The Hiddenness Of God And God's Human Witnesses
Children's sermon
Illustration
Preaching
Sermon
Worship
Object:
Dear Fellow Preacher,
Catastrophe and tragedy are experienced at some point in life by everyone -- and sometimes by entire nations or communities. In recent weeks millions have experienced the effects of a disastrous hurricane, while others continue to fear terrorism, to live under military authority, or perhaps to suffer from disease with inadequate medical attention. Some ask, "Where is God?" while others wonder whether God is actually allowing the evil to take place.
In this issue of The Immediate Word, Carter Shelley writes on the only reading from the book of Esther in the entire three-year lectionary. It is a tale of terror and of heroism marked by extreme reticence in -- or complete avoidance of -- speaking about God. Carter identifies four ways of reading the story and then suggests that the apparent hiddenness of God in the story might be a way to approach the text to uncover its relevance to present-day congregants, most of whom have struggled not only with suffering but also with the feeling of God's remoteness.
Team members suggest also other approaches, including that of Martin Luther, and offer suggestions for illustrating the story of Esther in the sermon. Chuck Cammarata provides worship resources, and Wes Runk offers a children's sermon on the Gospel for the day.
Contents
The Hiddenness of God and God's Human Witnesses
Team Comments
Related Illustrations
Worship Resources
Children's Sermon
The Hiddenness of God and God's Human Witnesses
by Carter Shelley
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22
The "immediate" part of this week's The Immediate Word does not get much discussion until the section on homiletical approach. In my discussion of Esther as an example of satire, I come down pretty hard on the rise of militarism in the United States today and challenge its ability to provide a Christian witness to God's will and presence in our world. Depending on who you are and what immediate issues most pertain to your congregation this week, you may choose to emphasize some other current event or concern. Obviously, a minister in eastern North Carolina or Virginia would want to offer words of comfort and hope to victims of hurricane Isabel, while the pastor of a Latino or other immigrant congregation might address social issues they face. A person can seek a better life in a new land and still feel like an alien and exiled, as the Israelites did in Babylonia and Persia.
Because the book of Esther appears only once in the three-year lectionary, its freshness sparked my imagination more than usual. Consequently, there are five sections to this article for The Immediate Word this week: (1) How to preach to visitor and church members on a book all may not know; (2) a consideration of four different readings of the book of Esther; (3) a closer look at Esther as satire; (4) a homiletical approach for preaching Esther; and (5) comments on the book of Esther and Purim by Rabbi Marc Cohn-Strauss.
How to Preach to Visitors and Church Members on a Book Some May Not Know
There was a time when preaching a sermon based upon texts in the Old Testament book of Esther would have been simple in terms of the congregation's knowledge of this book's plot and message. Today, however, we often preach to women and men who do not know the stories of the Bible. American Christian churches currently face the challenge of two generations of unchurched Americans. It's not just married couples and singles in their 20s who have no biblical knowledge, but also their parents. The United States in 2003 is a Christian nation by assumption more than reality; therefore, pastors need to function as teachers as well as preachers. Thus prior to preaching a sermon on Esther, the minister needs to provide a brief summary of the book's plot and key characters.
The way I ordinarily handle such material is by telling the story at "children's time" in worship and then following up with more details as introduction to reading the text and by inserting more information in the body of the sermon. In this instance, I would prepare ahead of time name signs for King Ahasuerus, Haman, Queen Esther, and Mordecai. At children's time, I would ask one child to represent each of these characters and then give each a symbol or facial expression to go with their task. For example, the king and queen would each receive a crown to wear, while Mordecai would be asked to hold a scroll with the easy-to-read word "Torah" written on it in magic marker, and Haman would be given a loop of rope to hold and ask that child to "look angry and mean." Any remaining children I would invite to stand close together as though in a huddle and afraid. They would hold a group sign that read: Jews in exile. I would then proceed to tell the story to and with the children, moving from character to character as each one of them appeared in the narrative. Whenever I mentioned the Jews in exile and the danger they faced, I would have the children in that group huddle together more closely and shiver. At the story's conclusion, I'd turn Haman's name sign around to read, "Dead"; Mordecai's sign would be turned around to say, "Chief Advisor to King," and give the Jews in exile group party horns to blow and encouragement to cry, "Yeah!" as evidence they were celebrating and no longer afraid. The children's time would conclude with pictures and a brief description of Purim.
Four Different Readings of the Book of Esther
Thanks to the elasticity of biblical texts and the various historical and hermeneutical contexts of human beings, the book of Esther invites a range of different ways to read and interpret its significance in the biblical canon.
* Martin Luther read Esther with concern that its pro-Judaism stance and pagan elements offered nothing positive or inspirational for Christians.
* Rabbinic scholars agree that Esther is a document of faith not provable by history, and celebrate its testimony to "the strength of the Jews to survive despite it all" (Rabbi Marc Cohn-Strauss).
* Recent feminist and literary-critical scholars point to the satiric form and content of the book evident in its wordplays, actions, and the significant reversals of fortune that take place by the end of the narrative.
* Esther can be read as satire (see below).
Each of these interpretive traditions offers important insights about Esther.
More information about all of these readings is easy to find. Team member George Murphy provides a needed corrective to my misapprehension that Luther wanted to eliminate Esther from the canon. Martin Luther's concerns might lead to a discussion of how the Bible would be different if the book of Esther was absent. An exploration of the anti-Semitism at work in Luther's own bias and of anti-Semitism as it continues to exist in "Christian" countries1 and in its currently volatile form around politics and terrorism in the Middle East provides one homiletical approach.
Historical-critical biblical scholars doubt the book's veracity as history and see it as an important story about the trials and hostility Jews have faced in pre-Christian times as well as subsequently. The introduction to the book of Esther in The New Oxford Annotated NRSV Bible succinctly discusses the book's theological and anthropological purpose, its scriptural history, and the debate over its canonicity. The New Interpreter's Bible Commentary and The Women's Bible Commentary both provide similar material about Esther's composition and importance, categorizing it as an important Jewish novella, that is, an Old Testament text that was written as a whole rather than a patchwork of different oral traditions and authors, such as those evident in the Pentateuch. Both of these resources offer valuable analysis of Esther's style, function, message, and problematic status (at times) in both Christianity and Judaism. Each further identifies feminist distaste for the book's sexist perspective. Among examples cited are King Ahasuerus' banning of Queen Vashti, the ensuing beauty contest, and the passive, feminine wiles Queen Esther uses to approach and beseech the king.
A look at Esther through the lens of historical criticism allows the preacher the opportunity to explore the notion of fact, fiction, and faith with the congregation. Author Madeleine L'Engle has noted that "truth" often comes in the guise of fiction. Such is often the case in the Bible. As Christians we base our faith on "truth" -- divine truth, embodied truth, and lived truth; we do not base our faith on facts.
As either the source or result of the Jewish festival of Purim, the book of Esther gets annual attention in Jewish synagogues. As an opportunity to better appreciate a religious tradition that is not ours alone, a sermon exploring the significance of Esther in Judaism would remind congregants of the shared heritage of Christians and Jews and the God they both worship. To provide insight into Esther's importance today, helpful remarks by Rabbi Marc Cohn-Strauss of Temple Emmanuel in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, appear at the conclusion of this article.
When the book of Esther is read as satire, its content invites a look at the human reversals that may be called for in 2003. Such a reading suggests ways Christians can be human witnesses to God's presence when God's reality seems absent or hidden.
A Closer Look at Esther as Satire
Biblical discourse produced in the past twenty years on the book of Esther provides entertaining reading. Rather than stress what the book of Esther is not (an accurate historical record and a theological treatise on God's relationship and rescue of God's chosen people in exile), the book of Esther read as satire is a literary work grounded in the ethos of carnival.2
In medieval Europe, carnival was an annual festive event celebrated primarily by peasants under the nervous eye of their feudal lords and kings. The carnival bore some resemblance to modern-day Mardi Gras, as most of us envision its celebration in New Orleans prior to Lent each year. During Mardi Gras and carnival, people take time off from the daily drudgery of their lives in order to party-hardy for an extended number of days. During that time normal codes of behavior and inhibitions are often cast aside while costumed celebrants use their anonymity to indulge in excessive drinking, eating, prank playing, socializing, etc. During medieval carnivals various entertainments were provided in forms we associate with the word carnival: jugglers, troubadours, freak shows, and crude dramas. The last of these allowed the peasant folk to take upon themselves the role of king or liege lord while humiliating and subjugating their fellow actors who served as stand-ins for the real king and masters.
