When Trials Come

Good morning, church. Today we begin a new series based on the book of Ruth, which we have titled The God Who Redeems. And our subtitle for the first sermon in our series is When Trials Come.

The reality is that we often build our lives with certain expectations.

I remember—I think it was in 2022—my wife and I planned a trip to Puerto Rico. And many of you are familiar with this story, but I had some amazing expectations for that trip.

I remember taking my camera. I took my drone. We had planned our vacation in Puerto Rico. We had looked at all these different pages showing us great places to visit and places to eat. We had determined which days we were going to visit our families. We were staying in an Airbnb. And the plan was basically to visit our own island as tourists.

Now when we arrived, everything seemed to be going according to plan.

From the moment I got off the plane, I went to Isla Verde and the drive thru of Los Gorditos and got me some mofongo with carne frita and a malta. So things started pretty good!

Then we went to the Amigos supermarket in front of where we were staying and bought all sorts of goodies that we miss from home.

Everything was going according to plan.

Now, what we didn’t plan was that later that night I would begin experiencing heart palpitations and tachycardia that continued into the next day.

And to make a long story short, the next day I ended up in an emergency room in Aguas Buenas while we were visiting my wife’s aunts. From there, I was transferred by ambulance to the Mennonite hospital in Cayey, where I ended up hospitalized for nine days with sepsis.

Church we had expectations. We had plans. But the truth is, life doesn’t always go according to plan. We tend build our lives with certain expectations. For example:

We expect our families to remain together.

We expect our health to remain stable.

We expect our work to provide security.

We expect to go on vacation and everything to go great!

But sometimes life changes suddenly.

A diagnosis comes.

A relationship breaks.

A job is lost.

A loved one dies.

Or you get sepsis while you’re on vacation in Puerto Rico.

And suddenly, a season of stability can become a season of uncertainty.

And the opening verses of the book of Ruth remind us that suffering is not unusual in a fallen world.

Even those who belong to God are not exempt from famine, displacement, disappointment, suffering, and death.

Becoming a Christian does not mean that trials will never come. Following Christ does not mean that everything in our lives will always go according to plan.

However, the book of Ruth will also teach us something incredibly important: Suffering never places God’s people outside of His sovereign and redeeming purposes.

As we begin our journey through the book of Ruth:

There will be moments when God will seem to be silent.

And there will be moments when His providence will be difficult to see.

Because our story begins beneath a very dark cloud. But Church the darkness will not have the final word.

Because behind everything that is happening—even when the characters themselves cannot see it—the sovereign God of the Universe is working out His purposes of redemption.

And that leads us to the question I want us to consider this afternoon: How can we trust God when trials enter our lives and we cannot see what He is doing?

And here is the truth I want us to carry throughout this passage: Although suffering is unavoidable in a fallen world, those who belong to Christ are never outside of God’s sovereign care or His redeeming purposes.

So this afternoon, as we unpack the first five verses of the book of Ruth, I want us to consider four truths about suffering that will help us understand the painful reality of life in a fallen world and teach us to trust in the sovereign providence of God.

And the first truth we need to understand is simply this:

I. WE LIVE IN A FALLEN WORLD

Ruth 1:1 NASB 2020

Now it came about in the days when the judges governed, that there was a famine in the land. And a man of Bethlehem in Judah went to reside in the land of Moab with his wife and his two sons.

Beloved, as we begin to unpack this passage, this first verse is packed with background information that helps us understand the world in which this story takes place.

The book almost begins like an old story: “Now it came about in the days when the judges governed…” So what does the author mean by that?

Well, the author is immediately placing the story of Ruth within a particular period in Israel’s history. The events of Ruth take place during the historical period described for us in the book of Judges.

And if you remember in the book of Judges, there is a tragic pattern that repeats itself over and over again.

Israel turns away from the Lord.

God gives them over to the consequences of their rebellion.

The people experience oppression and suffering.

Eventually, they cry out to God.

God graciously raises up a judge to deliver them.

There is a period of peace.

And then the cycle starts all over again.

Rebellion. Judgment. Crying out. Deliverance. Peace. And then rebellion again.

In fact, the book of Judges summarizes the spiritual condition of this period with these words in:

Judges 21:25 NASB 2020

In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did what was right in his own eyes.

In other words, this was a time of spiritual confusion, moral compromise, covenant unfaithfulness, and social disorder.

