From Barrenness to Birth

I feel a deep affinity for the barren women Scripture holds up to the light. While their childless state was obvious to all, the weight of unmet longing in their hearts could be fully shared by no one. Surely they tried to be content, knowing themselves to be loved by their husbands, cherished by their God … or believing themselves to be, if not quite feeling it. What they felt instead was surely inadequacy, unworthiness, an inability to participate successfully in this vital female role. After all, their value in society was determined by their ability to bear children. Without an understanding of biological processes such as we have today, they would’ve been considered solely responsible for their failure to produce a child. How many such women were simply discarded as defective? Or, even if they were loved, were still set aside in favor of another who could produce an heir and protect the fragile family line?

Perhaps this is one of the reasons I am so drawn to Ruth. Barrenness is an often-overlooked reality of her situation. In our rush to “happily ever after,” we tend to skip over the fact that something like ten years saw Ruth living in Moab as Mahlon’s wife, counting month after bloody month as proof of her failure to live up to her calling as a woman. And then, she was forced to bear the grief of widowhood as the death knell of her hopes. It would seem a crushing blow, but Ruth’s spirit was not vanquished. Indeed, it kept reaching out for Life, in the very presence of death. And her yearning was met by the One who held the purpose for her pain.

I believe Ruth was victorious because of her covenant with the Life-Giver. Rather than playing it safe, staying among familiar places and people with the chance of starting over, she chose to abandon everything. Without much left to hope for, she flung herself on the mercy of Naomi’s God, casting her lot with the bitter old woman who seemed herself to have been forsaken by Him.

Like many others in Scripture, Ruth’s story is much more poignant and powerful than the simplified version that has so often been told. She was not merely a damsel in distress who needed to be rescued. She was not seeking a romance, or even a benefactor; she was seeking a Savior. Scripture recognizes Ruth as a woman of valor, a worthy match for Boaz himself, a man who is often held up as a type of Christ (see Ruth 3:11). The measure of her pain and loss served not to weaken her, but to expand her capacity to endure, and to love. She manifested a valiant warrior spirit, one that gained her the notice of heaven and fitted her to be counted as a mother of kings. Indeed, she was grafted in to the line of the King of all kings: Jesus, Himself.

Scripture gives us no cause to suppose Ruth ever aspired to be a matriarch in the line of the Messiah, that it was with this goal in mind that she left her homeland and consigned herself to the status of an outcast. Ruth would not have discarded her old life for the promise of better circumstances. She must have been painfully aware that no such comfort awaited her. In fact, she faced the very opposite situation: leaving the possibility of a remarriage among her own people and the chance to put this shameful episode behind her, in exchange for almost definite uncertainty, obscurity, and poverty.  Still, she opened her hands and set her foot upon the narrow road. She was in pursuit of a better country — as Hebrews describes it — and a God His people could depend upon to be present through their darkest days.

That Ruth was blessed beyond measure is indisputable, yet the blessing in no way minimizes her pain. Rather, it consecrates it, transforming her life into a burnt offering of pleasing fragrance. My desire to emulate her stems not simply from the hope of like blessing, but from a deep admiration for who she became along the Way. I suppose I am not barren, not in the technical sense. Yet long years of singleness are to me a similar struggle, a deep and unsharable ache beyond my ability to control or change. However, like Ruth, I am determined not to let my supposed lack cripple or define me.

For I, too, believe in the Life-Giver. He is a God who is close to the brokenhearted; He is also a God of miracles. Abraham believed this God, and his unwavering faith led him to the brink of sacrificing his only beloved son, trusting God could raise the dead. Ruth believed Him enough to leave everything, simply on the hope she might be counted among His people. Like Abraham, she laid her hope on the altar; like him, she rejoiced to find her hope restored. These two, and countless others, experienced the reality of a God present in their pain, a God able to transform both their lives and their situations, that all might shout His glory. They sought far more than answers: they sought God Himself, believing He was the Answer … and their faith was richly rewarded.

Though I may not be living the life I would have scripted for myself, (I doubt either Ruth or Abraham would have made that claim), I am confident the story my Lord is writing will surpass anything I could have dreamed up. Like Ruth, I believe there is a depth and wisdom the Spirit has cultivated in me that I could have gained no other way. And when the time is right, I am confident my well-seasoned life will bear fruit worthy of His Kingdom. Until then, I pray my God will allow me to continue growing in grace and in truth, in faith and in freedom, that His life might be born through me.

(For the biblical/historical perspective in this post, I am indebted to author Carolyn Custis James for insights gleaned through The Gospel of Ruth: Loving God Enough to Break the Rules).