In this way Esther also serves as an example of carnival, for in Esther the subjugated exiled Jews of the Diaspora whose very existence is in danger, swap roles with their subjugators (represented by the wicked Haman, himself and his Agagite ancestors Semites and sworn enemies of the Israelites). In Esther this usurping of power gets doubled for fullest impact when Esther the Queen reveals herself to be Jewish and Mordecai, her cousin and guardian, becomes the king's chief advisor. Within the narrative of the story are excellent examples of satire and role reversal. There is trickery: Esther conceals her Jewish heritage when she first gets chosen for the king's harem. There is danger: Mordecai's refusal to bow before Haman puts Mordecai and his people, including the queen, at risk. There is comedy: Haman, the character we are meant to hate, finds himself in the humiliating situation of having to bestow upon Mordecai the honors Haman himself had recommended and hoped to receive from the king. Haman gets humiliated and misunderstood a second time when his begging Queen Esther for mercy gets misunderstood by King Ahasuerus as attempted rape.
Lastly, there's also incompetence and ineptness by the existing ruler. A close look at King Ahasuerus suggests that he's incompetent and a buffoon. He makes virtually no sensible decisions for himself. He witlessly approves a genocide decree without any personal insight of malice against the people to be destroyed. He rids himself of Queen Vashti after she sensibly and modestly refuses his drunken command to expose her beauty and herself to a banquet hall filled with soused men. In so doing, the king launches a decree that supposedly shows who dons the pants in his palace, but in fact, hints at his impotence. In his command to and treatment of Vashti, the king shows himself to be unwise and insecure. The king makes no major decisions for himself in serious matters of state. He can choose a new queen based on her beauty and sexiness, but he does not know how to countermand his own decree against the Jews. Esther and Mordecai must show him the way to fight and to govern.
Carnival and satire, its literary counterpart, both allow the persecuted and downtrodden a means for expressing their frustrations with the current status quo, a medium for envisioning a different future, and an avenue of encouragement and hope for a subjugated people. In carnival and satire the status quo gets reversed and those who have been disenfranchised, persecuted, and demeaned have their day.
We need to read the book of Esther and all books of the Bible from the stance of God's faithful people who need instruction, direction, and correction. Especially when we are part of a lifestyle and world in which we are perceived by the rest of the world to bear a closer resemblance to Haman and the obtuse King Ahasuerus than we do to Esther and Mordecai. Are we taking risks for our faith and for other people? Are we taking risks by caring for and advocating for those who are not in positions of power and freedom?
If God seems hidden in the world today, it is not the fault of God but of ourselves. The Holocaust happened as much from Christian people in many countries doing nothing as it did from the evil and the Aryan-race ideology of the Third Reich. As a government and nation who turned away many Jews desperate to immigrate in the 1930s and 40s, we failed to show the compassion and courage that Esther exhibited and we, along with many other Christian peoples, are culpable for the millions who died along with those nations and peoples who historically have born the blame such as the Christian citizens of Germany, Poland, Hungary, or France. Over a 2,000-year history of persecution, segregation and anti-Semitism continue to contradict the most basic of Christian principles and beliefs.
Christians from 1931 to 1945 needed to protest against the pogroms inflicted upon their Jewish neighbors. A few did, but the majority did not. Christians needed to resist and revolt against maniacal rulers who preached racial purification, just as today we need to protest against a "Patriot Act" where basic American freedoms are being set aside in the name of our "War on Terrorism."
As Americans and citizens of the United States of America, we are the people at the top of the human pyramid of prosperity and opportunity. We are the twenty-first century equivalents of medieval lords and kings, and ancient Persian rulers. Cries of the barely fed, barely living, barely making it peoples in third and second world countries look to first-world U.S. and see in us not a Christian nation and a righteous, faithful people, but
* people who are greedy about oil and greedy about food,
* people who are pampered and privileged,
* people who are selfish and self-righteous.
Of course, we don't see ourselves this way. We are church members and Christians. We tithe or pledge to our churches. We help out with some kind of volunteer ministry or serve on some church committee. We write a generous check at Christmas and always remember to contribute food or funds to the food bank. But is that enough? When the discrepancy between our lifestyle and that of other peoples on earth is so huge, are we serving as God's witnesses to the rest of God's children?
We resemble Haman the wicked and Ahasuerus the King when we put politics and nationalism ahead of our duty to Jesus Christ and our duty to God to live a faithful and compassionate life (unless your congregation is composed of recent immigrants to the United States, of minority populations, or of individuals with special needs and economic losses). We are not preaching to the oppressed and exiled ones of the twenty-first century. The current message we proclaim through our militarism in Iraq, Afghanistan, and beyond makes us more akin to oppressors than the oppressed.
Martin Luther disliked the epistle of James because of its emphasis on works expected of devout Christians. In Luther's own case, this aversion made sense. The young Luther was convinced that no matter how many works of piety, contrition, and service he performed, he was never worthy of God's forgiveness and grace. Many of us have felt the same. And, like Luther, we have been liberated and overjoyed to discover that forgiveness and grace result from faith not works. Yet faith without works is dead. For faith without works fails to grasp the gift and opportunity we have as forgiven, loved, and accepted children of God.
The danger for twenty-first century American Christians is not that we'll imitate the young monk Martin Luther who persecuted and punished himself for sins infinitesimal. The danger for us is failing to see and respond to the crying needs local, national, and international that require work and witness and courage -- needs that require the presence of God in a situation in which God's presence remains hidden if we don't bring it to light.
The Hiddenness of God and God's Human Witnesses
"Where is God?" is a question almost every minister and rabbi who's ever served a congregation has been asked to answer at some time or other. Ministers and laity alike struggle with questions about the hiddenness of God while simultaneously affirming our belief in an actively engaged and loving God. Where is God when great natural disasters such as earthquakes and hurricanes occur? Where is God when hardworking people lose their jobs and their hope due to factory closings and layoffs? Where is God when a four-year old child is the regular victim of physical abuse and parental anger? Where is God in the many human tragedies we learn about daily via CNN, NPR, and our local newspapers?
Finding God in the daily activities and events of ordinary living in a turbulent time isn't always obvious or easy. In asking where God is, most of us are asking, "Is God absent?" With reference to the book of Esther, reformer Martin Luther seemed to think: out of sight = out of mind = out of faith. Yet hiddenness and absence are not the same thing.
Martin Luther disliked the book of Esther due to its pagan elements and the fact that he saw it as a pro-Judaism text. While the reasons varied, the book of Esther canonically was debated by Jewish religious leaders as well as by the church fathers during the early centuries of Christianity and of the Jewish Diaspora after the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed in 70 C.E. Some scholars, ancient and current, dislike the book of Esther because the word "God" is never recorded within its narration. But there's a difference between the word God being absent and God's self being absent from Esther, a literary satire in which the subjugated Jews exiled to a foreign land suddenly occupy two of the most influential posts a woman or man could hold in ancient Persia. As queen, Esther, a Jew, along with her guardian and cousin Mordecai, prevent the senseless genocide of their people. Throughout the plot twists and palace intrigues of the story the name of God is never spoken and the presence of God is never specified. Thus, one might conclude along with Luther that God's linguistic absence implies an absence of faith on the part of the key characters and an absence of any theological message.
In the Old Testament there are numerous divine epiphanies. God spoke to Hagar, sent messengers to Abraham, revealed God's self in the burning bush, and through divine will communicated to judges, kings, poets, and prophets.
A closer look at particular texts in Esther assumes God's presence, even though God's self is not directly addressed. The providence of God receives affirmation in Mordecai's confident statement that if Esther lacks the gumption required someone else will step forward (4:14; 5:1-6). The power of fasting appears in 4:16 along with an affirmation of the efficacy of prayer. Rather than God being wholly absent from the world and the worldview Esther portrays, God is such a given for God's exiled people that God is what holds them together, gives them their unique identity, and sustains their future. For Mordecai and for Esther, God and life are synonymous.
In the four Gospels God revealed God's self in the Incarnation. Jesus of Nazareth lived a human life, died an inhuman death, and witnessed to God's human and divine reality. From Pentecost on God's presence gets felt through the workings of the Holy Spirit and the witness of human beings who live, proclaim, and minister in God's name. If God seems hidden in the world today, it's not God's fault.
Esther's actions save her people from annihilation. God's way is not always evident or clear in scripture, in history, or in the present. Yet we have much with which to work -- the laws and lessons of the Old and New Testaments, the all too often repeated sinful acts of humans and history that don't need to be repeated but are, and the multiple life-saving and life-threatening choices we face in the present day.
What do we learn from the human witnesses in the book of Esther? God does not support tyrants or genocide. God uses human beings to save human beings from other human beings.
Isn't God present in the courage of Esther and Mordecai?
Isn't God present in the incarnation and passion of Jesus Christ?
Isn't God present with us through the presence of the Holy Spirit?
Isn't God present to others through our ministry and witness on God's behalf?
What is it going to cost the United States in Iraq? Is it four billion dollars a week? Four billion a week could go a long way to improving education in America, upgrading the quality of life for the hungry in the United States and abroad, or make an even greater dent in the AIDS epidemic in Africa than the one pledged by President Bush in his 2003 State of the Union address. Four billion a week? In some ways that particular figure is moot. We've naively and unintentionally helped create the current instability in Iraq, so we are honor bound not to abandon the people to chaos and anarchy.