So understand this: Ruth does not begin during peaceful and favorable circumstances. It begins “in the days when the judges governed.”

Which means that there is already a dark cloud hanging over the opening words of this story.

However as we continue with our narrative we see that the narrator adds another layer of darkness: “There was a famine in the land.”

There was no food.

There was scarcity.

People were hungry.

Families were trying to figure out how they were going to survive.

And there is an interesting irony here because this famine reaches Bethlehem. And the name Bethlehem means “house of bread.” And yet there is no bread in the house of bread.

The place whose very name was associated with provision had become a place of hunger and scarcity. And church, just as a side note, knowing where the biblical story is eventually going makes that detail even more beautiful.

Because centuries later, from this little town called the house of bread, God would give the world the One who declared: “I am the bread of life.”

But Ruth 1 does not begin with abundance. It begins with a famine.

Now, the text does not explicitly tell us why this particular famine occurred. But what the passage clearly places before us is a world where things are not as they should be.

Why? Because the reality is that we live in a fallen world.

Ever since sin entered God’s creation, we have lived in a world that has been subjected to brokenness, suffering, decay, and death. And becoming a Christian does not remove us from those realities.

Coming to Christ does not mean that suddenly our body cannot become sick.

It does not mean that you will never lose your job.

It does not mean your family will never experience difficulty.

It does not mean you will never grieve.

It does not mean that someone you love will never die.

And Jesus never promised us otherwise. In fact, Jesus told His disciples in:

John 16:33 ESV

In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”

Notice that Jesus does not say, “You might have tribulation.”

He says: “You will have tribulation.”

Jesus prepares His disciples for the reality that following Him does not exempt them from suffering.

And I think this is important for us to understand because sometimes, whether we say it out loud or not, we can begin to believe that if we faithfully obey God, then nothing painful should happen to us.

But Scripture never makes us that promise. The gospel does not promise us a life without suffering.

What the gospel promises us is something far greater: Suffering will not have the final word.

Jesus does not end John 16:33 by saying: “In the world you have tribulation.”

He continues: “But take courage; I have overcome the world.” That is our hope.

And church, as we begin this journey through the book of Ruth, I want us to develop a theology of suffering that prepares us before suffering comes.

Because God’s people will experience unexpected loss.

And we have been reminded recently with the events in Venezuela and Colombia that even people who sincerely love the Lord can find themselves mourning because tragedy has suddenly entered their lives.

And when those moments come, we must remember this: Our suffering is not necessarily evidence that we have done something wrong. It is evidence that we are living in a world that has been broken by sin.

And faith does not require us to pretend that this world is not broken.

Faith does not look at famine and calls it abundance.

Faith does not look at sickness and pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Faith does not stand beside a grave and pretend death is not an enemy.

Faith acknowledges the brokenness of this world while looking to God in the middle of that brokenness.

Because although we live in a fallen world, we belong to a God who is sovereign over it.

And sometimes, when suffering comes, the pressure of our circumstances can cause us to make decisions we would have never considered otherwise.

And that brings us to our second truth:

II. SUFFERING CAN DRIVE US TO DESPERATE DECISIONS

Ruth 1:1–2 NASB 2020

And a man of Bethlehem in Judah went to reside in the land of Moab with his wife and his two sons. (V2) The name of the man was Elimelech, and the name of his wife, Naomi; and the names of his two sons were Mahlon and Chilion, Ephrathites of Bethlehem in Judah. So they entered the land of Moab and remained there.

Now as we come to the second half of V1 we can see how the narrator continues by giving us the background to the story.

Because of the famine, a man named Elimelech takes his wife, Naomi, and their two sons away from Bethlehem and into the land of Moab.

Now, verse 1 tells us that they went there “to reside.”

The Hebrew word carries the idea of sojourning—living somewhere as a foreigner or outsider—and it may suggest that their original intention was temporary.

In other words, the plan may have been: We’ll go to Moab. We’ll survive the famine. And when things get better, we’ll come home.

And from a human perspective, we can understand that the decision.

There was no food in Bethlehem.

Elimelech had a wife.

He had two sons.

He had a family he was responsible to provide for.

And just across the Dead Sea was Moab, where apparently there was food.

But here’s what we need to understand: Moab was not an insignificant destination.

There was a long and troubled history between Israel and Moab:

Moab itself originated from the sinful union between Lot and one of his daughters in Genesis 19.

Later, as Israel traveled toward the Promised Land, Balak, the king of Moab, hired Balaam to curse the people of God.

