Ruth 2: Glimpses of Grace

I know some of you have heard this before, but it’s just too relevant to skip. It’s one of those stories where my lack of wisdom is on full display—and for whatever reason, you all love those."

This story takes place during my junior year of college.

Before we dive in, you need to know a few things about Levi. I liked to think of myself as a bit of a ladies' man—but in reality, women terrified me. Dating was not exactly a spiritual gift of mine. So log that away.

Also—yes, I went to Bible college to get a degree—but if I’m honest, that wasn’t the main reason. I was there to find a spouse. Every pastor I admired had married a great woman, and as I sensed God’s call on my life, I assumed a godly wife would be part of the package deal.

So I rolled into college single and very ready to mingle. Fishing in the big pond of Christian college. And let me tell you, there were plenty of fish to go around. (Young men, don’t take notes here—referring to women as fish a terrible idea.)

So, there I was as Junior in college, dating around and praying it down—dead set on meeting “the one” before graduation. And let me tell you, the stakes felt incredibly high!

Right before our J-term—that’s the one-month stretch in January our college set aside for mission trips, study abroad and condensed course work—my buddy Caleb was gearing up to head to England. He and I had been hanging out with a group of girls from Olson Hall. Now Olson had a bit of a reputation. These were the fun girls, the girls you hung out with but didn’t marry. The girls you married lived in English Hall. I know—it’s ridiculous. But that was the going joke and just part of the Christian college folklore at my alma mater.

Well, in that group of Olson girls, one stood out. She was godly, smart, fun, attractive—what wasn’t to like? But then one night, she made a casual comment in our group that was a massive red flag. She said, “I could never see myself married to a pastor. That’s just not the life I want.”

Now, I was literally at that school to become a pastor. That was the call on my life. Still is.

So I told Caleb before he left, “Bro, don’t let me date her.”

And then he flew off to England… and you already know where this is going.

I started dating her.

Why? Because I told myself, “It’s just a small thing. I’ll be different. She’ll come around. Maybe I’ll be the one to change her mind. I mean, come on—I’m Levi the ladies’ man! I’m kind of a big deal. This will be different for me.”

I know. I shouldn’t admit this in front of 400 people. But that was me—arrogant, prideful, and on a mission to marry. So out of desperation and rationalization, I made a pretty unwise decision.

You ever done that?

Ignored a red flag because you wanted something to work out so badly?

Justified a compromise because you believed you could make it work—even if others couldn’t?

Convinced yourself you were the exception?

I’m guessing I’m not the only one who’s made an unwise decision—not because you didn’t know better, but because you wanted something enough to rationalize it. Whether it was out of desperation, comfort, or the illusion of control—you stepped outside of God’s wisdom, hoping it’d be fine.

In the face of facts… in the face of truth… I made an unwise decision driven more by desperation and desire than discernment.

And it led to a season of bitter—but entirely avoidable—heartache.

After over a year of back-and-forth, the relationship imploded. Because the thing she said at the beginning? Well, it turned out to be true.

I was devastated. I lost 10 pounds (don’t worry, I’ve since put it all back on—and then some), limped through my final semester, and left college single and swearing off women for good.

“Bachelor till the Rapture” became my new life motto.

So, why do I tell you this?

Because I think we’ve all been there.

We can all look back and point to decisions we made in haste—ones that seemed harmless, practical, maybe even wise in our own eyes. But deep down… we knew better. We didn’t need to consult or depend on God and so we compromised. Maybe for comfort. Maybe for expediency. Maybe for economics.

Despite warning signs. Despite a lack of peace from the Lord. Despite wise counsel.

And the fallout? Sometimes it hits fast. Other times, it sneaks up on us rather slowly.

But either way—we carry the consequences.

And that’s exactly where Ruth chapter 1 begins.

Not with love. Not with a fairy tale.

But with loss, heartache, and famine.