In the short window of time that we had between the horrors of 9/11/01 and the attack on Afghanistan the second week of October, I had a fantasy for how our government and we would respond to the terrorist attack engineered by Osama Bin Laden and his followers. My Christian fantasy was that the United States of America would bombard the poor and persecuted people of Afghanistan with food supplies, medical resources, and personnel, send scores of Peace Corps and Americore volunteers to help the people of Afghanistan and to spread the good news that the greatest country in the world witnessed to its greatness not with vengeance and bullets but with compassion and the physical tools and human know-how to help the people themselves be free from the centuries of poverty and repression. My fantasy included American soldiers traveling to Afghanistan, but they'd be there as genuine peacekeepers and mediators, employed to help with the fair distribution of the food, medicine, agricultural supplies, and other supplies the general populace needed.
I know it sounds naive and Pollyanna-ish, but in my fantasy, the people of Afghanistan would be both surprised and blessed by America's outpouring of concern for their hard life in their harsh land, and they themselves would conclude that the Taliban's way was not the best way for them, and that the tirades of the terrorists against American decadence and apostasy were unfounded and false. Thus, the United States would belie the hatred and accusations hurled against us by Al Qaeda and others by offering a different response, a Christian response. In that country where women could be executed for teaching other women to read or for the mere hint of a bare ankle shown under her burkas, the hiddenness of God, at least of a God who created women in her image as well as men, could not be verified through the tools of war, but through a witness of hope. When bombs are falling, land minds exploding, young children dying, and hate and destruction are the norm, God's presence is hidden.
Thus, it is up to God's children, to you and to me, to step forward as God's human witnesses in every way we possibly can. God's call to Abraham, to Abraham and Sarah's descendants; God's call to Jesus of Nazareth, to the apostles and to us is to worship God and to serve others, to be God's witness to testify to God's love, God's presence, and God's graciousness in the world.
Notes
1 The magazine Vanity Fair recently dedicated a long article to anti-Semitism in France. While Americans cannot presume to be more charitable or bias free than the French, an emphasis on Christians' historical hostility to Judaism and Jews merits close examination. Another recent issue revolves around Mel Gibson's soon-to-be released movie The Passion in which the negative role Jewish leaders played in Jesus' trial and execution is said by some movie previewers to be both historically debatable and racially inflammatory.
2 Russian literary theorist Mikhail Bakhtin wrote extensively of carnival as depicted by Rabelais in his writings. Carnival's primary function was subversion. Just as the spirituals of African American slaves often contained subtexts and messages related to escape and freedom, so also did carnival function as a way for virtually enslaved peasants to act out in farce their own vision of a world in which lords and kings are toppled and the underclass's become free.
Comments on the book of Esther and Purim by Rabbi Marc Cohn-Strauss
Shelley: Some scholars consider the book of Esther an excellent satire in which the ways of the world are upended by the cleverness of Mordecai and the bravery of Esther.
Cohn-Strauss: True. There is a lot of play going on from a literary aspect, too. Note the names: Mordecai -- and Marduk; Esther -- and Ishtar. Both represent major deities of the day.
S: Others understand it as an affirmation of the vital part Jews have played and continue to play in history and as incontrovertible proof of chosen status.
C-S: The "chosen" discussion is not one I go for.
S: Some feminists are made uncomfortable by what they see as Esther's primarily passive and beauty-queen type role, and of the unreasonable punishment Vashti receives for appropriate modesty.
C-S: Ah, but Vashti's "feminist" strength is her willingness to stand up, and Esther gets in on her looks but rises to the occasion due to her wisdom and ability.
S: I'd like to know how the book of Esther is viewed by seminary-trained rabbi types. Is it understood as a historical document?
C-S: As with everything else (that is not provable by history) in the Bible, we take it as a document of faith and a document of history. We can pick apart the tale well enough to know that is most likely did not happen. Just the mere fact that the kings of Persia drew wives from seven select families -- none of whom were Jewish -- tells us from the outset that something is up.
S: Is it considered a document of faith composed in the post-exilic period as a way to reassure Diaspora Jews of their importance?
C-S: The document of faith part comes up in the strength of the Jews to survive despite it all -- the king never rescinds his order; he just lets the Jews fight for themselves. We don't need anyone telling us we're important; we feel the importance -- and I'm not trying to sound arrogant -- by the very nature of our covenant.
S: When Purim is celebrated? Exactly what is celebrated?
C-S: The fact that evil was squashed. Right won the day. The Jews were saved, and Haman went away. We celebrate Mordecai's steadfastness to the commandment, "You shall have no other gods before me." We celebrate Esther's willingness to identify herself as a Jew, when doing so may have meant a death sentence. We celebrate a king who was willing to acknowledge that he had an evil member in his royal court and did away with him.
S: And, is it tempered by the Holocaust of the twentieth century and the rampant anti-Judaism of all previous centuries?
S-C: The story of Esther rings true through the ages, because every age -- including our modern day -- has its Hamans. Haman comes in every land, wherever people are being oppressed. The tale is true beyond the Jewish world, but it is particularly true for us. Rome, the Crusades, Hitler -- all were Haman. While I would not say that Arafat is a Haman, I would say that Hamas, El-Aqsa Brigade, Fatah, Islamic Jihad -- the myriad of Palestinian groups who seek the destruction of Israel and the death of Jews -- are in line with Haman.
God is in the tale -- you are right -- and you just have to look a little deeper. Note 4:14, "For if you remain silent at this time, relief and rescue will arise for the Jews from somewhere else, and you and your father's household will perish; and who knows whether is was for a time such as this that you attained the kingdom." That opaque reference to "somewhere else" and "who knows" points, according to some, to divine oversight.
I think the story tells us to stand up for what is right, be proud to be a Jew, and don't let evil rule the world.
So may it be God's will.
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Team Comments
Carlos Wilton responds: The book of Esther is notoriously difficult to preach in a way that addresses contemporary needs. The homiletical dilemma of Esther is that here is a book that never explicitly mentions God, and which seems to be more of an entertaining folk tale than anything else.
I wonder if the real message of Esther isn't a meta-message: that of how the tale fits into the overall story of how God has enabled the people of Israel to survive, despite impossible odds. Though the book (at least in the form that's come down to us) doesn't mention God, the community that preserved and retold this story over the centuries surely saw God's hand in it. God didn't need to be listed in the credits; for them it was a given.
Perhaps the best way to preach from Esther is not to isolate any particular episode, but rather to present the full sweep of the story, then step back and consider it through the eyes of a Jew of the diaspora. How would this story have spoken to that faith-community? What would it have said to them about God's faithfulness, and our need to trust God to be active, even in situations that seem desperate?
A biblical story with some parallels to Esther is the story of Joseph, son of Jacob. Here is a man who traveled the same, miraculous rags-to-riches road that Esther did, ending up in a position of power and influence from which he was able to aid God's chosen people. The story of Joseph can be understood through the same meta-message we can use to proclaim God's providence in the story of Esther.
I'm not sure I would take the step you suggest of asking an American congregation to imaginatively place themselves in the role of a despotic Middle Eastern ruler and his court. Yes, we have the wealth (compared with much of the rest of the world, that is) to fill that role; yet can we get our people to see themselves as incompetent, buffoonish, genocidal -- as you suggest Ahasuerus is? I agree that issues of economic and social justice, as well as anti-Semitic attitudes, need to be addressed from the pulpit; I'm just not sure this story is the best springboard for doing so. The imaginative leap required seems too large. I'd rather stick with an explication of divine providence.
George Murphy responds: Here is a condensed and slightly emended version of an article published in Currents in Theology and Mission 29/2, 122 (2002).
Providence and Passion in Esther
George L. Murphy, St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Akron, Ohio
The Problem of Esther
The status of the book of Esther for Christians is anomalous. On the one hand, it has been called "the best known and most popular" of the five "scrolls" (the Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, and Esther) in the Jewish tradition, the one which is read for the Feast of Purim.1 Issues related to the book have been discussed extensively by biblical scholars,2 and it has received new interest with the development of feminist biblical scholarship and post-modern criticism.3 On the other hand, since the Christian church has never observed Purim, it has no specific occasion for which a reading of this book would be appropriate. Many Christians have probably attended church faithfully for an entire lifetime without ever hearing a sermon from a text in Esther or participating in any Bible study involving the book.
The scroll of Esther is not unique in this regard. Unfortunately, some clergy seldom preach on Old Testament texts, and especially those books that are primarily historical or are in the form of historical accounts may seem to be of little use in the pulpit. But in the case of Esther there are other obstacles to any homiletic use. What I want to focus on here is the fact that the book makes no mention of God or of any explicitly religious belief or practice. It is natural to ask how a sermon could be based on this entirely secular book and have any serious theological content.