And in Numbers 25, Moabite women were involved in drawing the men of Israel into sexual immorality and idolatry.

Even during the period of the judges, Eglon, the king of Moab, oppressed Israel for eighteen years.

So Moab was not simply another city down the road. For an Israelite family, Moab carried historical and spiritual baggage. And that creates tension in the story.

Here is a family from Bethlehem in Judah, from the covenant land God had given His people, crossing over into the territory of a people who had historically been hostile toward Israel and Israel’s God.

Now, church, we need to be careful here. The text does not give us a complete evaluation of Elimelech’s motives.

The author does not stop and say: “And Elimelech sinned against the Lord by going to Moab.”

So we shouldn’t say what the text doesn’t say. We don’t know everything that was going through this man’s mind. But what we can see is the severity of the situation. This family was desperate.

And there was famine in Bethlehem and apparently there was food in Moab. And Elimelech had a family to provide for. So they left the Promised Land looking for life.

But here’s the painful irony: The place that appeared to offer life would become the setting of profound loss.

And church, this is one of the painful realities of suffering: Pressure can influence our decisions.

When we’re afraid…

When we’re exhausted…

When we’re hurting…

When we’re grieving…

When we don’t know how we’re going to pay the bills…

When we don’t know what tomorrow is going to look like…

Desperation can make us feel like we have to take control of our lives at any cost.

And sometimes, in our desperation, we begin looking for security in places that were never meant to become our refuge.

For us, it may not be Moab:

It may be money.

It may be a relationship.

It may be our career.

It may be another city.

It may be human approval.

It may be our own ability to control everything around us.

It may simply be whatever promises the quickest relief from our pain.

But beloved, changing our circumstances cannot remove us from the realities of a fallen world.

Elimelech could leave Bethlehem. But he could not leave mortality behind. He could cross the Jordan. He could travel to another country. He could find a place where there was food. But he could not find a place where suffering and death could never reach him. And neither can we.

Many of us here today understand something about leaving one place in search of a better life. Because many of us are immigrants.

We understand that sometimes circumstances force families to make incredibly difficult decisions.

I remember when I lived in Honduras, there was a young man who lived in the mountains. His name was Rufino. He wanted something better for his family. He wanted to provide for them and relieve some of the suffering and poverty they were experiencing.

And so he made the decision that so many others have made: he began the difficult journey north toward the United States.

Part of that journey involved riding the freight train through Mexico commonly known as La Bestia—The Beast.

He began that journey with hope.

He was looking for a better life.

He wanted to provide for his family.

But during the journey, he fell from the train and died. He left looking for life, but along the journey he encountered death.

And I want to be very careful with that illustration because the point is not that his decision was sinful. And the point of Ruth is not simply that moving somewhere else is sinful.

The truth is that there are moments when suffering requires us to make extremely difficult decisions.

Sometimes moving is wise.

Sometimes changing jobs is wise.

Sometimes seeking another opportunity is wise.

Sometimes getting help is exactly what we should do.

The issue is not whether we should ever try to improve our circumstances.

The deeper question is: Where are we looking for our ultimate security?

When everything around us becomes uncertain, where do we run? What becomes our refuge? What are we asking to give us the security that ultimately only God can provide?

Because sometimes we can travel looking for life only to discover that no earthly place can protect us from the brokenness of this world.

There is only one refuge strong enough to hold us when everything else begins to fall apart. God Himself must be our refuge.

Psalm 46:1 NASB 2020

God is our refuge and strength, a very ready help in trouble.

Notice that the promise is not that God’s people will never experience trouble. The promise is that when trouble comes, they have a refuge.

And there is one final detail I don’t want us to miss. V1 tells us that Elimelech went to Moab “to reside” there—to sojourn there.

But V2 ends by saying: “They entered the land of Moab and remained there.”

What may have begun as a temporary solution became the place where the family settled. And the narrator is about to show us what happened during those years.

Because famine would not be the greatest suffering Naomi would experience. The lack of bread would soon become the least of her losses. And that brings us to our third truth:

III. LIFE CAN CHANGE IN A MOMENT

Ruth 1:3–5 NASB 2020

Then Elimelech, Naomi’s husband, died; and she was left with her two sons. (V4) And they took for themselves Moabite women as wives; the name of the one was Orpah, and the name of the other, Ruth. And they lived there about ten years. (V5) Then both Mahlon and Chilion also died, and the woman was left without her two sons and her husband.

