Follow the Thread: A Wedding, a Witness, and the Wonder of Redemption (Ruth 4)
A Wedding, a Witness, and the Wonder of Redemption
Subtitle: From Broken Prayers to Bethlehem’s Baby—A Glimpse of Heaven at the City Gate
Back at it again.
We’ve reached the final chapter of Ruth. The barley has been harvested, the threshing floor swept, and now things move from private whispers to public witness. Ruth 4 unfolds like a wedding, a courtroom drama, and a royal proclamation all wrapped into one.
And honestly… it had me almost crying in my car just thinking about it.
(To be fair, I was also listening to Leanna Crawford’s “Still Waters,” which always wrecks me—in the best way. It’s become the anthem for a dear friend walking through a hard diagnosis right now, and it’s amazing how a song, a prayer, a story can hit you right where you are.)
Speaking of hitting—this Charleston heat is no joke. And today? I had to haul both kids to my two-year-old’s well check not once, but twice—because somehow I booked the wrong location. So after sweating through a round of rerouting, toddler negotiations, and a soundtrack of off-key singing, we finally made it to the right office. Wild-eyed. Slightly stickier. Skipping nap time and depending entirely on Netflix.
Somewhere in the middle of that double trek—I found myself thinking about Naomi.
About hesed. About God’s lovingkindness.
If you were riding shotgun with me, this is what I’d want to talk about.
Ruth 4.
And how it all ties back—so intimately, so intentionally—to Naomi’s broken, quiet, desperate prayer in Ruth 1:9.
Let me explain.
A Moment I’ll Never Forget
I’ve been picturing Boaz at the city gate… Ruth’s face when he comes back to marry her… the women praising her while Naomi holds her new baby. And all of that reminded me of another moment.
Right before I married Adam, a dear friend encouraged me to pause during our busy wedding day. She told me to step away for just a moment—by myself if I could—and look around. She said it would be a glimpse of heaven: people from all different spaces and seasons of life, gathered in one place. A moment I wouldn’t get again this side of eternity.
So I did.
During our reception, I quietly stepped back and looked up at the beautiful building on the horse farm where we got married, with the Asheville mountains in the background and the sky turning golden. And I saw it.
People from every chapter of my life were there.
My family. His family.
Childhood friends. College friends. Seminary roommates.
Mentors, ministry partners. Cousins. Church family.
Some I haven’t seen since.
Some are with Jesus now.
And it hit me—that this would be the last time we’d all be in one place… until heaven. That kind of gathering doesn’t repeat.
Something about that moment—seeing the community God had woven together, gathered to celebrate what He had done—has stayed with me.
That’s exactly the feeling I get when I read Ruth 4.
A Courtroom of Covenant
The chapter opens with Boaz heading straight to the city gate—the town square, the courtroom, the place where legal matters got real.
And he waits.
Not passively. Not anxiously. But purposefully.
Boaz is there to fulfill the law and redeem Ruth—not in secret, but in full view. As soon as the first-in-line redeemer arrives, Boaz gathers ten witnesses (hello, Deuteronomy!) and lays out the case. He’s not manipulating. He’s not rushing. He’s honoring the process with wisdom, integrity, and holy intention.
And then it happens.
The other redeemer steps back.
Boaz steps forward.
And he publicly proclaims Ruth as his bride.
From Moabite to My Beloved
Let’s take a quick walk down memory lane.
In Chapter 2, Ruth is “the Moabite.” An outsider. A gleaner.
Later, she calls herself “your servant”—not even worthy of notice.
At the threshing floor, she asks Boaz to cover her with his garment, essentially saying, “Will you redeem me?”
But here in Chapter 4, Boaz does something radical and beautiful:
He calls her wife.
Publicly. Boldly. With witnesses.
It’s a full-circle gospel moment. A woman who had no claim is now named.
A servant is now a bride. A foreigner is now family.
Sound familiar?
Jesus, our greater Redeemer, meets us in our lowest place, fulfills every righteous requirement, and calls us His.
Not just privately, but publicly. He redeems with joy, with sacrifice, with love that refuses to let us stay unnamed.
The Town Erupts in Blessing
The elders and townspeople don’t just nod politely. They erupt in blessing:
“May the Lord make this woman like Rachel and Leah, who together built up the house of Israel...”
Wait. What?
Rachel. Leah. Tamar.
This is no casual toast. These are the mothers of the faith. And they’re saying: Ruth, you’re one of us. You’re part of this story now. And not just part—you’re going to carry it forward.
This is adoption language. Grafting language. Redemption language.
Ruth the Moabite becomes Ruth the matriarch.
A Baby in Bethlehem
And then, without fanfare or a baby shower invite, Scripture simply says:
“So Boaz took Ruth, and she became his wife... and she bore a son.”
Naomi holds the baby. The women gather again. And this time, they’re praising God for restoring Naomi’s life. They even say:
“For your daughter-in-law, who loves you and is more to you than seven sons, has given him birth.”
More than seven sons. In a culture where sons were prized, this is no small thing.
The woman who returned empty now holds fullness in her arms—a baby named Obed.
Obed is the father of Jesse.
Jesse is the father of David.
And from David... comes Jesus.
The Gospel in Every Thread
There are too many threads here to count, but here are a few I can’t stop pulling:
Ruth’s story began with loss, famine, and emptiness—but it ends with fullness, blessing, and legacy.
Naomi’s bitter prayers were never ignored. They were being answered quietly, faithfully, beyond her wildest imagining.
Boaz’s integrity and intentionality echo the gospel. Jesus, our Redeemer, came publicly. He fulfilled the law, paid the cost, and claimed us with joy.
Ruth’s transformation from outsider to matriarch shows us that God grafts in the most unlikely people—and uses them to change the world.
And one more thread I can’t ignore:
Boaz gives up the legal right to have the child bear his name, in order to honor Elimelech’s family line. But then the people declare:
“May your name be renowned in Bethlehem.”
And it is. Just check out Matthew 1.
Because the child born to Ruth and Boaz would one day lead to another child, born in Bethlehem, whose name is above every name.
So What Do We Do With This?
Maybe you’ve felt like Naomi—tired, bitter, not sure if your prayers mean anything.
Maybe you’ve felt like Ruth—outsider, overlooked, wondering if kindness will ever find you.
Or maybe, like Boaz, you’ve felt the weight of standing in the gap, choosing courage, and walking in integrity when no one else seems to.
Wherever you find yourself, Ruth 4 reminds us that God writes beautiful endings. Not tidy ones. Not painless ones. But redemptive ones.
He’s always been the God of broken prayers and barley fields.
Of city gates and covenant promises.
Of Moabites and matriarchs.
Of empty hands and overflowing arms.
And one day, we’ll stand at another kind of wedding—where every tribe and tongue gathers.
Where every witness praises.
Where every outsider is called in.
And we will say:
This is what redemption looks like.
This is what rest feels like.
This is what kindness has built.
One Last Thread to Tug On
Close your eyes. Picture the city gate. The baby in Naomi’s lap. The women singing.
Picture the horse farm in west Asheville, too. Every friend. Every season. Every name.
And then lift your eyes to the Redeemer who is still gathering His people.
Still proclaiming His love.
Still writing a story we’ll celebrate forever.
Thanks for following the threads with me through Ruth’s story. I’ll be sharing more soon—praying through what’s next, when, how, and with whom. Like Naomi, I want to trace God’s hand through His Word and His people—and meet Him there.
Love,
April