I suggest that there is at least one good reason for reflecting on the book in addition to (but not exclusive of) the reasons that it has been celebrated in the Jewish tradition and studied by feminists. Its usefulness has its source, paradoxically, in just the problem which we have noted: The book seems to be entirely secular, and makes no mention of God.
The Nature of the Story
The question of the historical veracity of Esther has been hotly debated. Views have ranged from the traditional one that it is a recounting of historical events to the claim that it is entirely fictional: One German scholar began his retelling of the story with the words "Es war einmal" (Once upon a time), giving it the appearance of a fairy tale.4
As is often the case, the truth probably falls between these extremes. There is nothing that contradicts known historical data, or even anything inherently improbable, in the story of an attempted pogrom during the reign of Xerxes. But we also have no positive independent corroboration of the story and there are apparent discrepancies with what we do know. For example, Xerxes' queen was not named Vashti (who is deposed at the beginning of the biblical book) or Esther, but Amestris.5 Moreover, the names Esther and Mordecai are suspiciously close to Ishtar and Marduk of the Babylonian pantheon. We might surmise that the Book of Esther is something like an historical novel, with a considerable amount of fiction drawn out from one or a few basic historical facts.
The question of the historical accuracy of Esther is not, however, crucial for our further discussion. What is of greater interest for our purposes is the development of the present form -- or to be more accurate, forms -- of the story.
The statement in the previous section, that Esther makes no reference to God or religious practices, is true only of the Hebrew Masoretic text, which is considered canonical by most Protestants and which is translated and placed after the book of Nehemiah simply as "Esther" in Protestant Bibles.
The Greek translation of the Septuagint, however, is significantly longer than the Hebrew version and contains religious material that changes the emphasis of the story in a significant way. A translation of the full text of the Septuagint version is now usually printed in Bibles that contain the Apocrypha, such as NRSV and REB, although, strictly speaking, only the additional sections are "apocryphal."
The motivation for these additions, which include prayers of Mordecai and Esther and other specific references to God's action in the story, seems fairly clear: They change what could be read as a purely secular account into an explicitly religious one. But this is not the end of what we can learn from the textual tradition.
One Greek manuscript tradition, the so-called "Alpha text" of Esther, provides evidence for a version which was earlier than the Masoretic text and differs from it in important ways.6 The most interesting thing for our present purpose is that this earlier Hebrew version apparently had explicit religious language. In the canonical text, for example, Mordecai tells Esther that if she remains silent, "relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter" (4:14),7 but the corresponding statement in the Alpha text is "God will be their help and deliverance."8 Thus it seems that the omission of a reference to God here in our present version of the story is not an accident, but the result of a deliberate change made in the course of redaction of the book. God was intentionally omitted as an actor in the story.
The Theology of Esther
Since Esther does not mention God, it may seem paradoxical to speak about its theology. One reply might be that Esther and Mordecai's trust in the God of Israel; their prayers for help and God's protection of the Jews are presupposed by the simple fact that the book is, after all, part of the Bible. It is the canonical context of the book which provides its theology. This is actually the case, but to jump immediately to that conclusion will keep us from learning one of the main lessons of Esther. We need to start from the fact that the book is, when read by itself, a religionless story of gender, ethnicity, and political struggle.
We must begin then with the fact that the story of Esther can be told with no reference to God. In this regard it is quite modern and realistic, whether or not it describes events which actually happened. Historical accounts of palace intrigues, plans for ethnic cleansing, and apparent coincidences which change the course of events (such as the king being reminded at a critical moment of his indebtedness to Mordecai) are described in history books without religious language.
Thus we have an entirely secular story which is complete on its own terms. But now we do have to take into account the context of the book as part of the canon of scripture. This context means that the God of Israel is at work in the story. This God who acts is hidden -- hidden at least from the characters in the story, who never refer to God and apparently don't appeal to him for help. There is not even, as some have suggested, a "coded" reference to God. It is true that the Hebrew word maqom, translated "quarter" or "place" in 4:14, "relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter," later became one of the euphemisms that replace the divine name, Hamaqom, "the place," stands for YHWH.9 But if the writer or redactor of Esther had intended a subtle reference to God in this passage it would have read "the place," not "another place."
To say that God is "hidden" might suggest just a neutral absence of the divine. But if we believe that God is at work in the story then the divine activity must make use of some of its human characters. That is a familiar theme in the Bible: God raises up people like Moses and David, or even Ahasuerus' predecessor Cyrus (Isaiah 45:1-7), in order to carry out God's purposes.
However, we expect God to work through people like prophets, priests, and kings. The ones through whom God acts in Esther are different. The first chapter of Esther shows the ideas held about women in the culture in which the book is set: Queen Vashti is supposed to be the king's trophy bride, and is deposed because her refusal to play that role introduces the possibility that other women may be encouraged to disobey their husbands. For the woman Esther to be the instrument of salvation of the Jews in that setting is surprising.
Esther is a Jew, one of the chosen people, but this fact remains concealed during the process of her becoming queen. She is, in fact, an assimilated Jew who accepts marriage with one of the goyim and seems willing to be integrated into Persian society. (Her prayer in Esther 14:14-18 in the Apocrypha, "I ... abhor the bed of the uncircumcised," etc., shows what an observant Jew thought her attitude toward these things should have been.) We get the impression that only the threatened annihilation of her people aroused in Esther any real concern for Jewish identity. There is also a good deal of ambiguity about Mordecai. While it has become traditional to see Esther and Mordecai as heroes of the Jewish tradition, they are not really the types of people "zealous for the law" whom we expect to be heroes.10
Thus God is not merely "hidden" in Esther. God acts under the form of that which is in significant ways opposite to our concepts of God.
The Hidden God
The idea that God and God's activity in the world is hidden is likely to make people uncomfortable. It is natural to think that a deity who wants to be acknowledged, trusted, and worshiped would provide unambiguous evidence of the activity which should earn that kind of respect. How can we know for sure that there is a God who sustains our lives and the social order if there is no observable evidence of divine activity? We would really like God to show off a bit, to prove that he deserves the credit for what happens in the world. That would provide some support for our faith. And to tell the truth, it would make God a little more like ourselves, because we aren't above showing off and we want to get credit for the good things we do.
But the concealed character of God's action in the world is not a peculiarity of the book of Esther. "Truly, you are a God who hides himself, O God of Israel, the Savior" says Second Isaiah (45:15). The seventeenth-century scientist and Christian apologist Blaise Pascal saw this as characteristic of God's work in the world. "What meets our eyes denotes neither a total absence nor a manifest presence of the divine," he wrote, "But the presence of a God who conceals Himself. Everything bears this stamp."11
This language has a good deal of similarity with Luther's theology of the cross. God is paradoxically hidden by his revelation in that which is opposite to our ideas about God.
Because men misused the knowledge of God through works, God wished again to be recognized in suffering, and to condemn wisdom concerning invisible things by means of wisdom concerning visible things, so that those who did not honor God as manifested in his works should honor him as he is hidden in his suffering. As the Apostle says in I Cor.1 [:21], "For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe." Now its is not sufficient for anyone, and it does him no good to recognize God in his glory and majesty, unless he recognizes him in the humility and shame of the cross. Thus God destroys the wisdom of the wise, as Isa.[45:15] says, "Truly, thou art a God who hidest thyself."12
The notorious anti-Jewish attitude that Luther sometimes displayed is seen in some of his remarks about the book of Esther, especially one reported in the Table Talk:
I dislike the Book of Esther and that of II Maccabees, for they Judaize too much and contain much pagan naughtiness. Yet by this time the horrible thing has happened that the Book of Esther has a greater reputation among the Jews than Isaiah or Daniel; for Isaiah most clearly announces Christ, and Daniel clearly describes the rule and kingdom of Christ.13
Here his objection to Esther is not that it doesn't refer to God but that it "Judaizes too much" and contains "pagan naughtiness." But he says nothing about removing it from the canon. (It's worth noting also that he included both the Additions to Esther and 2 Maccabees in the Apocrypha of the Luther Bibel.) Luther's criticism of the Jews was not a matter of race but of religion, and when he speaks of "Judaizing" he means basically an attitude of righteousness through works and ceremonies and promotion of the idea of a political Messianic kingdom. Of course, whether this is a fair characterization is a very different matter!
In spite of this criticism, Esther is in Luther's translation of the Bible, and in its usual place in the western canon, after Nehemiah and before Job. This contrasts with his treatment of Hebrews, James, and Jude, which he removed from their usual places in the New Testament and put (with Revelation) at the end because he had questions about their status. (His views on these books are set out in his prefaces to them, which can be found in volume 35 of the American Edition of Luther's Works).