Church, one of the most difficult realities about loss is that sometimes there is no warning. Sometimes life can change with a phone call. Think about how ordinary a phone can be.

Your phone sits on the table. It rings hundreds of times. Most of the calls we receive don’t change anything about our lives. But every once in a while, the phone rings…

And on the other side are words you never expected to hear.

And when you hang up, the world you are living in is different from the world you were living in before the phone rang.

Maybe it’s the doctor.

Maybe it’s a family member.

Maybe it’s news about someone you love.

Nothing about the room has changed. The furniture is still where it was. The clock is still moving. Everybody else outside is continuing with their day. But your world has changed.

There are moments in life that divide everything into before and after. And that’s almost what the narrator does to us here.

Look at how verse 2 ends: “Now they entered the land of Moab and remained there.”

And then verse 3: “Then Elimelech, Naomi’s husband, died.”

That’s it. There’s no warning. There’s no description of an illness. There’s no explanation of what happened. There are no final words recorded. There is simply life before verse 3…

and then: “Elimelech, Naomi’s husband, died.” And all of a sudden Death has entered our story.

And notice that the narrator doesn’t simply say, “Elimelech died.”

He says: “Elimelech, Naomi’s husband, died.”

Because this isn’t merely the death of a man. Naomi has lost her husband.

The man with whom she had built her life.

The man with whom she left Bethlehem.

The man with whom she had raised two sons.

The man with whom she had entered Moab looking for a better future.

He’s gone.

And the text says: “She was left with her two sons.”

So there is tremendous loss, but something remains.

She still has Mahlon.

She still has Chilion.

And then verse 4 gives us what appears to be a little bit of hope: “And they took for themselves Moabite women as wives; the name of the one was Orpah and the name of the other Ruth.”

So, her sons marry. Maybe now the family can begin rebuilding. Maybe grandchildren will come. Maybe the family name will continue. Maybe after the pain of losing Elimelech, Naomi can begin imagining a future again.

And then the narrator tells us: “And they lived there about ten years.” “Then both Mahlon and Chilion also died.”

Loss comes again. Naomi buried her husband. And now she has buried both of her sons.

Church, the text does not necessarily mean that all three men died at the end of exactly ten years. The narrator is just compressing the family’s years in Moab into just a few sentences.

But that’s almost what makes these verses feel so heavy. Everything happens so quickly on the page.

Famine.

Displacement.

Death.

Marriage.

Death.

And death again.

In five verses, Naomi has lost almost everything that once gave her life a sense of stability.

She has lost her homeland.

She has lost her husband.

She has lost both of her sons.

She has lost her immediate financial security.

She has lost much of the social protection ordinarily provided through her household in that culture.

And she has lost the future she probably imagined for herself.

There are no sons. There are no grandchildren. There is no obvious heir. There is no obvious future for the family.

And notice how verse 5 ends: “And the woman was left without her two sons and her husband.”

The narrator doesn’t even use her name in that final statement.

He simply says: “The woman was left…”

And that word “left” is important. After Elimelech dies in V3, she is left with her two sons.

But by verse 5, she is left without her two sons and without her husband.

The losses have accumulated.

And at the end of these five verses, Naomi stands as a widow in a foreign land, without her husband, without her sons, without grandchildren, and without any clear idea of what her future will look like.

The opening of Ruth is heavy because suffering is heavy.

And I love the honesty of Scripture here. The Bible does not minimize Naomi’s pain. It doesn’t rush past the graves. It doesn’t tell Naomi, “Everything is fine.” Because everything is not fine.

Her husband is dead.

Her sons are dead.

Her grief is real.

Which means that Biblical faith does not require us to pretend that painful things aren’t painful.

There are losses that change us. There are moments when something is taken from and because of it life will never look the same again.

And later in this chapter, Naomi is going to put words to what she is experiencing. When she finally returns to Bethlehem, the women recognize her and ask: “Is this Naomi?”

And listen to her response in verses 20 and 21:

Ruth 1:20–21 NASB 2020

“Do not call me Naomi; call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt very bitterly with me. I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty. Why do you call me Naomi, since the Lord has testified against me and the Almighty has afflicted me?”

“I am empty.” That’s how Naomi interprets her life. And church, that’s how suffering can feel. Suffering can leave us feeling:

Empty

Forgotten.

Disoriented.

Vulnerable.

