golden, "It's a new style?" Ruth is not looking
for a Romeo to sweep her off of her feet, she is struggling for survival
in a world where a woman’s only means of avoiding severe poverty and
possible starvation was in attaching to a man.

Ruth’s intentions are pragmatic; her physical attractiveness is just
another tool to help dig her and Naomi out of their predicament. As it
turns out, it will be her character rather than her appearance that
causes her future husband to swoon.

Character before appearance! Men are often judged this way, but even in
our own time of trophy wives and female newscasters who dare not age a
day over 40 this is eye opening.

Sometimes Ruth is referred to as a love story, and it is, but not in the
sense that we are accustomed to. It is not a boy meets girl story,
although that does happen. The focus of the story is on the female
characters, and the only real declaration of love in the story (as
opposed to declarations of worth) is the one made by Ruth to Naomi back
in the first chapter, a declaration so passionate that it is often used
as a wedding vow:

Whither thou goest I will go, where thou lodgest I will lodge, thy
people shall be my people, and thy god  my god, where thou diest, will I
die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if
ought but death part thee and me. 

Sorry for the King James, but contemporary translations don’t do that
passage justice. The love relationship at the center of this story is the
one that bounds the two women so tightly; they identify so closely with
each other that by the end of the book Ruth seems to be acting as a
surrogate who carries Naomi’s lost dreams of motherhood for her. We are
told that Ruth cleaves to her, the word cleave being the same word used
in the book of Genesis when we are told that men should leave their
father and mother and cleave to their wife. Here it is Ruth who has left
father and mother, and in this as in so many other ways, she has taken
the male role in this story. This is not to suggest that there is any
erotic nature to their relationship; Eros is only one form of love,
although, again, our love stories and songs tend to give it an
inappropriate amount of attention, perhaps because it is the only form of
Love that can be used to sell products.

In a time when women were property (notice Boaz asks, ‘who’s girl is
this?’) and marriage was a contractual exchange of goods, it is not
surprising that some women might find a soul mate in another woman, even
one of her in-laws, as opposed to the man the are bound to, and that
seems to be what has happened here.

Ruth and Naomi’s relationship puts a spin on other earlier Biblical
traditions as well. Most of the relationships between women seem to be
competitive. Sarah abuses Hagar, Leah is jealous of Rachel. Constant bickering, “just like women”. The bickering usually involves a man, but here there is no love triangle between Naomi,
Ruth, and Boaz. There is no sense of jealousy between the two women,
because Boaz is not a goal for either of them; he is instead a means to a
goal. The real goals are there survival, there remaining together, and
the ability to continue the family line.

If sometimes women in the Old Testament seem to exist to further a family
line, in this story once again, Ruth seems to be playing this role, using
Boaz to achieve her goal of bring feelings of worth back to Naomi by
indirectly continuing the line of Elimilech.

Meanwhile, God is at work behind the scenes, through the fortunate circumstance, the
chance encounter, the unconscious motivation. But we also see the work of
God being done by the conscious decision of people to act.

This is a story about people going above and beyond. Ruth going beyond her required
loyalties, Boaz going beyond what is required of him. God does not cause
a spring to miraculously appear out of the ground, he does not feed Ruth
and Naomi manna...this is not that kind of bible story. In this story God
works through circumstance and through the willingness of human agents to
grow and follow their best inclinations.

Boaz does that here. His appraisal of Ruth does not even seem to take
into account her Moabite origins. He only registers the quality of her
character. He foreshadows Christ in this, as Christ always welcomed the
tax collector, the Samaritan, the leper, based on the worth that he saw
in them, the potential, not what society saw.

Christ’s teachings might have resulted from the seed planted by this
story, a story that he would have learned as a child. For that matter,
Christ himself was a product of the events described in this story, as
was King David. This had to be a difficult concept for the original
audience to deal with: how can you judge people by their ancestors when
your greatest king was descended from one of those dreadful Moabites?

Contemporary Christians Also might be given pause by the thought of Our
Savior being descended from all sorts of undesirables, from Ruth the
Moabite to Rahab the prostitute to Jacob the liar and thief.

Of course, in our time the presence of a female protagonist doesn’t catch
us off guard, and most of us would be fine with Moabites living next
door, but the lessons from this book still reverberate. Sexism is not
dead, although we have come a long way. Less than a century ago, women
had almost no legal rights, no property rights, and no right to vote, as
late as 1918  Texas  law stated that everyone had the right to vote except
“idiots, imbeciles, aliens, the insane, and women.” Now there is a real
possibility that the next president of the United States could be a woman
(although I doubt she’ll get many votes in Texas”) unfortunately, most of
the strongest opposition to woman’s rights comes from some areas of the
church. We don’t fear Moabites, but we each have  our own set of people
who we see as “the other”: people of different political convictions, of
different ethnicities, different faiths, different lifestyles.

