Now that we’ve entered the month of November and many of the “spooky” decorations have been put away and movies on television have changed from horror movies to Hallmark Christmas movies, I want to tell you a secret about something that’s just a little scary for me. Don’t worry. It’s probably not as scary to most anyone else. As a recovering perfectionist, there’s something even scarier than being flat-out wrong about something: being almost right–like that time at the spelling been when I was only one letter off of the correct answer, or that time I correctly used the microwave to heat up water for tea, but I used the wrong cup, so it melted the moment I touched it. When you are a person who strives and strives for excellence, even a tiny imperfection feels like a failure. 

I wonder if this was how the scribe received Jesus’s words, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” Jesus didn’t give him an admission ticket on the spot. He didn’t respond to the scribe’s thoughtful answers with, “Well done! I’ve got nothing left to teach you!” Instead, Jesus said, “You’re on the right track.” You’re not wrong, but you’re not all the way right either. 

Or, maybe as a recovering perfectionist, I’m reading my own insecurities into the way the scribe might have responded to Jesus. The text doesn’t tell us much except that Jesus’s answer seemed to have silenced the group who had gathered near. Were they baffled? Were they wondering what it means to believe that the sacrificial system the scribes directly benefited from wasn’t nearly as important as loving God and loving their neighbors? Or, were they feeling just a little ashamed that they were sorta right, but also sorta wrong?

They were near the kingdom, but they weren’t all the way there yet.

But, what if this isn’t bad news? What if this is good news? What if drawing near to the kingdom of God means we are beginning to walk away from things that don’t lead to life? What if drawing near to the kingdom of God means we are one step closer to a place with no more tears, no more heartache, no more broken relationships?

With that in mind, I’d like us to take a look at the beginning of the book of Ruth. In this story, Naomi, her husband, and their two sons flee a famine in Bethlehem. Ironically, the name “Bethlehem” means “house of bread,” but during this time of the judges, there was no bread in the house of bread. Naomi’s family flees to Moab, even though historically Moab and Israel have not gotten along with each other. While in Moab, Naomi’s two sons, who are sadly named Mahlon and Chilion–names that mean “Frail” and “Sickly”–marry women from Moab. Before the famine ends, Naomi’s husband and both of her sons die. 

In the midst of this unspeakable tragedy, Naomi hears that Bethlehem has food again. She sets out to return to her homeland, and the wives of her two deceased sons follow her. Naomi tries to push them both away, after all, during the time in which they lived, women were only taken care of if they had a husband or sons. She tells Orpah and Ruth that they are young enough to remarry and have children. Life doesn’t have to be hopeless for them. As for herself, Naomi sees no hope. She’s too old to have more children. Because of this, she believes herself to be too old to remarry or have any kind of security.

At first, both Orpah and Ruth refuse to leave Naomi. They love her. They want to take care of her. They want to draw near to her in her time of grief. Eventually, Naomi persuades Orpah to return home, but Ruth does something completely unexpected. The text tells us, “but Ruth clung to her.” The word “clung” is such an interesting word in the original Hebrew. It’s the same word that occurs in Genesis when it says, “Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh.” The same word also occurs in Psalm 63 when the psalm writer says to God, “My soul clings to you.” 

Ruth continues with a promise that is often read at weddings: “Do not press me to leave you, to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” 

With this promise, Ruth chooses to leave her homeland, to turn away from the worship of Moabite gods, and to draw near to her mother-in-law and a new way of life. Together, the two women draw near to Jerusalem, and they begin to journey toward a new hope for both of their lives. Our reading for this morning ends with, “When Naomi saw that she was determined to go with her, she said no more to her.” Reminds me of the scribes and those near Jesus who were left speechless. There were plenty of things Naomi could have said. She could’ve pointed out how hard it would be for Ruth as a Moabite in the land of Israel. She could’ve pointed out the very real dangers of traveling as a single, young woman. Yet, in Ruth’s bold proclamation and promise, Naomi knew there was nothing more that could be said.

Ruth’s grand gesture and promise to Naomi was only the first step in the journey. They would have to navigate the terrain from Moab to Bethlehem without anyone to protect them. They would have arrived with nowhere to live and no one to look out for them. Ruth would take risk after risk as she gleaned in the fields alone–a very risky thing to do, and as she approached Boaz on the threshing floor–no place for a woman to be. Yet, God provided time and again. As Ruth drew near to God, God was drawing near to her. He provided Boaz who cared for her. Through Boaz, God filled her baskets to overflowing with grain. Eventually, Boaz married Ruth, and they had a son. Together, Ruth and Boaz provided security and care for Naomi. The whole neighborhood gave Ruth’s son a name: Obed, which means “worshiper,” and this son went on to be the grandfather of King David.  

It all began with Ruth’s bold, single step to draw near to Naomi and Naomi’s God. When she took that step, I don’t think Ruth had any idea all of what it would mean to follow God. I don’t think she knew fully how difficult it would be to leave her home and to start over, all while grieving the loss of her first husband. She took one step to draw near to God, and she began to discover that God was already drawing near to her, as it says in James 4: “Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.”

On this All Saints’ Sunday, on this Communion Sunday, we draw near to the Table of the Lord, and we ask him to feed us there. We will close our eyes in prayer before the meal, and we will remember the many people who took faithful steps towards Jesus and led us to follow their example. We will take one small step toward God, and we will discover that God has always been moving toward us. 

Remember the story we looked at from Mark 12 with the scribe who wasn’t far from the kingdom? Just out of curiosity, I decided to look up the word for “far.” The word is used to describe distant countries and far away places. It also shows up in Luke 15 in the parable of the prodigal son. In that story, the father must have been watching and hoping that his youngest son would decide to come home, when suddenly the father saw his son while he was still far off. Hear that little word “far?” The lost, prodigal son had taken steps to draw near to his father again, and what did the father do? He sprinted toward his son. The father didn’t care if it made him look undignified. The father didn’t care that such behavior might be beneath him. He saw his son drawing near, and he closed the gap and embraced his son.

We face a lot of gaps in our lives: gaps where we don’t quite understand what God wants for us, gaps where we struggle hard to love our neighbor who thinks differently from us, who sees the world differently from us. We face gaps in fractured relationships, in mending places where we’ve hurt others or they’ve hurt us. Today we see in Ruth and in this compassionate scribe, that sometimes that first step of drawing near is so difficult, so daunting, and yet it is the first step towards experiencing the kingdom of God right here on earth. 

May we find the courage to draw near to God and to each other. May we not disparage or belittle the first little step we take. Sure, our inner perfectionist might struggle to know that our first step is imperfect, and that our first step won’t take us all the way there, but each little, faithful step toward loving God and our neighbors brings us one, little, faithful step closer to a time in which there is no longer a gap between us and our neighbors, between us and the beautiful world God created. Let us draw near to God around the table, in our homes, in our communities, and everywhere God calls us to go. Amen.