Bitter.

And afraid.

And we shouldn’t minimize that.

Naomi’s pain is real. Her grief is real. Her emptiness is real. But her interpretation of her life is not yet complete. Naomi believes she has come back empty. And from where she is standing, you can understand why.

But church, we have information Naomi doesn’t have yet. We know the rest of the story. Naomi can only see what she has lost. But she cannot yet see what God is doing.

She doesn’t know about the field.

She doesn’t know about Boaz.

She doesn’t know about the redeemer.

She doesn’t know about Obed.

She doesn’t know about Jesse.

She doesn’t know about David.

And she certainly cannot yet see that God is working through this broken family in a story that will ultimately lead to Jesus Christ. So her pain is real. But her perspective is limited.

And beloved, the same is true for us. There will be moments when we cannot understand what God is doing. There will be seasons when all we can see is what we’ve lost. And there may even be moments when we feel empty.

But if you belong to Christ, your suffering does not mean that God has abandoned you. Your loss does not mean His promises have failed. And your inability to see what God is doing does not mean that God is doing nothing.

Naomi’s story appears to have reached a dead end in verse 5. But we know something she doesn’t know yet: God is not finished.

And that’s important because if Ruth ended at verse 5, this would be an incredibly depressing book. But Ruth doesn’t end at verse 5.

And church, neither does the Biblical story end with suffering, emptiness, and death.

So even though we’ve reached the final verse of our passage this afternoon, I cannot leave you standing beside three graves in Moab. Because there is one more truth we need to see.

IV. THE DARKNESS IS REAL, BUT IT IS NOT FINAL

Ruth 1:1–5 does not end with an immediate miracle.

There is no resurrection.

There is no sudden provision.

There is no voice from heaven explaining what God is doing.

The passage ends with three widows and three graves.

If we only had these five verses, we might conclude that death, famine, and loss had won. But we know that this is only the beginning of the story. Because as we will see:

The famine will end.

Naomi will return home.

Ruth will enter the fields of Boaz.

A redeemer will arise.

Emptiness will give way to fullness.

Death will give way to new life.

And this broken family will be brought into the lineage of King David.

And through this lineage this story will eventually lead us to Jesus Christ.

Naomi cannot see any of this in Ruth 1:5. All she can see is what she has lost. But God can see the end from the beginning.

The sovereign God is already working, even though His name has barely been mentioned and His hand cannot yet be clearly seen.

That is the encouragement of this passage: God’s silence does not mean God’s absence.

You may be in the first five verses of your story. 

You may be looking at circumstances that feel empty, confusing, or final. 

You may not understand why God has permitted this season.

You may not be able to see anything good developing from it.

But your inability to see what God is doing does not mean that God is not working.

Paul writes in:

Romans 8:28 NASB 2020

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.

Romans 8:28 does not say that all things are good.

Death is not good.

Famine is not good.

Disease is not good.

Betrayal is not good.

Grief is not good.

It says that God works through all things for the good of His people and the fulfillment of His purpose.

And what is that purpose?

Paul continues:

Romans 8:29 NASB 2020

For those whom He foreknew, He also predestined to become conformed to the image of His Son, so that He would be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters;

God’s good purpose is not simply to make our circumstances more comfortable. His purpose is to conform us to image of His Son and bring us safely into glory.

And the greatest evidence that God can work through suffering is the cross of Jesus Christ.

Beloved, at the cross, it appeared that darkness had won.

The sinless Son of God was rejected.

The promised King was crucified.

The disciples were scattered.

The tomb was sealed.

But what appeared to be the triumph of evil became the means through which God accomplished our redemption.

Peter declared: in Acts 2:23

Acts 2:23 NASB 2020

this Man, delivered over by the predetermined plan and foreknowledge of God, you nailed to a cross by the hands of godless men and put Him to death.

Human beings acted wickedly, but God’s sovereign redemptive purpose was being accomplished.

The cross teaches us that God is able to take the darkest event in history and accomplish through it the greatest good in history.

Therefore, when suffering comes, we do not place our hope in our ability to explain everything. We place our hope in the God who redeems.

The God who was sovereign at the cross is sovereign in our suffering.

The God who raised Christ from the dead is not defeated by famine, grief, human decisions, or death.

And the God who begins His work in the darkness will faithfully bring His redeeming purposes to completion.

So, yes the story began with suffering. But it will not end there. Why? Because a Redeemer is coming.