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“Seeing God at Work” 8:3–9:3, 26-28

Brett Younger Senior Minister July 11, 2021 The Eighth Sunday of Pentecost Then Esther spoke again to the king; she fell at his feet, weeping and pleading with him to avert the evil design of the Agagite and the plot that he had devised against the Jews. The king held out the golden scepter to Esther, and Esther rose and stood before the king. She said, “If it pleases the king, and if I have won his favor, and if the thing seems right before the king, and I have his approval, let an order be written to revoke the letters devised by Haman son of Hammedatha the Agagite, which he wrote giving orders to destroy the Jews who are in all the provinces of the king. For how can I bear to see the calamity that is coming on my people? Or how can I bear to see the destruction of my kindred?” Then King said to Queen Esther and to the Jew , “See, I have given Esther the house of Haman, and they have hanged him on the gallows, because he plotted to lay hands on the Jews. You may write as you please with regard to the Jews, in the name of the king, and seal it with the king’s ring; for an edict written in the name of the king and sealed with the king’s ring cannot be revoked.” The king’s secretaries were summoned at that time, in the third month, which is the month of Sivan, on the twenty-third day; and an edict was written, according to all that Mordecai commanded, to the Jews and to the satraps and the governors and the officials of the provinces from India to Ethiopia, one hundred twenty-seven provinces, to every province in its own script and to every people in its own language, and also to the Jews in their script and their language. He wrote letters in the name of King Ahasuerus, sealed them with the king’s ring, and sent them by mounted couriers riding on fast steeds bred from the royal herd. By these letters the king allowed the Jews who were in every city to assemble and defend their lives, to destroy, to kill, and to annihilate any armed force of any people or province that might attack them, with their children and women, and to plunder their goods on a single day throughout all the provinces of King Ahasuerus, on the thirteenth day of the twelfth month, which is the month of Adar. A copy of the writ was to be issued as a decree in every province and published to all peoples, and the Jews were to be ready on that day to take revenge on their enemies. So the couriers, mounted on their swift royal steeds, hurried out, urged by the king’s command. The decree was issued in the citadel of . . . Therefore these days are called , from the word Pur. Thus because of all that was written in this letter, and of what they had faced in this matter, and of what had happened to them, the Jews established and accepted as a custom for themselves and their descendants and all who joined them, that without fail they would continue to observe these two days every year, as it was written and at the time appointed. These days should be remembered and kept throughout every generation, in every family, province, and city; and these days of Purim should never fall into disuse among the Jews, nor should the commemoration of these days cease among their descendants.

The most fun I ever had as a chaperon at church youth camp—that did not involve water balloons—was a study on Esther. We presented the story as a melodrama with a hunky basketball-playing king, a 14-year-old who was closer to Esther’s actual age than we might want to think, a brave Mordecai in a white wig, and the evil Haman—with a tiny Hitler mustache. Just as when the Jews tell the story at the festival of Purim, each time the storyteller says the name Haman, the crowd hisses, boos, and rattles noisemakers—cannot really see this crowd doing that. The audience laughs as the king runs around the theater frantically looking for a new queen. Esther exercises to get in shape and plucks her eyebrows. Haman (hiss, boo, clickety-clack) insists that everyone bow before him. He throws big fuzzy dice to decide the day on which he will have the Jews killed. The king is too busy looking in the mirror to pay attention, so he agrees to Haman’s evil plan. Brave Mordecai tells Esther, “You have to do something.” She paces back and forth until she puts on uncomfortable shoes and goes to talk to the king. She flutters her eyelashes and asks for a fancy dinner for her, Hunky, and Haman. Haman gets bad advice from his wife, who has a brother in the gallows business. The biggest camper, a senior, plays the horse as Haman leads Mordecai, who is wearing a fancy bathrobe, around the stage to thunderous applause. The crowd is delighted when Haman grabs the Queen’s ankles to beg for his life. The counselors make the right decision in not having teenagers act out either