In any group that makes us uncomfortable there are going to be people who
are just as we feared; and there are people who are nothing like we
expect. We don’t have to agree with everybody on everything, and we don’t
have to relax our standards…Jesus didn’t; but he accepted everyone. There
is a fine line between acceptance and approval, but that line exists.

Finding subversive counter-traditions like we see here in Ruth opens the
Bible up, and opens us up to the unexpected. It empowers us to know that
things are not frozen, there is change, God continue to speak in ways we
never expect, though those that we would think unlikely. Philosopher and
psychological pioneer Carl Jung called God “the name by which I designate
all things which cross my willful path violently and recklessly, all
things which upset my subjective views, plans, and intentions and change
the course of my life for better or worse."

Our God is a dangerous God, a troublemaker, an undesirable. He moves into
neighborhoods where he’s not wanted and makes such a racket tat no one
can get to sleep. Maybe this God is calling you to some uncomfortable
place, to some new vantage point that will change your perception and
expectations. Maybe you are being called to action as Ruth was, some work
to be doe, some need to be met. Maybe you need to break out of a role
that other people see you in, a role that is not you at all.. There is a
Ruth in all of us, an alien, disposed and discounted, lost in a strange
land and counted as worthless, but with the potential to achieve
unimagined greatness. The same God who gave opportunity to Ruth gives us
opportunity to us today; it is up to us to answer the call.

Favorite Quotes: Innocents Abroad

Mark Twain's Innocents Abroad has to be one of the most quotable books I've ever read. I've barely scratched the surface of the book and I've already collected this list.

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Notwithstanding all this furniture, there was still room to turn around in, but not to swing a cat in, at least with entire security to the cat.

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The cook was slovenly, and so was the table, and it had no cloth on it. The fellow took a mass of sausage meat and coated it round a wire and laid it on a charcoal fire to cook. When it was done, he laid it aside and a dog walked sadly in and nipped it. He smelt it first, and probably recognized the remains of a friend.

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I must have a prodigious quantity of mind; it takes me as much as a week sometimes to make it up.

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I am willing to believe that the eye of the practiced artist can rest upon the Last Supper and renew a lustre where only a hint of it is left, supply a tint that has faded away, restore an expression that is gone; patch, and color, and add, to the dull canvas until at last its figures shall stand before him aglow with the life, the feeling, the freshness, yea, with all the noble beauty that was theirs when first they came from the hand of the master. But I can not work this miracle. Can those other uninspired visitors do it, or do they only happily imagine they do?

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He made a raid on a neighboring baron and completed his outfit with the booty secured. He then razed the castle to the ground, massacred the family and moved on. They were hardy fellows in the grand old days of chivalry. Alas! Those days will never come again.

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Thick-headed commentators upon the Bible, and stupid preachers and teachers, work more damage to religion than sensible, cool-brained clergymen can fight away again, toil as they may.

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It is likely that such a very liberal amount of space was given to the organ which enables me to make promises, that the organ which should enable me to keep them was crowded out.

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They are not particular about their diet. They would eat a tombstone if they could bite it. A thistle grows about here which has needles on it that would pierce through leather, I think; if one touches you, you can find relief in nothing but profanity. The camels eat these. They show by their actions that they enjoy them. I suppose it would be a real treat to a camel to have a keg of nails for supper.

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Joshua, and another person, were the two spies who were sent into this land of Canaan by the children of Israel to report upon its character—I mean they were the spies who reported favorably. They took back with them some specimens of the grapes of this country, and in the children's picture-books they are always represented as bearing one monstrous bunch swung to a pole between them, a respectable load for a pack-train. The Sunday-school books exaggerated it a little. The grapes are most excellent to this day, but the bunches are not as large as those in the pictures. I was surprised and hurt when I saw them, because those colossal bunches of grapes were one of my most cherished juvenile traditions.

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He was born in South Carolina, of slave parents. They came to Venice while he was an infant. He has grown up here. He is well educated. He reads, writes, and speaks English, Italian, Spanish, and French, with perfect facility; is a worshipper of art and thoroughly conversant with it; knows the history of Venice by heart and never tires of talking of her illustrious career. He dresses better than any of us, I think, and is daintily polite. Negroes are deemed as good as white people, in Venice, and so this man feels no desire to go back to his native land. His judgment is correct.

