We come across stories of migration regularly, often dividing people into those we want to prevent reaching our shores, and those we want to attract because they have skills we need. The Old Testament too is full of such stories, from Abraham and Jacob to Jeremiah and Ezekiel in Babylon, and Ezra and Nehemiah returning to their own land. In addition, as we will see, Israel received immigrants, and God commanded the people to welcome them.
The late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks pointed out that the verse ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’ [Leviticus 19:18] has often been taken as the basis of biblical morality. ‘But it is not: it is only part of it. The Jewish sages noted that only on one occasion does the Hebrew Bible command us to love our neighbour, but in thirty-seven places it commands us to love the stranger.’1 Just as significantly, the Bible speaks both of being and of welcoming aliens.
In this article, I want to look at ‘welcoming the alien’ through the Book of Ruth.
Short though it is, the Book of Ruth is rich and complex, full of stories that are meant to be told. By returning its readers to a bygone age, the book tells us, through narrative, that the past is ‘not a “permanent landmark” … it is a place that can be revisited, reconstructed, reimagined. If the past can be reimagined, then so can the present and the future’ (Danna Nolan Fewell, 2017).2 J.K. Rowling said ‘there’s always room for a story that can transport people to another place.’ That is true of biblical narratives. They are meant to be told, because if we can enter the lives of Ruth and Naomi back then, we can begin to understand the lives of the Ruths and the Naomis among us. For their sakes, retelling this story is important.
As I began writing this article, I had the privilege of visiting the Global Images of Christ exhibition at Chester Cathedral and seeing for the f irst time the Windrush Cope.3 The cloak tells the story of the Windrush generation and their descendants. It includes images of the original 1948 passport issued to Alford Gardner, a passenger on the ship, and an image of Sam King, who became the first black mayor of Southwark. It also includes a sign from a boarding house that states ‘No Irish, no blacks, no dogs’ and a series of photos about the murder of Stephen Lawrence. It is a powerful reminder of the experiences of those who were invited to England and subsequently suffered overt, and sometimes violent, discrimination. The cope is a moving and challenging piece of art and provides us with a fitting background to our reflection on the story of Ruth.
