Timely Words of Hope, Courage, and Resilience (Esther 1:1-12)

The book of Esther opens with an introduction to King Ahasuerus, the most powerful political figure of his time. He governed from India to Ethiopia, across 127 provinces (1:1) including Jerusalem. He takes the throne about 50 years after the first cohort of Jewish exiles return to Jerusalem to rebuild the temple and settle in the land. Not all Jews make the trip back; many, including Esther and Mordecai remain in Susa and continue their life as immigrants.

If you're wondering why the trivia details or what difference this makes, it is a fair question. The author of Esther uses coveted real-estate to set up the story this way because grasping the expansiveness of King Ahasuerus’ dominion is critical to understanding the brewing dilemma.

An irrevocable law to annihilate all the Jews is put into motion (ch 3). If this threat is carried out, it would mean the extinction of all the Jewish people under the entire Persian empire. If we follow the logic, no Jews means no New Testament community preparing for the arrival of a messiah; no Jesus, the Son of Man; no cross and resurrection glory; and no gospel hope. The ramifications are not only significant, but traumatic.

It takes us back to the beginning. In Genesis 3, the Lord declares a covenantal promise in response to the successful lure of the serpent to undermine and doubt the goodness of God. God says to him, “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel” (v 15).

The conflict between the seed of the covenant through the Jews and the seed of the serpent is foundational to the gospel. All the events leading up to the birth of Christ, including Pharaoh with his attempt to murder all the male infants, King Herod in the gospel of Matthew with similar plans of genocide, along with the threat in Esther are part of the unfolding drama between good and evil of Genesis.

Christ, who is the very seed of the woman will triumph over the one who has been in opposition with the redemptive purposes of God. And we can be assured, no matter how horrific and dark the enemy’s schemes are, he is limited to striking the heel, while Jesus will crush his head (NIV).

What occurs in Esther is utterly critical and worthy of our attention. The outcome of the story either propels salvation forward or abruptly halts and terminates it. It is the deciding factor and necessary hinge to the gospel story!

After introducing King Ahasuerus, great lengths are taken to describe the opulence of his kingdom. He hosts a lavish banquet lasting six months for his military officials as part of his military campaign, followed by a week-long feast for all of Susa. In addition to the excessiveness, a legal ban is put into effect against all forms of self-restraint. Indulgence is not only permitted but ordered so that each man could exercise his desires without limit (1:8). It’s silly and reckless and it’s against this backdrop that Queen Vashti refuses the king’s command to flaunt her beauty in front of his guests.

At this point in the story, it’s tempting to fill in the gap about the ambiguity of her objection or the disturbing humanization by the king. It doesn’t help that throughout Esther, there is no explicit rebuke or judgement about moral and ethical quandaries. Drunkenness, sexual promiscuity, abuse of power, and the prevailing self-centered, arrogant cultural norms are certainly not being condoned, nor is a blind eye turned. But without making light of the social ills, Esther leans in to an urgent and pressing question relevant to the original audience and us today.

It raises the question of God’s faithfulness. It asks if God keeps his promise even to those living outside of Jerusalem, where the tangible expressions of faith that define God’s people like the temple, priest, prophet, king, and land are absent; if the Jews in Susa and elsewhere are still part of the covenant community; if God is trustworthy.

Furthermore, the author of Esther (see also Song of Solomon) omits overt mentions of God’s name. Formal prayers, praise, and dedications (with the exception of an organized fast in chapter 4) are also missing.

One commentator says, “… the omission of his name is a silence so loud, it is deafening. … the author of Esther created an awe-inspiring sense of the presence of God by creating a literary-theological vacuum. The effect of this vacuum is to remind the reader of the subtle activities of God, who would not abandon his people when they were in a need of his sovereign grace the most.”

Several years ago, my family and I took a trip to the Shenandoah Mountains. After pulling into the gravel driveway of the secluded cabin, I ran in excited. I stepped out into the balcony to breath in the fresh air. I felt like I was suspended in the middle of the woods with no neighbors in sight but tall trees. I distinctly remember the deafening silence, so much so that I plugged my ears. Ironically, the stillness hurt.

It took a moment to adjust from the hustle and bustle of the suburban life to the quiet before I could distinguish between the bugs humming, birds chirping, and the swaying of trees in the occasional breeze. There was not a void of all sound. Likewise, God is present even in what feels like deafening silence. And I wonder, if we need to be reminded of this.

Even when in our finite understanding, God seems absent and no were to be found, he is there. He is orchestrating both personal and global events, and tragedies and fortunes to set in motion history for his good will to be done on earth as it is in heaven.

God is certainly in the miraculous and spectacular events, and He is unmistakably in the everyday, mundane routines. Like when we’re washing a sink full of dishes, loading another hamper of laundry, bent over vacuuming and wiping off the mess on the floor, or picking up another day-old sock from between the sofa cushions. He sees, knows, and cares.


The opening chapter of Esther is in the Bible to address the existential needs of the post-exilic community living far way from their homeland and, you and I in the already not-yet pages of redemptive history. It speaks hope, courage, and resilience to our discouraged and disheartened hearts. And perhaps, more than we realized, we need the story of Esther.

“For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.” (Rom 15:4)