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All the churches in an ordinary American city put together could hardly buy the jeweled frippery in one of her hundred cathedrals. And for every beggar in America, Italy can show a hundred--and rags and vermin to match. It is the wretchedest, princeliest land on earth. Look at the grand Duomo of Florence--a vast pile that has been sapping the purses of her citizens for five hundred years, and is not nearly finished yet. Like all other men, I fell down and worshipped it, but when the filthy beggars swarmed around me the contrast was too striking, too suggestive, and I said, "O, sons of classic Italy, is the spirit of enterprise, of self-reliance, of noble endeavor, utterly dead within ye? Curse your indolent worthlessness, why don't you rob your church?" Three hundred happy, comfortable priests are employed in that Cathedral.
And now that my temper is up, I may as well go on and abuse everybody I can think of.

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These alleys are paved with stone, and carpeted with deceased cats, and decayed rags, and decomposed vegetable-tops, and remnants of old boots, all soaked with dish-water, and the people sit around on stools and enjoy it.

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In all seriousness--without meaning to be frivolous--without meaning to be irreverent, and more than all, without meaning to be blasphemous,--I state as my simple deduction from the things I have seen and the things I have heard, that the Holy Personages rank thus in Rome: First--"The Mother of God"--otherwise the Virgin Mary. Second--The Deity. Third--Peter. Fourth--Some twelve or fifteen canonized Popes and martyrs. Fifth--Jesus Christ the Saviour--(but always as an infant in arms.)

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But perhaps the most poetical thing Pompeii has yielded to modern research, was that grand figure of a Roman soldier, clad in complete armor; who, true to his duty, true to his proud name of a soldier of Rome, and full of the stern courage which had given to that name its glory, stood to his post by the city gate, erect and unflinching, till the hell that raged around him burned out the dauntless spirit it could not conquer.

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After browsing among the stately ruins of Rome, of Baiae, of Pompeii, and after glancing down the long marble ranks of battered and nameless imperial heads that stretch down the corridors of the Vatican, one thing strikes me with a force it never had before: the unsubstantial, unlasting character of fame. Men lived long lives, in the olden time, and struggled feverishly through them, toiling like slaves, in oratory, in generalship, or in literature, and then laid them down and died, happy in the possession of an enduring history and a deathless name. Well, twenty little centuries flutter away, and what is left of these things? A crazy inscription on a block of stone, which snuffy antiquaries bother over and tangle up and make nothing out of but a bare name (which they spell wrong)—no history, no tradition, no poetry—nothing that can give it even a passing interest. What may be left of General Grant's great name forty centuries hence? This—in the Encyclopedia for A. D. 5868, possibly:
URIAH S. (or Z.) GRAUNT—popular poet of ancient times in the Aztec provinces of the United States of British America. Some authors say flourished about A. D. 742; but the learned Ah-ah Foo-foo states that he was a contemporary of Scharkspyre, the English poet, and flourished about A. D. 1328, some three centuries after the Trojan war instead of before it. He wrote "Rock me to Sleep, Mother".
These thoughts sadden me. I will to bed.

A Budding Isaac Asimov Journeys to the Mesozoic

Published in the Albany Times-Union, April 25, 2010

I had big ambitions in the fourth grade. I wanted to be a novelist. I was a faithful customer of the Scholastic Book Service and dreamed that one day I would see my name in one of their fliers. I wanted to write a book like Lester Del Ray's "Tunnel Through Time", a kids science fiction novel about a couple of fourteen year old boys who are zapped into the age of dinosaurs by their research physicist fathers.

I had three friends who were interested in the project, Steve Brandenhorst, Billy Shannon, and Billy Cole.  I divided up the responsibilities between us: twenty chapters, four people: five chapters apiece, alternating. Of course, I would take the important opening chapter that would explain how the four of us fell through a time warp that sent us to the Mesozoic era. And by the way, yes, I did go around saying things like “Mesozoic era”, and I remember agonizing over whether to set the thing in the Jurassic or Cretaceous period.

I kept the pages in a pocket folder with a bald eagle on the front. Many pages had grape Kool-Aid stains. I ended up doing almost all of the writing. Steve wrote one chapter that lasted one page. It told of how the four of us went on a walk through the woods behind his house and ended up in Dinosaurland. We fought and killed a dinosaur and then proceeded to eat it with Miracle Whip. What on earth was Dinosaurland?  Where did we get Miracle Whip in the Mesozoic? I reedited his manuscript to explain these things. I didn’t criticize his work to his face, though.  I liked Steve a lot and wanted him to be my best friend. He was a respected kickball player and very cool.