In spite of Luther's words about the book, Esther in its canonical context illustrates very well the hidden character of divine action that Luther's theology of the cross leads us to expect.14 There is "pagan naughtiness" in the book, but that is problematic only if we think that the purpose of the book is to teach us morality. It is quite another thing to see this as part of the divine concealment, the "alien work" which God does in order to bring about his "proper work."15
Esther can also give us some novel guidance for social action. Romans 13:1-7 provides a basis for understanding political authorities to be ministers of God, and in the book of Esther we certainly have such authorities. But the crucial act which will save God's people, Esther going in to the king unbidden to appeal to him, is really one of civil disobedience. She tells Mordecai,
All the king's servants and the people of the king's provinces know that if any man or woman goes to the king inside the inner court without being called, there is but one law -- all alike are to be put to death. Only if the king holds out the golden scepter to someone, may that person live (Esther 4:11).
Yet at his urging she resolves to go, with words which both show a willingness to accept the penalty for breaking the law and give a hint of one who would "set his face to go to Jerusalem" (Luke 9:51): "After that I will go to the king, though it is against the law; and if I perish, I perish" (Esther 4:16).
Notes
1 Robert Gordis, Megillat Esther (New York: The Rabbinical Assembly, 1972), p. 1.
2 Commentaries that have been helpful in the writing of the present paper are, in addition to Gordis' Megillat Esther, L. E. Browne, "Esther" in Matthew Black (ed.), Peake's Commentary on the Bible (New York: Thomas Nelson, 1962), pp. 381-385, Carey A. Moore, Esther (Doubleday, Garden City NY, 1971), D. J. Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1984), and Jon D. Levenson, Esther (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997).
3 See, e.g., the essays in Part I of Athalya Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Esther, Judith and Susanna (Sheffield, England: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), and Timothy K. Beal, The Book of Hiding (New York: Routledge, 1997).
4 M. Haller, cited in Browne, "Esther."
5 Herodotus, The Histories, pp. 479 and 619-621. See also Levenson, Esther, p. 24.
6 Levenson, Esther, pp. 32-34.
7 Biblical passages are cited from the New Revised Standard Version.
8 Levenson, Esther, p.33.
9 Encyclopedia Judaica (Jerusalem: Keter, 1971), s.v. "God, Names of: In the Talmud," by L. I. Rabinowitz, p. 683.
10 These issues are dealt with in Beal, The Book of Hiding. Note the subtitle of that work, "Gender, Ethnicity, Annihilation, and Esther."
11 Blaise Pascal, The Pensees (Baltimore: Penguin, 1961), #602, p. 222.
12 Martin Luther, "Heidelberg Disputation" in Luther's Works, volume 31 (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1957), pp. 52-53.
13 This saying of Luther is one from the Table Talk that was not included in the American Edition of Luther's Works. See Heinrich Bornkamm, Luther and the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1969), p. 189 and Beal, The Book of Hiding, pp. 6-8.
14 George L. Murphy, "The Theology of the Cross and God's Work in the World," Zygon 33, 221 (1998).
15 Paul Althaus, The Theology of Martin Luther (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1966), pp. 119-120.
Stan Purdum responds: Regarding the hiddenness of God, you could refer to the "Cloud of Unknowing." Here's how I described it in a sermon a few years ago:
A fourteenth-century English monk whose name we do not know wrote about the human attempt to reach God. He said that when we first lift up our hearts to God, we often encounter only a kind of darkness, or what he termed a "cloud of unknowing." He maintained that there exists between us and God a sphere of human ignorance that blocks the path to God. He did not mean we could not connect with God, but that we can never fully penetrate the mystery that, to some large degree, conceals God from our sight. And this monk concluded that the only way through this cloud of unknowing is not knowledge, but our longing love for God.
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Related Illustrations
With respect to the ancient tradition of Carnival, the lyrics from the song "Topsy Turvy," from the Disney animated film The Hunchback of Notre Dame, capture the spirit of reversal. The music is by Alan Menkeand the lyrics by Stephen Schwartz. You may want to locate these words on the Internet.
* * *
On unlikely saviors ...
There's an old story about a woman who received a phone call at work, informing her that her daughter had fallen ill with a fever. She rushed to the pharmacy to get some medicine, but when she left the building she found she had locked her keys in the car. She ran into a nearby laundromat and got a wire coat hanger, but -- try as she might -- she was unable to get the car door open. In desperation, she prayed to God to send her some help.
Moments later, a Hells Angels type roared up on his motorcycle. "Good Lord," the woman thought, "is this who you've sent to help me?"
With some trepidation, she approached the biker and asked if he could help her break into her car. He grinned a huge, toothy grin and said, "No problem." Moments later, her car door was open.
"Thank you," she said to her unlikely helper, "You're a very nice man."
"No, lady, you've got that wrong," the biker replied, "I am not a nice man. I just got out of prison for grand theft, auto."
As she got into her car and prepared to drive home with her daughter's medicine, the woman prayed, "Thank you, Lord, for sending not just any helper -- you sent me a professional!"
* * *
"My grandmother, who lived in Southern Illinois, was well-known for her faith and lack of reticence in talking about it. She would go out on the front porch and say, 'Praise the Lord!'
Her next door neighbor would shout back, 'There ain't no Lord!'
During those days, my grandmother was very poor, so the neighbor decided to prove his point by buying a large bag of groceries and placing it at her door.
The next morning, Grandmother went to the porch and, seeing the groceries, said, 'Praise the Lord!'
The neighbor stepped out from behind a tree and said, 'I brought those groceries, and there ain't no Lord.'
Grandmother replied, 'Lord, you not only sent me food but you made the devil pay for it.' "
-- Ray Kerley, in a message posted on the Ecunet computer bulletin board, November, 1999.
* * *
"The Road Ahead," a prayer by Thomas Merton
My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
* * *
"Paradox," a poem by the Welsh poet, Huw Menai
If the good God were suddenly
To make a solitary Blind to see
We would stand wondering all
And call it a miracle;
But that He gives with lavish hand
Sight to a million souls we stand
And say, with little awe,
He but fulfills a natural law!
* * *
Preacher and theologian Leonard Sweet tells of a Native American tribe that had a tradition of sending young braves out into the woods alone for training. On the night of a boy's thirteenth birthday, he was blindfolded and taken miles away from his village. When he took off the blindfold, he was in the middle of thick woods. By himself. All night long.
Every time a twig snapped, he must have visualized a wild animal ready to pounce. Every time an animal howled, he imagined a wolf leaping out of the darkness. Every time the wind blew, he wondered what more sinister sound it masked. No doubt it was a terrifying night.
After what seemed like an eternity, the first rays of sunlight shone down through the trees of the forest. Looking around, the boy saw flowers, leaves, and the outline of the path. Then, to his utter astonishment, he beheld the figure of a man standing just a few feet away, armed with a bow and arrow. It was his father. He had been there all night long, his bow drawn, his arrow ready -- watching over his son from the darkness. The night is dark. The threats are real. The wilderness is lonely. But we are not alone.
-- Adapted from Leonard Sweet in SoulSalsa (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2000), pp. 23-24.
* * *
"What troubles us is not so much the sheer fact that believers suffer along with everybody else. C. S. Lewis once pondered this. If the children of God were always saved from floods like believing Noah and his family; if every time somebody pointed a gun at a Christian, the gun just turned to salami; if we really had a money-back guarantee against hatred, disease, and the acts of terrorists, then of course we wouldn't have to worry about church growth. Our churches would fill with people attracted to the faith for secondary reasons. These are people who want an insurance agent, not a church. For security they want Colin Powell, not God. We already have people becoming Christians because they want to get rich or get happy. What would happen to people's integrity if becoming a believer really did give you blanket protection against poverty, accident, and the wages of sin?
No, it's not the fact that we have to take our share of the world's suffering that surprises us. After all, our experience and the rest of Scripture have taught us to expect hardship. What worries us is that Psalm 91 tells us not to worry. It says, "A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you." This is advertising that sounds too good to be true ....
Psalm 91 says no evil shall befall us. When we have cashed out some of the poetry and then added in the witness of the rest of Scripture, what we get, I believe, is the conclusion that no final evil shall befall us. We know that we can believe God with all our heart and yet have our heart broken by the loss of a child or the treachery of a spouse or the menace of a fatal disease. We know this is true -- everyone in the church knows it. And yet, generation after generation of bruised saints have known something else and spoken of it. In the mystery of faith, we find a hand on us in the darkness, a voice that calls our name, and the sheer certainty that nothing can ever separate us from the love of God -- not for this life and not for the li
Catastrophe and tragedy are experienced at some point in life by everyone -- and sometimes by entire nations or communities. In recent weeks millions have experienced the effects of a disastrous hurricane, while others continue to fear terrorism, to live under military authority, or perhaps to suffer from disease with inadequate medical attention. Some ask, "Where is God?" while others wonder whether God is actually allowing the evil to take place.