the hanging of Haman or the destruction of the Jews’ enemies. If it was a movie, the story would end with Haman’s death. Cut to the closing titles as the narrator says, “Mordecai and Esther, and all the Jews in the kingdom of Ahasuerus, live happily ever after.” But Esther is not a screenplay. The lives of the Jews still hang in the balance, because the king’s proclamation cannot be taken back. After the king has Haman hung, Esther has to go again to plead with Ahasuerus. She weeps as she begs the king to reverse the edict to kill the Jews. The king almost replies, “You’re smarter than I am. Do what you think makes sense. You write a law and I’ll sign it.” The lawyers start working on the paperwork. They write as Mordecai dictates. This part of the story is not inspiring. Not content with having saved their people and gotten rid of Haman, Esther and Mordecai use their new power to orchestrate the slaughter of their enemies. (War is about as popular with religious people as with everybody else.) What Haman planned as a day of annihilation is now a day of revenge. Suddenly—in a plot twist Quentin Tarantino would love—people are pretending to be Jews. Their enemies turn out to be cowards. On the day that Haman scheduled their destruction, the tables are turned, and the Jews slaughter their enemies. The king tells Queen Esther: “In the palace alone the Jews have killed 500, including Haman’s ten sons. Think of how much killing there was in the rest of the country. What else do you want? Name it and it’s yours.” In a verse that does not get memorized during Vacation Bible Camp, Esther asks for another day for the Jews to massacre their enemies and for the bodies of Haman’s ten sons to be hung on the gallows (9:13). They kill 75,000. The glamour and intrigue of the story does not excuse the horrific violence. We may be embarrassed at how they celebrate the deaths of their enemies, but we cheer when the bad guy finally gets what is coming, when James Bond or Harry Potter or Dominic Toretto—Fast and Furious—takes out their rival. We want the villains to be destroyed. It is an uncomfortable turn of events, but the celebrates the defeat of evil. The Jews’ victory is another place the book could end, but Esther has a lengthy section after the action has ended. This conclusion describes the establishment of Purim. The name itself is ironic. Haman cast Pur— lots—to choose the day on which to destroy the Jews, so they call the celebration Purim. Each spring people whose parents went through the Holocaust celebrate this holiday with music, drinking, and three-cornered cookies. The high point of the celebration is the reading of Esther. The series of conclusions to Esther continues with another curious detail—Ahasuerus raises taxes (10:1). The king, whose callous indifference allows Haman’s edict in the first place, is still acting in his own interest. His benefit is most important, no matter what it costs his subjects. The more things change, the more they stay the same for rich kings. Esther is not a fairy tale that ends with the hero and heroine riding off into the sunset. The book closes with gratitude that God has lightened the people’s darkness, but still looks forward to a better day. It is good news that Mordecai is second in command. The position once filled by an enemy is now occupied by a friend. It is good news, but it is not the ultimate good news. Mordecai and Esther rise to positions of considerable influence, but at the end of the day the power of the empire is intact. What we do not see in Esther’s day is the complete fulfillment of God’s hopes. We see a measure of peace for the Jews, but not the final peace for all of God’s people. The enemies will keep winning battles for a while, and good people get beaten up now and then. Esther reminds us of deliverance yet to come. The great reversal of the Book of Esther is not the great reversal of all of history. One day God will bring peace that will never end. The Christian church does not observe Purim, but maybe we should mark March 16, 2022, on our calendars and give thanks for the hope of what is to come. Much is made of the fact that Esther is the only book in the Bible without any mention of God. When he saw a player make the sign of the cross before he stepped into the batter’s box, Yogi Berra said: “I think God should be allowed to just watch this one.” Those who are offended by the violence in the Book of Esther may feel like God should be allowed to just watch this one. The author tells the story without any reference to God. No character in the book explicitly prays, reads the Scriptures, or gives to the poor. The book could have been written for a news magazine. Reporters writes stories about power plays, ethnic cleansing, and coincidences that change the course of events without religious language. But