On the other hand, Billy Shannon and Billy Cole were so nerdy they made me look cool. Shannon wrote half a page that was mostly about King Tut and had no more than tangential application to the story that we were supposed to be writing. I furiously wrote a frame to try and explain Billy Shannon's King Tut and what Egyptians were doing in the Cretaceous. Billy Cole kept talking about what he was going to write but never put anything down on paper. I gave up on him and wrote his chapter myself, enjoying the challenge of trying to write in someone else’s style.

One day I was working some of this out in class, when teacher's kid and all around snotty brat Stephanie Cottongin raised her hand and cried out "Matthew's not doing his worksheet...he's writing a book about dinosaurs..." How she spat out that last word. It’s not like I was playing paper football or making spitwads. The worksheet in question was some matching game...I was writing a great novel! Still I had to stay in during recess and clean erasers.

It was worth it.. In the end I came away with a novel, thirty type written pages with half a dozen illustrations by my sister’s boyfriend (who did a great job, even if he did seem to confuse dinosaurs with dragons). I would always have the knowledge that I had taken something that existed only in my mind and had turned it into something tangible. The word made flesh.

Wedding Script

Written for the wedding of Luke Benzing and Lauren Wasilchuk, June 21st, 2019

Introduction

Me: Dearly beloved, we meet here today to witness: the union of Lauren Marie Wasilchuk and Luke Wolfgang Benzing.

I’ve known Luke a very long time, ever since we met one July morning in 1991, at Fort Hamilton Hospital in Hamilton, Ohio. Deborah and I have come to know and love Lauren also over the last several years and are proud to welcome her into our family, and we welcome all of you and thank you for joining us as she and Luke take this step into the sacred mystery of marriage.

Me: Who gives Lauren to be wed?

Bride's Father: I do.

Me: A wedding ceremony is an occasion of joy, but also a matter of utmost seriousness. Not something to be taken lightly. If anyone has cause to object to the forming of this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.

Wedding Sermon

Me:  

If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.

These are the familiar words of St. Paul, read at many a wedding, and with good reason.

Wedding ceremonies have existed in all eras and all cultures. In the Christian tradition Jesus began his ministry at a wedding, and the book of Revelation pictures heaven as a wedding between God and the human soul. Weddings are beautiful, joyous events, a celebration of love.

But there are many kinds of love. We associate weddings with romantic love, the kind they write songs about. But there is also the love between parent and  child, the love of a pet, the love of one’s country. The love of God, The love of a friend.

A wedding is like the beginning of a fire, and romantic love is the spark that ignites and flares into a roaring flame. But after the wedding dress has been stored away, the remainder of the cake frozen, the tuxes returned and the bills paid what remains are the burning embers of friendship; not as showy or as exciting as the open flame; but those embers are the real source of warmth, and they can last as long as you both shall live.

"It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages", wrote Frederich Nietzsche, and the Biblical Book of Ecclesiastes says:

Two are better than one…  For if they fall, one will lift up the other; but woe to one who is alone and falls and does not have another to help. Again, if two lie together, they keep warm; but how can one keep warm alone?

Luke and Lauren began their journey as friends. Meeting through their mutual pal Julie, finding they had common interests, learning that they both were from the capital region, even discovering that they each had a loyal dog named Winston (one bigger one smaller) waiting at home. They learned during their time at SUNY Cortland to trust and rely on each other and to make sacrifices for each other…Luke by watching Lauren’s favorite game shows with her, Lauren by converting to the Church of Cam Newton.

My charge to you is to maintain that friendship, to cherish it, to help it grow. There are no his and hers in marriage, no separate worlds. Your separate friends are still your friends but they fall into relief as your bond takes the foreground. In the book of Genesis, the Biblical authors step back from the creation stories to tell their audience in an aside that married couples “cleave” to each other, that they leave their individual dwellings and that “they shall be two in one flesh”.

The Christian conception of God is based on mutual love and support; the members of the trinity in an eternal flow of love, one surging into another until there is no point at which you can say that one begins and the other ends. So it is with marriage, ordained by God for our mutual comfort and joy. May you find that joy and comfort in each other always.

