Lesson 11: Ruth and Esther
11.1 Famine in the “House of Bread”
God’s Caring Presence amid Human Need
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Introduction
Bethlehem—the “House of Bread”—suffers from famine. What a contradiction! In a world so abundant, there is scarcity. In a city whose name promises plenty, lack reigns. This is the opening to the story of Ruth—one of the most moving narratives in the Bible. It does not begin with triumph but with tragedy. And yet: this is exactly where God begins to work. Not with thunder and lightning, but in the small decisions of ordinary people. Ruth shows us that God’s providence doesn’t always look spectacular—sometimes it starts in the deepest darkness.
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Bible Study – Ruth 1:1–5
Verse 1 – “In the days when the judges ruled…”
The context is grim: Israel is in the chaotic period of the judges—an era of spiritual instability and moral decay (see Judges 21:25). Famine was not only an economic problem but also a sign of spiritual distress in the land (cf. Deuteronomy 28:23–24).
Spiritual principle: Spiritual decline always affects real life. Separation from God brings both inner and outer lack.
Verse 1b – “…a man of Bethlehem in Judah went to sojourn in the country of Moab…”
Elimelech, whose name means “My God is King,” leaves the Promised Land—a prophetic contradiction. Instead of trusting God’s provision, he seeks help in Moab, a nation steeped in idolatry (cf. Deuteronomy 23:4–7).
Question: What do we do when the “House of Bread” is empty? Do we stay in God’s promise or flee from our need?
Verses 2–3 – “…and Elimelech died…”
Naomi experiences the first blow: the death of her husband. For a woman in that culture, this meant social invisibility and economic insecurity.
Verses 4–5 – “…and also her two sons died…”
After ten years of marriage, Mahlon and Chilion also die. Now Naomi is not only a widow but childless—without future, without protection. In that time, this was an absolute catastrophe. She is left with two Moabite daughters-in-law—strangers in Israel, without hope.
Symbolism: The loss of family represents the rupture of the original line of blessing—a kind of personal “fall.” Naomi is torn from her inheritance.
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Answers to the Questions
Question: Read Ruth 1:1–5. What problems did Naomi and Ruth face, and what caused them? How does this reflect the situation of all humanity today?
Detailed Answer:
Naomi and Ruth stand at the beginning of this biblical narrative amid the deepest personal and societal crisis. Their troubles are numerous, intertwined, and painfully real:
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Famine in Bethlehem (v. 1): The “House of Bread” is empty—a symbolic indication that even in the Promised Land, scarcity can prevail when the people turn away from God. Physical famine mirrors spiritual famine in the era when “everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Judges 21:25). Collective rebellion and moral decay follow from ignoring God’s ways.
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Migration to a hostile land (Moab): Elimelech moves his family to Moab—a land not only geographically but spiritually the opposite of Israel. Moabites were known for idol worship (Baal, Chemosh) and often led Israel into sin (cf. Numbers 25). They chose what seemed a safe route but abandoned the place of promise.
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Death of the husband (Elimelech): Naomi loses her husband—more than grief, this meant the end of security, status, and often economic survival for a woman of her time.
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Loss of both sons (Mahlon and Chilion): After ten years without children, the two sons die. Naomi is left old, childless, and destitute, alongside two foreign daughters-in-law. This symbolizes the extinguishing of her line and her loss of cultural and spiritual identity.
These are not only individual tragedies but a mirror of human existence. Humanity began in Eden—with abundance, intimacy with God, and harmony. Through rebellion, humanity was exiled, vulnerable, and subject to death (Genesis 3). Instead of caring for creation, we now toil “by the sweat of our brow.”
Just as Naomi lost her home, husband, children, and future, so mankind lost its inheritance. We live with spiritual famine, existential insecurity, the death of loved ones, identity crises, and a longing for redemption. Naomi exemplifies anyone who doubts God’s promise yet feels there is no true refuge except returning to Him. Ruth represents those who remain loyal amid loss and become instruments of salvation.
Question: How does the earth, even after 6,000 years of sin and death, still reveal the wonders of God’s love and creative power?
Detailed Answer:
Despite the earth suffering under the curse—war, hunger, disease, disasters, injustice—it is still marked by signs of God’s presence and creative power:
In creation itself:
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A sunrise over the sea: Each dawn is fresh, unique, and beautiful—a daily reminder of God’s faithfulness (Lamentations 3:22–23).
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The cycle of seasons: Sowing and harvest, frost and warmth—despite human rebellion, God sustains nature’s balance (Genesis 8:22).
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The diversity and beauty of life: From majestic mountains to a delicate butterfly’s wing, nature reveals a God of order, creativity, and love.
In human experience:
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Love amid suffering: A mother caring for her ill child, a stranger offering tea to the homeless, a doctor going beyond duty—these acts are remnants of the divine image in us, evidence of God’s Spirit at work.
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Art, music, poetry: Our capacity to marvel, to create, to feel points to our being made in God’s image—even when that image is marred.