In this issue of The Immediate Word, Carter Shelley writes on the only reading from the book of Esther in the entire three-year lectionary. It is a tale of terror and of heroism marked by extreme reticence in -- or complete avoidance of -- speaking about God. Carter identifies four ways of reading the story and then suggests that the apparent hiddenness of God in the story might be a way to approach the text to uncover its relevance to present-day congregants, most of whom have struggled not only with suffering but also with the feeling of God's remoteness.
Team members suggest also other approaches, including that of Martin Luther, and offer suggestions for illustrating the story of Esther in the sermon. Chuck Cammarata provides worship resources, and Wes Runk offers a children's sermon on the Gospel for the day.
Contents
The Hiddenness of God and God's Human Witnesses
Team Comments
Related Illustrations
Worship Resources
Children's Sermon
The Hiddenness of God and God's Human Witnesses
by Carter Shelley
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22
The "immediate" part of this week's The Immediate Word does not get much discussion until the section on homiletical approach. In my discussion of Esther as an example of satire, I come down pretty hard on the rise of militarism in the United States today and challenge its ability to provide a Christian witness to God's will and presence in our world. Depending on who you are and what immediate issues most pertain to your congregation this week, you may choose to emphasize some other current event or concern. Obviously, a minister in eastern North Carolina or Virginia would want to offer words of comfort and hope to victims of hurricane Isabel, while the pastor of a Latino or other immigrant congregation might address social issues they face. A person can seek a better life in a new land and still feel like an alien and exiled, as the Israelites did in Babylonia and Persia.
Because the book of Esther appears only once in the three-year lectionary, its freshness sparked my imagination more than usual. Consequently, there are five sections to this article for The Immediate Word this week: (1) How to preach to visitor and church members on a book all may not know; (2) a consideration of four different readings of the book of Esther; (3) a closer look at Esther as satire; (4) a homiletical approach for preaching Esther; and (5) comments on the book of Esther and Purim by Rabbi Marc Cohn-Strauss.
How to Preach to Visitors and Church Members on a Book Some May Not Know
There was a time when preaching a sermon based upon texts in the Old Testament book of Esther would have been simple in terms of the congregation's knowledge of this book's plot and message. Today, however, we often preach to women and men who do not know the stories of the Bible. American Christian churches currently face the challenge of two generations of unchurched Americans. It's not just married couples and singles in their 20s who have no biblical knowledge, but also their parents. The United States in 2003 is a Christian nation by assumption more than reality; therefore, pastors need to function as teachers as well as preachers. Thus prior to preaching a sermon on Esther, the minister needs to provide a brief summary of the book's plot and key characters.
The way I ordinarily handle such material is by telling the story at "children's time" in worship and then following up with more details as introduction to reading the text and by inserting more information in the body of the sermon. In this instance, I would prepare ahead of time name signs for King Ahasuerus, Haman, Queen Esther, and Mordecai. At children's time, I would ask one child to represent each of these characters and then give each a symbol or facial expression to go with their task. For example, the king and queen would each receive a crown to wear, while Mordecai would be asked to hold a scroll with the easy-to-read word "Torah" written on it in magic marker, and Haman would be given a loop of rope to hold and ask that child to "look angry and mean." Any remaining children I would invite to stand close together as though in a huddle and afraid. They would hold a group sign that read: Jews in exile. I would then proceed to tell the story to and with the children, moving from character to character as each one of them appeared in the narrative. Whenever I mentioned the Jews in exile and the danger they faced, I would have the children in that group huddle together more closely and shiver. At the story's conclusion, I'd turn Haman's name sign around to read, "Dead"; Mordecai's sign would be turned around to say, "Chief Advisor to King," and give the Jews in exile group party horns to blow and encouragement to cry, "Yeah!" as evidence they were celebrating and no longer afraid. The children's time would conclude with pictures and a brief description of Purim.
Four Different Readings of the Book of Esther
Thanks to the elasticity of biblical texts and the various historical and hermeneutical contexts of human beings, the book of Esther invites a range of different ways to read and interpret its significance in the biblical canon.
* Martin Luther read Esther with concern that its pro-Judaism stance and pagan elements offered nothing positive or inspirational for Christians.
* Rabbinic scholars agree that Esther is a document of faith not provable by history, and celebrate its testimony to "the strength of the Jews to survive despite it all" (Rabbi Marc Cohn-Strauss).
* Recent feminist and literary-critical scholars point to the satiric form and content of the book evident in its wordplays, actions, and the significant reversals of fortune that take place by the end of the narrative.
* Esther can be read as satire (see below).
Each of these interpretive traditions offers important insights about Esther.
More information about all of these readings is easy to find. Team member George Murphy provides a needed corrective to my misapprehension that Luther wanted to eliminate Esther from the canon. Martin Luther's concerns might lead to a discussion of how the Bible would be different if the book of Esther was absent. An exploration of the anti-Semitism at work in Luther's own bias and of anti-Semitism as it continues to exist in "Christian" countries1 and in its currently volatile form around politics and terrorism in the Middle East provides one homiletical approach.
Historical-critical biblical scholars doubt the book's veracity as history and see it as an important story about the trials and hostility Jews have faced in pre-Christian times as well as subsequently. The introduction to the book of Esther in The New Oxford Annotated NRSV Bible succinctly discusses the book's theological and anthropological purpose, its scriptural history, and the debate over its canonicity. The New Interpreter's Bible Commentary and The Women's Bible Commentary both provide similar material about Esther's composition and importance, categorizing it as an important Jewish novella, that is, an Old Testament text that was written as a whole rather than a patchwork of different oral traditions and authors, such as those evident in the Pentateuch. Both of these resources offer valuable analysis of Esther's style, function, message, and problematic status (at times) in both Christianity and Judaism. Each further identifies feminist distaste for the book's sexist perspective. Among examples cited are King Ahasuerus' banning of Queen Vashti, the ensuing beauty contest, and the passive, feminine wiles Queen Esther uses to approach and beseech the king.
A look at Esther through the lens of historical criticism allows the preacher the opportunity to explore the notion of fact, fiction, and faith with the congregation. Author Madeleine L'Engle has noted that "truth" often comes in the guise of fiction. Such is often the case in the Bible. As Christians we base our faith on "truth" -- divine truth, embodied truth, and lived truth; we do not base our faith on facts.
As either the source or result of the Jewish festival of Purim, the book of Esther gets annual attention in Jewish synagogues. As an opportunity to better appreciate a religious tradition that is not ours alone, a sermon exploring the significance of Esther in Judaism would remind congregants of the shared heritage of Christians and Jews and the God they both worship. To provide insight into Esther's importance today, helpful remarks by Rabbi Marc Cohn-Strauss of Temple Emmanuel in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, appear at the conclusion of this article.
When the book of Esther is read as satire, its content invites a look at the human reversals that may be called for in 2003. Such a reading suggests ways Christians can be human witnesses to God's presence when God's reality seems absent or hidden.
A Closer Look at Esther as Satire
Biblical discourse produced in the past twenty years on the book of Esther provides entertaining reading. Rather than stress what the book of Esther is not (an accurate historical record and a theological treatise on God's relationship and rescue of God's chosen people in exile), the book of Esther read as satire is a literary work grounded in the ethos of carnival.2
In medieval Europe, carnival was an annual festive event celebrated primarily by peasants under the nervous eye of their feudal lords and kings. The carnival bore some resemblance to modern-day Mardi Gras, as most of us envision its celebration in New Orleans prior to Lent each year. During Mardi Gras and carnival, people take time off from the daily drudgery of their lives in order to party-hardy for an extended number of days. During that time normal codes of behavior and inhibitions are often cast aside while costumed celebrants use their anonymity to indulge in excessive drinking, eating, prank playing, socializing, etc. During medieval carnivals various entertainments were provided in forms we associate with the word carnival: jugglers, troubadours, freak shows, and crude dramas. The last of these allowed the peasant folk to take upon themselves the role of king or liege lord while humiliating and subjugating their fellow actors who served as stand-ins for the real king and masters.
In this way Esther also serves as an example of carnival, for in Esther the subjugated exiled Jews of the Diaspora whose very existence is in danger, swap roles with their subjugators (represented by the wicked Haman, himself and his Agagite ancestors Semites and sworn enemies of the Israelites). In Esther this usurping of power gets doubled for fullest impact when Esther the Queen reveals herself to be Jewish and Mordecai, her cousin and guardian, becomes the king's chief advisor. Within the narrative of the story are excellent examples of satire and role reversal. There is trickery: Esther conceals her Jewish heritage when she first gets chosen for the king's harem. There is danger: Mordecai's refusal to bow before Haman puts Mordecai and his people, including the queen, at risk. There is comedy: Haman, the character we are meant to hate, finds himself in the humiliating situation of having to bestow upon Mordecai the honors Haman himself had recommended and hoped to receive from the king. Haman gets humiliated and misunderstood a second time when his begging Queen Esther for mercy gets misunderstood by King Ahasuerus as attempted rape.