Consecration

Me:  Now we transform this venue into a sacred space, and I invite you Luke, and you Lauren to enter into the bonds of Holy Matrimony, taking the vows that so many others have taken before you, standing with all your ancestors as you bring your family histories together.

Vows

Me:  Please face each other.

Lauren, repeat after me.

I Lauren, take thee Luke
to have and to hold from this day forward,
for better for worse,
for richer for poorer,
in sickness and in health,
to love, cherish, and to obey,
forsaking all others, till death us do part,
I give thee my pledge

Luke, repeat after me.

I Luke take thee Lauren,
to have and to hold from this day forward,
for better for worse,
for richer for poorer,
in sickness and in health,
to love, cherish, and to obey,
forsaking all others,
till death us do part,
I give thee my pledge

Me: Lauren and Luke please join hands.

Luke, do you take Lauren to be your lawfully wedded wife?
Do you promise to keep the vows you made today, so long as you both shall live?

Luke: I do.

Me:  Lauren, do you take Luke to be your lawfully wedded husband?
Do you promise to keep the vows you made today, so long as you both shall live?

Lauren: I do.

Me: And so we make these vows tangible through the exchanging of rings.

Ring Exchange

Me:  As a circle the ring symbolizes eternity, the everlasting love you share we each other, and the seamlessness of your union. In marriage you will flow into one another, until there is no sense of where one of you begins and one ends.

Luke, Please repeat after me as you place the ring on Lauren’s hand.

With this ring I thee wed,
with my body I thee worship,
and with all my worldly goods I thee endow:
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
Amen.

Lauren, Please repeat after me as you place the ring on Lauren’s hand.

With this ring I thee wed,
with my body I thee worship,
and with all my worldly goods I thee endow:
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
Amen.

Prayer

Almighty God, may you cause your face to shine upon Luke and Lauren even as the sun is now shining on this congregation, and may you grant them a long and joyous life together.

Presentation

Me: By the power vested in me, by the great state of New York and by the Universal Life Church, I pronounce you, Luke and Lauren as lawfully wedded husband and wife. One in name, one in aim, and one we trust in a happy destiny.

Son, you may kiss the bride.

Me: Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Luke and Lauren Benzing!!

A Mighty Fortress Was Our Hedge

Published in the Albany Times-Union, September 7, 2008

Hosea 2:6 Behold, I will hedge up thy way with thorns, and make a wall…

I grew up surrounded by a hedge. My family owned a small house on two acres of land; my father bought it when he returned from World War II. There were few other houses around and no city water and or sewer. He dug his own wells and put his own septic tank in the backyard.

He also planted a thick row of a tough, thorny bush called multiflora around the edges of the property. He had read about multiflora in a government pamphlet that promoted its use as a "living fence". It grew ten feet high and five feet thick. It was green and dense in the summer. In the winter it was brown and sparse enough to see through in places, but still impenetrable. Every spring it tried to soften its look with a spray of white blossoms, but the thorns remained.

My parents already had four kids when dad planted it; four more came along in the years after; then me. The hedge was a fact of life for us. When my brothers would lose a ball in it they would argue about who had to go in and get it back; the loser could look forward to emerging covered with painful scratches. It was easier to buy a new ball. Other things disappeared into the hedge: when my brothers started bringing rock and roll 45s home in the sixties, my Dad would confiscate any he could find and send them sailing into the hedge.

By the time I came along the neighborhood had grown up around us, but you would never know it from inside the hedge. There were only two ways in or out: the driveway and a gate set into a clearing that my dad had hacked open. The gate led to the Baptist church next door. After my dad decided that the church had gone astray he stopped hacking and let the hedge consume the gate.

We had changed churches five times before I was twelve. We belonged to a fiercely independent sect called the Bible Baptist Fellowship, but sometimes even their churches could be too lax for my dad. My dad believed that a good church was a barricade against the forces of sin and corruption; the second one showed signs of being breached the only thing to do was to fall back to another stronghold that looked more secure. A church might seem safe on first glance: men and boys with short hair, the traditional King James translation of the Bible in the pews, Christian and American flags at the front, an altar call at the end of every service...but then something would happen. A preacher might slip in a reading from a modern translation, or allow that some things in the Bible shouldn't be taken literally; if so we left and didn't come back. 

