In the days when the Persian Empire spanned from India to Ethiopia, our people lived scattered among foreign courts and provinces, yet still bound together by memory and hope. In the city of Susa, far from the walls of Jerusalem, Mordecai a man of the tribe of Benjamin walked at the king’s gate, quietly honoring the God of his fathers. His faithfulness stood in stark contrast to the proud Haman, prime minister to King Ahasuerus, who demanded obeisance from all but one. This refusal to bow would ignite a scheme threatening the very existence of the Jewish remnant, and in the midst of palace intrigue we discover how divine purpose often unfolds behind the scenes.
When Queen Vashti defied the king’s summons, the Persian court needed a new queen, and among many young women taken to the royal harem was Esther, an orphan under Mordecai’s care. Though she concealed her people and her faith at Mordecai’s instruction, Esther carried within her a covenant identity that would prove decisive. Her elevation from obscurity to the throne reminds us that God’s providence often hides in chance encounters, preparing our hearts for moments of testing and courage. As we reflect on her story, we recognize that God can place us in unlikely settings so that His purposes may be revealed.
Mordecai’s vigilance and Esther’s discretion set the stage for a crisis. When Haman’s pride was affronted by Mordecai’s refusal to bow, he plotted not merely revenge but genocide, persuading the king to issue a decree to annihilate all Jews on a single day. Though the decree could not be revoked, the decree empowered the victims to fight back, a reversal that teaches us about the surprising ways God overturns human schemes. In the face of this threat, Mordecai’s words summoned Esther to act: to risk her life by approaching the king unbidden. Her words “If I perish, I perish” capture the resolve required when love for neighbor demands personal sacrifice and when advocacy costs more than comfort.
Before entering the king’s presence, Esther called for a fast among Jewish men, women, and children throughout Susa. Their corporate lament and prayer echo the principle that where two or three gather in My name, there am I in the midst of them (Matthew 18:20). In fasting, we see how spiritual solidarity can forge courage and clarity. As Esther went into the inner court and found favor, she demonstrated that prayerful preparation is the foundation for bold action in service of others.
Esther invited the king and Haman to two banquets. Amid the perfume of roasted meat and the sparkle of wine, she delayed her petition until Haman’s pride was laid bare. When at last she revealed her identity and Haman’s plot, the king’s anger turned upon the traitor, leading to Haman’s downfall and execution on the very gallows he had built for Mordecai. This dramatic reversal reminds us that schemes devised against God’s people will ultimately collapse. Jesus later enacted a similar confrontation in the temple courts, driving out money changers and declaring that His Father’s house must be a house of prayer, not a den of thieves (John 2:15). In both narratives, divine justice overturns corrupt authority.
With Haman gone, Mordecai found favor to issue a counter-decree, authorizing the Jews to defend themselves. On the appointed day, the Jews throughout the provinces rallied, and the forces arrayed against them were defeated. The violence of reprisal, though harsh, secured the safety of the remnant. This moment of deliverance fulfills the promise that all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28). In Esther’s story we see providential threads weaving suffering into salvation.
To commemorate their survival, Mordecai and Esther established the feast of Purim, a festival of feasting, mutual feasting, and gifts to the poor. They commanded that these days be remembered and observed in every generation. In setting aside time both for celebration and for caring for the vulnerable, they modeled neighbor-love that extends beyond our immediate circle. Jesus teaches that when we give a feast, we should invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind, and we will be blessed because they cannot repay us (Luke 14:13–14). Purim thus becomes more than a holiday; it becomes a template for extravagant generosity and inclusive joy.
Throughout the book of Esther, the name of God is never spoken, yet His presence pervades every chapter. From the timing of royal edicts to the loyalty of an orphaned girl, we sense an unseen hand guiding events toward the deliverance of His people. This hidden sovereignty anticipates Jesus’ teaching that the Father who sees in secret will reward openly (Matthew 6:4). We learn to trust that even when our circumstances seem directed by secular power or random chance, God’s purposes are at work.
Esther’s narrative also speaks powerfully to issues of identity and assimilation. She lived among Persians, adopting courtly customs, yet remained true to her faith and heritage. When the crisis emerged, she embraced her identity and used her influence to deliver her people. In our own time, when culture and faith often collide, Esther challenges us to stand firmly in our convictions while engaging lovingly with those around us.
The cultural context of Persia reminds us that empire and exile shape community life. Jews in Susa experienced privilege at court and peril in their neighborhoods. Their dual existence teaches us that loving our neighbors requires sensitivity to social dynamics and courage to speak truth in power. When Esther approached the king, she did so as one who belonged to two worlds. Her example encourages us to bridge divides with grace, advocating for justice without compromising our witness.
Crossing the centuries, we see echoes of Esther’s courage in the ministry of Jesus. When He entered Jerusalem on a donkey, the crowds cried “Hosanna to the Son of David” (Luke 19:38), linking royal procession with deliverance. Esther’s call to “enter the court” parallels Christ’s call to enter the temple courts and cleanse them. Both figures confronted systems that oppressed the weak and perverted worship. Both laid down their status to intercede for a people; both accomplished deliverance that pointed beyond themselves to God’s ultimate plan.
The celebration of Purim, with its feasting and gifts, foreshadows the joyful table fellowship Jesus shared with sinners and outcasts. At the Last Supper He took bread, gave thanks, broke it, and said, “This is My body” (Matthew 26:26). In that act, He invited us into covenant life that transcends nationality. Like Esther’s feast, the Lord’s Table gathers the needy and the proud alike into a community shaped by sacrificial love and remembrance.
As we reflect on the book of Esther, we are invited into active participation in God’s redemptive story. We feel the weight of exile, the fear of annihilation, and the thrill of restoration. We learn that loving our neighbors may require fasting, prayer, and risky conversations with those in power. We discover that generosity expressed through feasting and gifts to the poor embeds compassion into our celebrations. We see that hidden providence urges us to trust God even when His name is unspoken.
In conclusion, Esther stands as a testament to the truth that God preserves His people in ways that often escape human notice. Through Esther’s bravery, Mordecai’s fidelity, and a scattered community’s solidarity, we witness a deliverance that transcends time and points toward the greater salvation wrought by Christ. His intercession in heaven, His cleansing of temple and heart, and His invitation to all who hunger to feast at His table bring to fullness the themes of Esther. May we, like those faithful Jews in Susa, embrace our calling to love our neighbors—speaking boldly for justice, sharing generously with the poor, and trusting in the unseen hand that guides every destiny toward life and hope.