Thin Air, High Hope

I think Naomi gets a bad rap.

For those of you unfamiliar with her story, she is an Israelite woman mentioned in the Old Testament scriptures. Her story begins with her, her husband, and her sons leaving famine-stricken Israel for a neighboring pagan country in search of a better life. While there, her sons marry a couple of the locals. Unfortunately, at some point, Naomi’s sons and husband die, and Naomi is left alone. She decides the best thing would be to return to her home country, but now with the stigma of having left for a place that was considered hostile and unclean.

One daughter-in-law, Ruth, insists on going back with Naomi, expressing one of the famous wedding statements: “Where you go, I’ll go.” Naomi gives in and allows her to accompany her.

What we don’t often talk about here is what this will mean for Naomi.

Not only is she re-entering her old community as a desolate widow, but she will also be bringing someone with her who is not just a refugee but someone who is deemed unacceptable by her community. We’re not told much in the story, but at that time, a Moabite was literally not allowed to live among the Israelites, and this could severely impact Naomi’s reentry.

When Naomi returns home, the women all come out to see what state she is in, and she tells them to no longer call her Naomi, but Mara, which means “bitter.”

Naomi is bitter, but I am not sure I would feel differently.

But the wild thing is that she still seems to have hope. Could it be that there was something good about God she could not quite let go of? Something that grew just enough hope to keep going?

It is that hope that helped her put one foot in front of the other and walk back to her home country. It is that hope that helped her say yes to this foreigner coming alongside her, even though Naomi had no provisions and nothing to offer.

It is also this same seed of hope that we see continue throughout the rest of the story as she guides Ruth to a field, participates in a situation that could have easily been misunderstood, and envisions a solution that is not obvious, eventually ending with her holding her grandson in her arms, fulfilled and cared for.

I was thinking about this kind of hope when I spoke with a friend of mine this week.

She has been single for a while and would love a partner to go through life with. The problem is that she keeps meeting these crazy guys. Fortunately, she is also very wise and knows how to shut things down quickly.

She was lamenting to me that she doesn’t know why she keeps re-entering this possibility and keeps opening herself up to a potential new relationship over and over. She even wondered out loud if something was wrong with her.

But I could not disagree more.

If anything, I see someone who is incredibly brave, because it takes courage to keep showing up when things have not worked out and strength to not shut down.

When we were talking, I realized that hope is what keeps her going.

She has hope that someday she will find someone with whom she can share life, and that is a human longing I would even dare say is a good one. Scripture says that hope deferred makes the heart sick, and she feels that, but it is hope nonetheless.

And I think this might be where things get uncomfortable. I can already hear the possible responses: Be content. Move on. Be grateful. Shouldn’t God be enough?

I think about the story of Naomi and I can’t help but wonder if some of the Jewish women were a little put off by Naomi’s new name, “Bitter”. Shouldn’t she have responded differently, been more composed, more faithful, more righteous? And my friend, shouldn’t she just be content? After all, she has God, so how can she still say she is lonely? But I wonder if we misunderstand what is happening in these moments.

Too often, I fear we judge others in their discontent when maybe they are actually just seeking more because they believe in more.

For my friend, her faith keeps her from settling, and at the same time, her faith is what keeps her seeking. She refuses to give up hope that maybe her Father has something good in store for her. She refuses to ignore her heart’s longing and instead gives it over to God again and again, in both surrender and action.

I believe that in her perseverance, just like Naomi’s, she speaks of God’s character far more loudly than a passive acceptance ever could. There persists a little glimmer of hope that there is something more than what we can see, better than what we can see.

I think of others…

The young man who won’t accept mainstream Christianity because all he sees is harshness and judgment, asking, “Is this really what it means to love?”

The woman who refuses to accept that the only role of Christians is to convert others to an idea of heaven but not engage their hearts in compassion with this world, asking, “Is this really what it means to live life to the full?”

I see it in my classmates whose families tell them their pursuit of education is ridiculous, but they can’t give up because they know that with just a few more tools and a little more insight, they can help shift systems of education and equity, asking, “What if I can do more?”

I see it in every person who sits in a place of darkness, discomfort, or depression, wondering, “Is this really what it means to endure?” but still getting dressed, driven by a small seed of hope they may not even be able to name yet.

I see it in every person looking at roles defined by tradition and hierarchy, asking, “Is this really what relationships are meant to be?” and in every person who looks around at injustice and poverty, asking, “Is this really what our world is meant to be?”

I see it in the dissatisfied, the lonely, the desperate, and the troubled, maybe even bitter; in the woman who looks at Jesus when He responds to her request to heal her daughter by saying there is no food for “dogs” like her (please read the entire context in Mark 7:24–30 before judging Jesus!), who refuses His answer and insists that He still has more to give.

Maybe sometimes our dissatisfaction and our discomfort speak a better word about God’s character than our submission to the unfair patterns and traditions of this world. When we sit at His feet and cry out in indignation (God knows He can take it), could we be insisting not just on better outcomes but on what we know to be true of His character?

I know some will push back here and insist that His ways are not our ways, that He sees more clearly than we ever can, that His plans are always good, and that we are called to trust, and I don’t disagree.

But does that mean our only acceptable response is passive acceptance? Can we also cry out, “Please take this cup”?

Can we also ask God for a different way, ask Him to intervene again and again, crying out like the blind man until we are heard? Can we also climb trees, wrestle until the morning, and even argue for our requests? Can these not exist in tandem with surrender?

Abraham received a promise given by an angel, but what about the times when there is no angel? All we have is what we know of the character of God and the longing for something good that He has placed in our hearts.

To all of my friends who find themselves in a place of turmoil, whatever that turmoil is, with self, with this world, with lack, with relationships, even with God, my prayer is not that you would surrender prematurely, but that you would ask yourself this:

• Could your refusal to accept what “this” is be saying something true about the character of God? That maybe this is not all there is, and that what you are experiencing does not fully reflect who He is.

• Even if waiting is hard, could that resistance in you be less about dissatisfaction and more about belief? A belief that He is still good, still present, and still able to do more than what you are seeing right now. 

• And what is it that you still believe to be true about God, the good in Him that you cannot quite release, even when everything in front of you seems to contradict it?

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"The thought of my suffering and homelessness
is bitter beyond words.
I will never forget this awful time
As I grieve over my loss.
Yet I still dare to hope
when I remember this:
The faithful love of the Lord never ends.
His mercies never cease."
Lamentations 3: 19-22