We’re starting a new series this morning in the book of Ruth—a powerful story of God sovereignly choosing a foreigner by grace to become the great-grandmother of David, and part of the lineage of Jesus.

And it begins with a man named Elimelech. A man who makes what looks like a practical decision—but one that proves deeply unwise. He leaves the land of promise for Moab in search of security… and ends up losing everything.

This morning, we’ll follow the story in three movements:

An Unwise Move & Unexpected Misery (vv. 1–5)

Bitter Hearts & Honest Words (vv. 6–18)

Empty Hands & Glimmers of Hope (vv. 19–22)

And through it all, here’s the big idea I want us to walk away with:

God’s grace and redemption are always available—but they are only found when we return to Him.

This is The Bitter Road Home.

It’s Naomi’s story. And it might be your story too.

So let’s open our Bibles to Ruth chapter 1 and start walking the road together.

Are you wandering away from God’s promise… or walking the sometimes hard and bitter road back to Him?

Point 1: Unwise Moves and Unexpected Misery (Ruth 1:1–5)

Turn with me in your Bibles to the book of Ruth. We’ll begin in chapter 1, verse 1.

As you’re turning there, let me give you some much-needed context. We’re not the original audience of the book of Ruth, and without understanding their cultural and historical backdrop, we’re going to miss some key things. So allow me to fill in the gaps.

The story begins with Ruth’s eventual father-in-law, a man named Elimelech. We’re told that his story unfolds during the time of the judges—a time of spiritual chaos and moral confusion. Judges 21:25 sums it up well:

“In those days Israel had no king; all the people did whatever seemed right in their own eyes.” Sound familiar?

A famine hits the land of Judah, and Elimelech—whose name ironically means “My God is King”—decides to take his family to Moab. On the surface, that sounds practical. There’s food in Moab. Why not go?

But to the original audience, this move would’ve raised serious eyebrows.

Why? Because Moab wasn’t just another country—it had a reputation. Moab was like a spiritual Sodom and Gomorrah 2.0.

Let me recap the backstory. If you want to dig deeper, you can read Genesis 13, 18, and 19 later. But here’s the summary:

God led Abraham and his nephew Lot into the land of promise. As their households grew, their shepherds began to quarrel. So Abraham, in humility, gave Lot the first choice of land. Genesis 13:10 tells us Lot chose the lush region near Sodom—because it looked like “the garden of the Lord.” But by verse 13, we learn that the people of Sodom were “extremely wicked and constantly sinned against the LORD.”

Still, Lot chose it. He prioritized comfort and opportunity over spiritual safety. Sound familiar?

Eventually, God judges Sodom and Gomorrah. Lot and his daughters barely escape—his wife doesn’t. She looks back and is turned to salt.

Which Quick aside: When God delivers you, don’t look back in longing at what He rescued you from. Lot’s wife looked back with longing toward a life of indulging the flesh—and it cost her everything.

And even though Lot and his daughters get out of Sodom, it’s clear Sodom hasn’t gotten out of them as the story continues.

Fearing they’d never have children, his daughters get Lot drunk—twice—and conceive through him. The result? Two sons: Moab and Ben-Ammi, whose names reflect their shameful origin.

These two become the fathers of the Moabites and Ammonites—people born from brokenness who became nations defined by idolatry, sexual immorality, and even child sacrifice.

So when Elimelech heads to Moab during a famine, the original audience isn’t nodding in agreement. They’re gasping.

Moab wasn’t just another place on the map. It was a spiritual no-go zone.

By the time of Deuteronomy 23, here’s what God had to say:

Deuteronomy 23:3–6 ““No Ammonite or Moabite or any of their descendants for ten generations may be admitted to the assembly of the Lord. These nations did not welcome you with food and water when you came out of Egypt. Instead, they hired Balaam son of Beor from Pethor in distant Aram-naharaim to curse you. But the Lord your God refused to listen to Balaam. He turned the intended curse into a blessing because the Lord your God loves you. As long as you live, you must never promote the welfare and prosperity of the Ammonites or Moabites.