Lastly, there's also incompetence and ineptness by the existing ruler. A close look at King Ahasuerus suggests that he's incompetent and a buffoon. He makes virtually no sensible decisions for himself. He witlessly approves a genocide decree without any personal insight of malice against the people to be destroyed. He rids himself of Queen Vashti after she sensibly and modestly refuses his drunken command to expose her beauty and herself to a banquet hall filled with soused men. In so doing, the king launches a decree that supposedly shows who dons the pants in his palace, but in fact, hints at his impotence. In his command to and treatment of Vashti, the king shows himself to be unwise and insecure. The king makes no major decisions for himself in serious matters of state. He can choose a new queen based on her beauty and sexiness, but he does not know how to countermand his own decree against the Jews. Esther and Mordecai must show him the way to fight and to govern.
Carnival and satire, its literary counterpart, both allow the persecuted and downtrodden a means for expressing their frustrations with the current status quo, a medium for envisioning a different future, and an avenue of encouragement and hope for a subjugated people. In carnival and satire the status quo gets reversed and those who have been disenfranchised, persecuted, and demeaned have their day.
We need to read the book of Esther and all books of the Bible from the stance of God's faithful people who need instruction, direction, and correction. Especially when we are part of a lifestyle and world in which we are perceived by the rest of the world to bear a closer resemblance to Haman and the obtuse King Ahasuerus than we do to Esther and Mordecai. Are we taking risks for our faith and for other people? Are we taking risks by caring for and advocating for those who are not in positions of power and freedom?
If God seems hidden in the world today, it is not the fault of God but of ourselves. The Holocaust happened as much from Christian people in many countries doing nothing as it did from the evil and the Aryan-race ideology of the Third Reich. As a government and nation who turned away many Jews desperate to immigrate in the 1930s and 40s, we failed to show the compassion and courage that Esther exhibited and we, along with many other Christian peoples, are culpable for the millions who died along with those nations and peoples who historically have born the blame such as the Christian citizens of Germany, Poland, Hungary, or France. Over a 2,000-year history of persecution, segregation and anti-Semitism continue to contradict the most basic of Christian principles and beliefs.
Christians from 1931 to 1945 needed to protest against the pogroms inflicted upon their Jewish neighbors. A few did, but the majority did not. Christians needed to resist and revolt against maniacal rulers who preached racial purification, just as today we need to protest against a "Patriot Act" where basic American freedoms are being set aside in the name of our "War on Terrorism."
As Americans and citizens of the United States of America, we are the people at the top of the human pyramid of prosperity and opportunity. We are the twenty-first century equivalents of medieval lords and kings, and ancient Persian rulers. Cries of the barely fed, barely living, barely making it peoples in third and second world countries look to first-world U.S. and see in us not a Christian nation and a righteous, faithful people, but
* people who are greedy about oil and greedy about food,
* people who are pampered and privileged,
* people who are selfish and self-righteous.
Of course, we don't see ourselves this way. We are church members and Christians. We tithe or pledge to our churches. We help out with some kind of volunteer ministry or serve on some church committee. We write a generous check at Christmas and always remember to contribute food or funds to the food bank. But is that enough? When the discrepancy between our lifestyle and that of other peoples on earth is so huge, are we serving as God's witnesses to the rest of God's children?
We resemble Haman the wicked and Ahasuerus the King when we put politics and nationalism ahead of our duty to Jesus Christ and our duty to God to live a faithful and compassionate life (unless your congregation is composed of recent immigrants to the United States, of minority populations, or of individuals with special needs and economic losses). We are not preaching to the oppressed and exiled ones of the twenty-first century. The current message we proclaim through our militarism in Iraq, Afghanistan, and beyond makes us more akin to oppressors than the oppressed.
Martin Luther disliked the epistle of James because of its emphasis on works expected of devout Christians. In Luther's own case, this aversion made sense. The young Luther was convinced that no matter how many works of piety, contrition, and service he performed, he was never worthy of God's forgiveness and grace. Many of us have felt the same. And, like Luther, we have been liberated and overjoyed to discover that forgiveness and grace result from faith not works. Yet faith without works is dead. For faith without works fails to grasp the gift and opportunity we have as forgiven, loved, and accepted children of God.
The danger for twenty-first century American Christians is not that we'll imitate the young monk Martin Luther who persecuted and punished himself for sins infinitesimal. The danger for us is failing to see and respond to the crying needs local, national, and international that require work and witness and courage -- needs that require the presence of God in a situation in which God's presence remains hidden if we don't bring it to light.
The Hiddenness of God and God's Human Witnesses
"Where is God?" is a question almost every minister and rabbi who's ever served a congregation has been asked to answer at some time or other. Ministers and laity alike struggle with questions about the hiddenness of God while simultaneously affirming our belief in an actively engaged and loving God. Where is God when great natural disasters such as earthquakes and hurricanes occur? Where is God when hardworking people lose their jobs and their hope due to factory closings and layoffs? Where is God when a four-year old child is the regular victim of physical abuse and parental anger? Where is God in the many human tragedies we learn about daily via CNN, NPR, and our local newspapers?
Finding God in the daily activities and events of ordinary living in a turbulent time isn't always obvious or easy. In asking where God is, most of us are asking, "Is God absent?" With reference to the book of Esther, reformer Martin Luther seemed to think: out of sight = out of mind = out of faith. Yet hiddenness and absence are not the same thing.
Martin Luther disliked the book of Esther due to its pagan elements and the fact that he saw it as a pro-Judaism text. While the reasons varied, the book of Esther canonically was debated by Jewish religious leaders as well as by the church fathers during the early centuries of Christianity and of the Jewish Diaspora after the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed in 70 C.E. Some scholars, ancient and current, dislike the book of Esther because the word "God" is never recorded within its narration. But there's a difference between the word God being absent and God's self being absent from Esther, a literary satire in which the subjugated Jews exiled to a foreign land suddenly occupy two of the most influential posts a woman or man could hold in ancient Persia. As queen, Esther, a Jew, along with her guardian and cousin Mordecai, prevent the senseless genocide of their people. Throughout the plot twists and palace intrigues of the story the name of God is never spoken and the presence of God is never specified. Thus, one might conclude along with Luther that God's linguistic absence implies an absence of faith on the part of the key characters and an absence of any theological message.
In the Old Testament there are numerous divine epiphanies. God spoke to Hagar, sent messengers to Abraham, revealed God's self in the burning bush, and through divine will communicated to judges, kings, poets, and prophets.
A closer look at particular texts in Esther assumes God's presence, even though God's self is not directly addressed. The providence of God receives affirmation in Mordecai's confident statement that if Esther lacks the gumption required someone else will step forward (4:14; 5:1-6). The power of fasting appears in 4:16 along with an affirmation of the efficacy of prayer. Rather than God being wholly absent from the world and the worldview Esther portrays, God is such a given for God's exiled people that God is what holds them together, gives them their unique identity, and sustains their future. For Mordecai and for Esther, God and life are synonymous.
In the four Gospels God revealed God's self in the Incarnation. Jesus of Nazareth lived a human life, died an inhuman death, and witnessed to God's human and divine reality. From Pentecost on God's presence gets felt through the workings of the Holy Spirit and the witness of human beings who live, proclaim, and minister in God's name. If God seems hidden in the world today, it's not God's fault.
Esther's actions save her people from annihilation. God's way is not always evident or clear in scripture, in history, or in the present. Yet we have much with which to work -- the laws and lessons of the Old and New Testaments, the all too often repeated sinful acts of humans and history that don't need to be repeated but are, and the multiple life-saving and life-threatening choices we face in the present day.
What do we learn from the human witnesses in the book of Esther? God does not support tyrants or genocide. God uses human beings to save human beings from other human beings.
Isn't God present in the courage of Esther and Mordecai?
Isn't God present in the incarnation and passion of Jesus Christ?
Isn't God present with us through the presence of the Holy Spirit?
Isn't God present to others through our ministry and witness on God's behalf?
What is it going to cost the United States in Iraq? Is it four billion dollars a week? Four billion a week could go a long way to improving education in America, upgrading the quality of life for the hungry in the United States and abroad, or make an even greater dent in the AIDS epidemic in Africa than the one pledged by President Bush in his 2003 State of the Union address. Four billion a week? In some ways that particular figure is moot. We've naively and unintentionally helped create the current instability in Iraq, so we are honor bound not to abandon the people to chaos and anarchy.