I didn't meet any of the neighborhood kids until I started school. After school I would see them walking or riding bikes down the road. I couldn't imagine doing such a thing. One day a kid on the bus invited himself over to play. Mom and Dad agreed but looked him over intently. He taught me how to ride his two wheeler around our driveway, perched behind me as I wobbled and pedaled in jerks. I started to gain stability as we turned and headed for the road. "Go! Go!" the kid yelled, but as I came to the border of the hedge I slammed on the brakes and almost sent us tumbling. I saw my Dad hurrying over as I got off. The kid gave me a funny look and rode away.

Preacher's Stew Was Too Hard to Swallow

Published in the Albany Times-Union, October 12, 2008

One Friday night in 1980, when other teenagers were playing in video arcades, going to dances and going out on dates, I was sitting at my kitchen table listening to my Dad and our preacher talk about the evils of rock and roll, boys with long hair and the disgraceful uniforms that the cheerleaders at the high school wore. Although I did have some interest in the last topic, I mostly moped and examined the big, ugly horseradish root that Preacher Rogers had brought with him. At the previous Wednesday Prayer Meeting, Rogers had caught me off guard. I was sitting quietly in my pew, mentally composing a prayer, just in case I was called on to close the service. Rogers called people at random to do this; since I was a male and over 12, I knew that I was eligible and that my turn would come. I realized he was looking right at me, but he didn't ask me to pray.

Instead he said, "I know we don't have many young people, but we've got a start. And I'd rather have one fine young man who truly loves the Lord, like Matthew there, than a whole bus full of worldly teenagers!" He was exaggerating when he said that we didn't have many young people. We didn't have any young people. Out of a church of about 30 people, I was the only person under 20. Rogers had hopes, though. He had been a leader of a medium-sized youth group at a church in Kentucky years earlier, and believed he could duplicate that success by transplanting some of their fun yet wholesome activities to the fertile soil of our small Ohio town. One of these was the stew party. A stew party required each guest to bring a different stew ingredient, without knowing what the other guests were bringing. All of the ingredients were to be cooked together, and then everyone had to have some of the stew, no matter how outrageous it ended up. He had everyone invite their teen relatives. I was supposed to invite people from school. I was not enthusiastic about this. I had few friends and didn't want to risk losing those; the stew party didn't sound like the sort of thing that would generate excitement in my school. Even worse, the invitations were printed on the back of Gospel tracts that explained that the reader was bound for hell and that the only way out was to accept Jesus. I spent most of the day with the tracts stuffed in my pockets, feeling guilty for damning all these kids by not sharing God's love with them.

The stew party may have gone over in Kentucky, but on our side of the river, it was a bust. My dad had offered our house for the party, so of course I was there. Rogers showed up with a big smile on his face; and with a magician's flourish he produced his big horseradish root. The only other person who came was a twenty-something named Gwen who lived with her widowed mother in the town's only trailer park. Since she was the church's lone adult single, she didn't have much of a peer group either. Rogers tried to be upbeat, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. Finally he said, "Well, I guess we just didn't pick a good night." Gwen nodded in agreement, excused herself and left.

Later that night, I heard my parents talking about the failed party.
My Mom's voice: "I think Matthew needs to be in a church with more young people."
Dad's answer: "Rogers needs us. There aren't many preachers who'll really preach the Word anymore. We're not giving up on him."

And so we stayed. But Rogers was wrong about me. I wasn't spiritual -- I was just afraid. I was afraid of rebelling. I was afraid of going to Hell. I was afraid of missing the Rapture. Although I told myself that my peers were mindless, shallow and sinful, they seemed happy. Happier than me. I envied their freedom. Those foolish kids, their minds distracted with proms and dances and dates and other frivolities while eternity's maw was opening beneath them. How I envied their shortsightedness, their ignorance. They looked forward into a unwritten future, a future where anything could happen, where they could hope to grow and love and find themselves.

In my world the future was preordained; disaster and calamity, with the only hope a secret rapture into a sterile heaven. And if the Lord tarried, my years were to be spent converting others and cultivating disdain for the world and its vain amusements, stewing in righteous indignation and wondering why the people sitting in darkness were disregarding such a great light.

Now, over thirty years have gone by, and as far as I can tell, the elect have not been raptured, and the world has not gone up in flames. I left fundamentalism long ago, traded the clarity of an artificial light for an uncertain twilight, struggling with fear and doubt and nearly drowning in toxic excess before coming to the conclusion that I will never have the absolute certainty that I was promised in my youth. Instead of certainty, I have faith. Not in a God who thunders commands from the mountain, or a God who holds the future hostage to ancient visions. I have faith in a God who speaks softly from within, and who dwells in mystery. Who inspires but does not wrest control of our destiny; who sets us free to create our own future.