Don’t go there. Don’t marry into them. Don’t worship their gods.

So when Elimelech packs up his family and leaves Bethlehem—which literally means “House of Bread”—for Moab, it’s not just a relocation. It could be seen as a rejection of God’s covenant people and promises. Just like Lot, Elimelech sees the greener pastures and chooses comfort over covenant. Pragmatism over trust.

And it doesn’t end well.

Let’s read it together:

Ruth 1:1–5 NLT

1 In the days when the judges ruled in Israel, a severe famine came upon the land. So a man from Bethlehem in Judah left his home and went to live in the country of Moab, taking his wife and two sons with him. [say it with me: “He did what!”] 2 The man’s name was Elimelech, and his wife was Naomi. Their two sons were Mahlon and Kilion. They were Ephrathites from Bethlehem in the land of Judah. And when they reached Moab, they settled there. [say it with me: “They did what!”] 3 Then Elimelech died, and Naomi was left with her two sons. 4 The two sons married Moabite women [say it with me: “They married who!??!”]. One married a woman named Orpah, and the other a woman named Ruth. But about ten years later, 5 both Mahlon and Kilion died. This left Naomi alone, without her two sons or her husband.

Devastating.

Elimelech dies. His sons marry Moabite women—something God had forbidden. Then they die too. Now Naomi is left with two Moabite daughters-in-law, in a foreign land, with no support system.

What was supposed to be temporary survival turned into ten years of slow, bitter loss.

It’s like seeing red flags and thinking, “I can handle it.” A little compromise never hurt anyone, right? Elimelech made a choice that seemed right in his own eyes—but it led to unthinkable consequences for his whole family.

This left Naomi and her daughters-in-law in one of the most vulnerable positions imaginable. Foreigners in a hostile land. No husbands. No protection. No provision.

Have you ever seen that show Locked Up Abroad? It’s like that. Desperate, isolated, without help—outsiders in a place that doesn’t want you. This is rock bottom.

An understandable, even justifiable decision… ...led to unthinkable misery.

And we need to be honest: sometimes our misery is the result of unwise decisions made in moments of fear, desperation, or compromise.

Not always. But sometimes.

And while the text doesn’t say God directly judged Elimelech, the silence is loud. This move away from God’s land led to a life far from God’s presence, people, and promises.

Here’s the takeaway:

When we pursue comfort over covenant, we often find ourselves far from the God we claim to trust—and closer to consequences than we ever imagined.

In other words, when we make decisions based on what feels easy or safe or comfortable instead of what we know God has called us to, we can slowly wander from His presence—and we may not realize the cost until it's too late.

But listen— That’s not where the story ends. Because God is not done with Naomi. And friend—He’s not done with you.

Let’s keep going…

Point 2: Bitter Hearts and Honest Words (vv. 6-18)

Naomi hears that the famine has lifted in Bethlehem, so she sets out to return home. On the surface, it just looks like a woman going back to where she came from—but spiritually, it’s more than a geographic move. It’s a repentant return. She’s not just going back to Bethlehem—she’s returning to God’s people, to God’s promises… and ultimately, to God Himself.

And that’s what repentance often looks like. It’s not always flashy. It doesn’t usually come with fireworks or fanfare. Sometimes, it’s just a quiet, bitter walk back toward the place where you stopped trusting God. And that journey is never without baggage.

Naomi is bitter. She left full, but now she’s empty.