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Moral sense: Our inherent sense of justice, truth, and goodness comes from a righteous Creator.
In God’s dealings with people:
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The story of Ruth: God uses a foreign widow on society’s margins to prepare the Messiah’s lineage.
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The birth of Jesus: In a world broken by sin, God sends His Son—not as a palace king but as a child in a stable.
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The power of the gospel today: Across cultures, people turn to Jesus, experience healing, reconciliation, and hope.
Even after millennia of rebellion, God’s love flows unabated. The earth is wounded but not abandoned. It groans but still breathes. It dies yet stirs with new life, awaiting the coming redemption (Romans 8:22–23).
In short, God’s wonders are everywhere—in nature, in grace, in humanity, in hope. We need only look with the heart.
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Spiritual Principles
God allows loss—but never without purpose.
Naomi’s experience is painful, yet God continues working. Loss is not the end. He uses broken pieces to craft a new mosaic.
Fleeing the place of promise brings no real security.
Elimelech left Bethlehem seeking safety, only to meet death in Moab. True security lies only in God’s will.
Faithfulness shows itself in the valley.
Ruth, the Moabitess, makes a choice—though we don’t see it directly here, she will become the story’s heroine. Loyalty often begins in hidden places long before it bears fruit.
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Application for Daily Life
What does your personal famine look like?
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Financial insecurity?
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Spiritual emptiness?
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Family breakdown?
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Identity crisis?
Many today feel like Naomi—driven from the “House of Bread,” surrounded by loss, alone in a foreign land. Yet here God’s story begins. Famine is not the end but the start of the journey home.
What decisions do you make in crisis?
Do you trust God’s unseen hand, or do you flee to your own “Moab”—relying on people, anger, distraction? Jesus said, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry” (John 6:35).
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Conclusion
Ruth 1:1–5 is no random beginning. It is all of our story. We are Naomi. We are Ruth. We are hungry people in an empty land. But God is not far off.
The famine in Bethlehem was not the end—it was the starting point of a redemption story that leads through Ruth, Boaz, and David to Jesus, the true bread from heaven.
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Thought of the Day
“When the House of Bread is empty, God often lights a new oven of grace.”
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Illustration – “The Way Back”
It was a Tuesday morning, just after six. Fine drizzle tapped the tram windows, which was nearly empty. Lea sat in the back, hood pulled low, fingers buried in her sweater sleeves. Her hands were rough, her nails bitten. She wasn’t going to work—she had none. No home either—only a bed in a shelter for women in the industrial district. After her husband Jonas died, everything fell apart: first cancer, then debt, then isolation. And eventually, it seemed, the last bit of hope.
She was thirty-eight. Once a florist full of energy and ideas—“the one with the laughter in her eyes,” customers had called her. Now she barely recognized herself.
In the shelter lived an older woman named Margit. Quiet, spoke little. But every evening she sat by the window with a worn Bible, sometimes humming old hymns. One day Lea asked, “Do you really think God still does anything? I mean…look around here.”
Margit was silent a long while. Then she said simply, “I believe He’s still here—even when we can’t see Him. Especially then.”
Lea laughed. But something about those words stayed with her.
A few days later she went to a church food distribution. She’d heard they offered not just bread but warm words. It was cold and damp; wind bit at her face. She stood in line behind a young woman with a headscarf and her little child. The child looked at Lea and smiled—completely fearless. And Lea, who hadn’t been smiled at in months, blinked suddenly.
When her turn came, the volunteer handed Lea a bag of bread and canned goods—and asked softly, “Would you like prayer too?”
Lea hesitated, then nodded. Something inside her yearned for it—not loudly or dramatically, just to hear she was still seen.
The woman laid a hand on Lea’s shoulder and prayed. Not a long or fancy prayer. Just:
“Lord, see Your child. You have not forgotten her. Be with her.”
That night Lea lay awake, thinking of all she’d lost—Jonas, the shared life, the little shop, her old home. For the first time in ages she didn’t ask Why? but What if I return? Not to my old life, but…to God?
The next day she returned to the church and spoke with the pastor. He listened—really listened. No quick answers, no pat answers. Just quiet companionship. Then he told her about Ruth—the Moabite widow who lost everything but chose to stay with her mother-in-law Naomi and return to a foreign land. “Your God will be my God,” Ruth had declared.
Lea felt something stir in her. She couldn’t explain why, but it felt like a door opening.
Weeks passed. She found a small job at a gardening business, helping to plant schoolyards. It wasn’t much, but she was among people again, her hands touching soil, and at night she slept tired in a good way.
Margit gave her a used Bible. “Just for you,” she said.
One evening, after dark, Lea walked through the city park. The trees rustled softly; the wind was gentle. She stopped, looked up at the sky, and whispered,
“God… I’m still here. I don’t know if You hear me. But I want to come back. I’m ready.”
There was no fireworks, no booming voice from heaven—just an inner knowing: she had arrived.
In the heart of God.