why does the author of Esther avoid any mention of God? Maybe, after years of captivity, some of the Hebrew people have begun to wonder if Yahweh is still around. Saving the Jews require a string of coincidences. For the author, these are God’s work. God is active even when no one mentions God. Things happen in the right place at the right time. The author does not believe in chance. It is the hand of God. The unseen, unnamed, unmentioned God is acting to save God’s people. Mordecai and Esther, the main characters in the story, do not show up until the middle of the second chapter. This fact suggests that, however central they are to the conflict, they are bit players in a much larger struggle. Bigger issues are at stake than the happiness of individuals. Mordecai and Esther are the instruments God uses in fulfilling God’s hopes. Jewish and Christian scholars agree that the theme of Esther is the providence of God. God is working God’s purposes out in ways we cannot predict, understand, or explain. We should not limit God to miraculous, dramatic intervention, and miss God’s presence in our daily lives. God doesn’t intervene “miraculously” in the life of Esther. The book does not have a single instance of what people call miracles. (Dave Bland, “God’s Activity as Reflected in the Books of Ruth and Esther,” Restoration Quarterly, 24:3, 1981, 141-147). The truth for those who pay attention is that God is always at work. God is loving people we have never met, caring for the lonely, and helping people love each other. Think about what God is doing in this moment as we share worship. God is helping us ask questions. God is offering us understanding. God is making us think about what this story says about our lives. God is pushing us to faith, hope, and love. God is working for what is best for children, the elderly, and the poor. God is acting for good for everyone everywhere. God is influencing, persuading, and inspiring. God is there wherever people live with compassion. God is at work in good friends, loving grandparents, hopeful children, and any who have the courage to let God work through them. God helps us feed the hungry, heal the sick, point the lost home, listen to the lonely, and care for the hurting. If we open our eyes to see God at work, we will discover that God is working in us. God is at work all day. We need to feel God with us, as we are: Sleeping gratefully in a freshly-made bed Raising our arms above our head when we roll out in the morning Watching the hot water steam up the mirror Aiming our toothbrush at teeth that feel neglected Putting on an eye-catching pair of socks Asking to pet other people’s puppies out for their morning walk Holding hands with someone we love We need to taste the goodness of God with us, as we are: Savoring the difference between cream and vanilla in our coffee Convincing ourselves that different colored Froot Loops are different flavors Imagining lunch 30 minutes before lunch Recognizing how amazed Queen Esther would be by microwaveable chicken noodle soup Splurging on the $15 mixed nuts and picking out the cashews Ordering grilled onions on our veggie burger Eating one piece of watermelon with salt and another without We need to smell the presence of the sacred, as we are: Breathing deeply while walking down the street knowing that we might regret it Slowing down when passing a coffee shop Enjoying the petrichor—the smell that accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather Recognizing the differences between the smell of the river and the smell of the ocean Hanging out in the theater lobby smelling the popcorn Buying lavender-scented bubble bath without embarrassment Lighting candles because we should be surrounded by huckleberry sugar blossom We need to listen for God with us, as we are: Giving thanks for the hum of the air conditioner when it is 90 degrees Guessing who is coming down the hall by the rhythm of their steps Anticipating the pop when we open a new jar Asking “What kind of bird am I hearing?” around people who know such things Listening to the Avett Brothers without telling anyone that we are cool enough to listen to the Avett Brothers Listening intently to nearby conversations to which we have not been invited Listening for cliches—crackling fires, falling rain, and sizzling bacon We need to look for God with us, as we are: Picturing frames around our friends and imagining them on the wall at the Met Reading more poetry and less news Paying attention to clouds and saying, “That looks like Elvis” Watching the cards being shuffled Noticing people who are usually overlooked Staring at the faces of those we love Looking for chances to wake up Someday we will remember all the good we knew, turn to God, and say, “That was you. I should have known.”

sermon © Brett Younger plymouthchurch.org