Let’s read

Ruth 1:6–18 NLT

6 Then Naomi heard in Moab that the Lord had blessed his people in Judah by giving them good crops again. So Naomi and her daughters-in-law got ready to leave Moab to return to her homeland. 7 With her two daughters-in-law she set out from the place where she had been living, and they took the road that would lead them back to Judah. 8 But on the way, Naomi said to her two daughters-in-law, “Go back to your mothers’ homes. And may the Lord reward you for your kindness to your husbands and to me. 9 May the Lord bless you with the security of another marriage.” Then she kissed them good-bye, and they all broke down and wept. 10 “No,” they said. “We want to go with you to your people.” 11 But Naomi replied, “Why should you go on with me? Can I still give birth to other sons who could grow up to be your husbands? 12 No, my daughters, return to your parents’ homes, for I am too old to marry again. And even if it were possible, and I were to get married tonight and bear sons, then what? 13 Would you wait for them to grow up and refuse to marry someone else? No, of course not, my daughters! Things are far more bitter for me than for you, because the Lord himself has raised his fist against me.” 14 And again they wept together, and Orpah kissed her mother-in-law good-bye. But Ruth clung tightly to Naomi. 15 “Look,” Naomi said to her, “your sister-in-law has gone back to her people and to her gods. You should do the same.” 16 But Ruth replied, “Don’t ask me to leave you and turn back. Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. 17 Wherever you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord punish me severely if I allow anything but death to separate us!” 18 When Naomi saw that Ruth was determined to go with her, she said nothing more.

Let’s pause here.

There’s a lot happening. For one thing, the author of this book—traditionally understood to be the Prophet Samuel—is a master storyteller.

Look at verse 7: “With her two daughters-in-law she set out from the place where she had been living, and they took the road that would lead them back to Judah.”

That’s such a good line. They took the road that would lead them back. So much meaning in that phrase.

It’s a road of return—a hopeful step—but let’s not sugarcoat it. This isn’t a happy road. It’s a road born out of bitter hardship.

This passage is full of bitter hearts and honest words.

Naomi expresses her pain without filters. In verse 13 she says, “The Lord Himself has raised His fist against me!” And notice—there’s no condemnation from the narrator. No rebuke for her honesty.

Let me say this clearly: God can handle your honesty. He has broad shoulders. He’s not offended by your frustration or fear or sorrow.

In fact, your relationship with Him will never go very deep until you learn to be real with God—and with His people.

As I’ve said before: God can’t work with where we are not. He deals in truth. He operates in reality.

So if you want to find healing… if you want to return to God… it begins with being honest—with yourself, with others, and with Him.

Now, I’ve been hard on Elimelech. I’ve said his decision to leave was unwise. I’ve even suggested they left God when they left the land. That may be a little too strong.

Because here, we see Naomi still worships God. She’s bitter—but she hasn’t rejected Him. She still acknowledges His sovereignty.

So we have to ask: Was it God who did this to her? Or was this the fallout of human choices?

The text doesn’t give a clean answer. And there’s wisdom in that. Because real life rarely gives clean answers either.

Sometimes it’s our sin. Sometimes others’. Sometimes the world’s brokenness. Sometimes… it’s a mystery.

Here’s what we do know: Naomi left the land of promise. Her life unraveled. And it drove her back home.

Her bitterness is real. But her interpretation of God’s role in her pain might not be fully accurate. She’s speaking from grief—not gospel clarity.

We do this too.

We make choices that turn out badly, and then blame God for not blessing our disobedience. We wander—and then blame Him for the wilderness.

Naomi is honest—but grief clouds her view. She thinks the story is over.

But God’s not done.

And proof of that… is standing right next to her.

Ruth.

A Moabite. An outsider. One from a people group under curse—Deuteronomy 23:3 says a Moabite wasn’t even allowed in the assembly of God’s people.

But here, in one of the most beautiful declarations of faith in the entire Old Testament, Ruth says:

“Don’t ask me to leave you and turn back. Wherever you go, I will go… Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God.”

That’s not just loyalty. That’s repentance. That’s faith. That’s redemption in motion.

If you’d asked an Israelite, “Who is farthest from God’s salvation?”—they would’ve pointed to the Moabites.

But here is Ruth—a Moabite—claiming allegiance to Yahweh. And as we’ll see, salvation comes to her house in more ways than one.

Ruth turns her back on her gods, her land, her family—and throws herself fully on the mercy of Yahweh and His people.

And it reminds us: Redemption doesn’t just begin when God moves. It begins when we return.

Redemption is always possible—but only when we come back to the One who gives it.

Naomi returned bitter. But she returned.

And Ruth returned with her.

And God is about to do something beyond anything either of them could imagine.

Which brings us to the final point…

Point 3: Empty Hands, Glimmers of Hope (vv. 19-22)

Naomi and Ruth return to Bethlehem—and the whole town is stirred. People can’t believe it’s really Naomi. Ten years have passed. She left full of hopes, dreams, and a family. She comes back with nothing but a Moabite daughter-in-law and a bitter heart.

Ruth 1:19–22 NLT

19 So the two of them continued on their journey. When they came to Bethlehem, the entire town was excited by their arrival. “Is it really Naomi?” the women asked. 20 “Don’t call me Naomi,” she responded. “Instead, call me Mara, for the Almighty has made life very bitter for me. 21 I went away full, but the Lord has brought me home empty. Why call me Naomi when the Lord has caused me to suffer and the Almighty has sent such tragedy upon me?” 22 So Naomi returned from Moab, accompanied by her daughter-in-law Ruth, the young Moabite woman. They arrived in Bethlehem in late spring, at the beginning of the barley harvest.

She says, “Don’t call me Naomi—call me Mara… for the Almighty has made my life very bitter.”

But again, look closely.

She did return. And sometimes that’s all you can do. You don’t have answers. You don’t feel joyful. You’re not even sure what kind of reception you’ll get… But you turn back anyway.

That’s repentance.

And that’s often the beginning of redemption.

And notice this small but powerful detail in verse 22:

“And they came to Bethlehem at the beginning of the barley harvest.”

That’s not a throwaway line. That’s a glimmer of hope.

God, the God Naomi is content to blame in her bitterness, the God she believes has dealt very harshly with her, this God is already working good on her behalf! The famine is over. The harvest is beginning. And God is about to bring a harvest of redemption—not just for Naomi and Ruth, but for the whole world.

Because from this returning widow and this Moabite convert will come a child… and then a lineage… and then a King—King David. And generations later, another King—King Jesus—born in Bethlehem, to the very town Naomi returns.

Church, I hope you can see it: God's grace and redemption are always available, but they are only found when we return back to Him.

Are you far off today? Have you wandered into Moab chasing something you thought would be better? Have you made unwise decisions that left you empty and bitter?

The call of Ruth 1 is not just to feel bad about the past. It’s not even to “clean up your life.” It’s simply to return.

Come back to the God of promise. Back to His people. Back to His grace. Be honest and come back!

Even if you feel empty, even if you feel bitter, even if all you’ve got left is brokenness—come back.

Because redemption begins at the moment of return. And when you return to God, you’re not just going back—you’re stepping into the beginning of a better story.

This is a story where, when we wander, God doesn’t just wait for us to return—He comes after us. He leaves the comforts of heaven like the great Hound of Heaven, chasing down the ones who’ve strayed. He leaves the ninety-nine to find the one.

And I get it—your life might be bitter. That may be your own doing. It may be the result of someone else’s sin. It may be the brokenness of this world—or even, in some mysterious way, the Lord Himself allowing hardship to bring you back.

But hear me, loved ones—and you are loved—God has shown us His heart in Jesus.

If He wounds, it’s not punishment—it’s discipline. It’s grace that brings us to the end of ourselves so He can save us from ourselves. He’s not calling you back to judgment or shame—but to restoration. To healing. To refuge.

I don’t know where you’ve wandered or why. But here’s the good news of Ruth 1:

It’s never too late to come home.

Return to God. Return to His people. You are never beyond hope.

It’s spring—and the harvest of grace is just beginning.

Let’s pray.