In the short window of time that we had between the horrors of 9/11/01 and the attack on Afghanistan the second week of October, I had a fantasy for how our government and we would respond to the terrorist attack engineered by Osama Bin Laden and his followers. My Christian fantasy was that the United States of America would bombard the poor and persecuted people of Afghanistan with food supplies, medical resources, and personnel, send scores of Peace Corps and Americore volunteers to help the people of Afghanistan and to spread the good news that the greatest country in the world witnessed to its greatness not with vengeance and bullets but with compassion and the physical tools and human know-how to help the people themselves be free from the centuries of poverty and repression. My fantasy included American soldiers traveling to Afghanistan, but they'd be there as genuine peacekeepers and mediators, employed to help with the fair distribution of the food, medicine, agricultural supplies, and other supplies the general populace needed.
I know it sounds naive and Pollyanna-ish, but in my fantasy, the people of Afghanistan would be both surprised and blessed by America's outpouring of concern for their hard life in their harsh land, and they themselves would conclude that the Taliban's way was not the best way for them, and that the tirades of the terrorists against American decadence and apostasy were unfounded and false. Thus, the United States would belie the hatred and accusations hurled against us by Al Qaeda and others by offering a different response, a Christian response. In that country where women could be executed for teaching other women to read or for the mere hint of a bare ankle shown under her burkas, the hiddenness of God, at least of a God who created women in her image as well as men, could not be verified through the tools of war, but through a witness of hope. When bombs are falling, land minds exploding, young children dying, and hate and destruction are the norm, God's presence is hidden.
Thus, it is up to God's children, to you and to me, to step forward as God's human witnesses in every way we possibly can. God's call to Abraham, to Abraham and Sarah's descendants; God's call to Jesus of Nazareth, to the apostles and to us is to worship God and to serve others, to be God's witness to testify to God's love, God's presence, and God's graciousness in the world.
Notes
1 The magazine Vanity Fair recently dedicated a long article to anti-Semitism in France. While Americans cannot presume to be more charitable or bias free than the French, an emphasis on Christians' historical hostility to Judaism and Jews merits close examination. Another recent issue revolves around Mel Gibson's soon-to-be released movie The Passion in which the negative role Jewish leaders played in Jesus' trial and execution is said by some movie previewers to be both historically debatable and racially inflammatory.
2 Russian literary theorist Mikhail Bakhtin wrote extensively of carnival as depicted by Rabelais in his writings. Carnival's primary function was subversion. Just as the spirituals of African American slaves often contained subtexts and messages related to escape and freedom, so also did carnival function as a way for virtually enslaved peasants to act out in farce their own vision of a world in which lords and kings are toppled and the underclass's become free.
Comments on the book of Esther and Purim by Rabbi Marc Cohn-Strauss
Shelley: Some scholars consider the book of Esther an excellent satire in which the ways of the world are upended by the cleverness of Mordecai and the bravery of Esther.
Cohn-Strauss: True. There is a lot of play going on from a literary aspect, too. Note the names: Mordecai -- and Marduk; Esther -- and Ishtar. Both represent major deities of the day.
S: Others understand it as an affirmation of the vital part Jews have played and continue to play in history and as incontrovertible proof of chosen status.
C-S: The "chosen" discussion is not one I go for.
S: Some feminists are made uncomfortable by what they see as Esther's primarily passive and beauty-queen type role, and of the unreasonable punishment Vashti receives for appropriate modesty.
C-S: Ah, but Vashti's "feminist" strength is her willingness to stand up, and Esther gets in on her looks but rises to the occasion due to her wisdom and ability.
S: I'd like to know how the book of Esther is viewed by seminary-trained rabbi types. Is it understood as a historical document?
C-S: As with everything else (that is not provable by history) in the Bible, we take it as a document of faith and a document of history. We can pick apart the tale well enough to know that is most likely did not happen. Just the mere fact that the kings of Persia drew wives from seven select families -- none of whom were Jewish -- tells us from the outset that something is up.
S: Is it considered a document of faith composed in the post-exilic period as a way to reassure Diaspora Jews of their importance?
C-S: The document of faith part comes up in the strength of the Jews to survive despite it all -- the king never rescinds his order; he just lets the Jews fight for themselves. We don't need anyone telling us we're important; we feel the importance -- and I'm not trying to sound arrogant -- by the very nature of our covenant.
S: When Purim is celebrated? Exactly what is celebrated?
C-S: The fact that evil was squashed. Right won the day. The Jews were saved, and Haman went away. We celebrate Mordecai's steadfastness to the commandment, "You shall have no other gods before me." We celebrate Esther's willingness to identify herself as a Jew, when doing so may have meant a death sentence. We celebrate a king who was willing to acknowledge that he had an evil member in his royal court and did away with him.
S: And, is it tempered by the Holocaust of the twentieth century and the rampant anti-Judaism of all previous centuries?
S-C: The story of Esther rings true through the ages, because every age -- including our modern day -- has its Hamans. Haman comes in every land, wherever people are being oppressed. The tale is true beyond the Jewish world, but it is particularly true for us. Rome, the Crusades, Hitler -- all were Haman. While I would not say that Arafat is a Haman, I would say that Hamas, El-Aqsa Brigade, Fatah, Islamic Jihad -- the myriad of Palestinian groups who seek the destruction of Israel and the death of Jews -- are in line with Haman.
God is in the tale -- you are right -- and you just have to look a little deeper. Note 4:14, "For if you remain silent at this time, relief and rescue will arise for the Jews from somewhere else, and you and your father's household will perish; and who knows whether is was for a time such as this that you attained the kingdom." That opaque reference to "somewhere else" and "who knows" points, according to some, to divine oversight.
I think the story tells us to stand up for what is right, be proud to be a Jew, and don't let evil rule the world.
So may it be God's will.
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Team Comments
Carlos Wilton responds: The book of Esther is notoriously difficult to preach in a way that addresses contemporary needs. The homiletical dilemma of Esther is that here is a book that never explicitly mentions God, and which seems to be more of an entertaining folk tale than anything else.
I wonder if the real message of Esther isn't a meta-message: that of how the tale fits into the overall story of how God has enabled the people of Israel to survive, despite impossible odds. Though the book (at least in the form that's come down to us) doesn't mention God, the community that preserved and retold this story over the centuries surely saw God's hand in it. God didn't need to be listed in the credits; for them it was a given.
Perhaps the best way to preach from Esther is not to isolate any particular episode, but rather to present the full sweep of the story, then step back and consider it through the eyes of a Jew of the diaspora. How would this story have spoken to that faith-community? What would it have said to them about God's faithfulness, and our need to trust God to be active, even in situations that seem desperate?
A biblical story with some parallels to Esther is the story of Joseph, son of Jacob. Here is a man who traveled the same, miraculous rags-to-riches road that Esther did, ending up in a position of power and influence from which he was able to aid God's chosen people. The story of Joseph can be understood through the same meta-message we can use to proclaim God's providence in the story of Esther.
I'm not sure I would take the step you suggest of asking an American congregation to imaginatively place themselves in the role of a despotic Middle Eastern ruler and his court. Yes, we have the wealth (compared with much of the rest of the world, that is) to fill that role; yet can we get our people to see themselves as incompetent, buffoonish, genocidal -- as you suggest Ahasuerus is? I agree that issues of economic and social justice, as well as anti-Semitic attitudes, need to be addressed from the pulpit; I'm just not sure this story is the best springboard for doing so. The imaginative leap required seems too large. I'd rather stick with an explication of divine providence.
George Murphy responds: Here is a condensed and slightly emended version of an article published in Currents in Theology and Mission 29/2, 122 (2002).
Providence and Passion in Esther
George L. Murphy, St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Akron, Ohio
The Problem of Esther
The status of the book of Esther for Christians is anomalous. On the one hand, it has been called "the best known and most popular" of the five "scrolls" (the Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, and Esther) in the Jewish tradition, the one which is read for the Feast of Purim.1 Issues related to the book have been discussed extensively by biblical scholars,2 and it has received new interest with the development of feminist biblical scholarship and post-modern criticism.3 On the other hand, since the Christian church has never observed Purim, it has no specific occasion for which a reading of this book would be appropriate. Many Christians have probably attended church faithfully for an entire lifetime without ever hearing a sermon from a text in Esther or participating in any Bible study involving the book.
The scroll of Esther is not unique in this regard. Unfortunately, some clergy seldom preach on Old Testament texts, and especially those books that are primarily historical or are in the form of historical accounts may seem to be of little use in the pulpit. But in the case of Esther there are other obstacles to any homiletic use. What I want to focus on here is the fact that the book makes no mention of God or of any explicitly religious belief or practice. It is natural to ask how a sermon could be based on this entirely secular book and have any serious theological content.
I suggest that there is at least one good reason for reflecting on the book in addition to (but not exclusive of) the reasons that it has been celebrated in the Jewish tradition and studied by feminists. Its usefulness has its source, paradoxically, in just the problem which we have noted: The book seems to be entirely secular, and makes no mention of God.
The Nature of the Story
The question of the historical veracity of Esther has been hotly debated. Views have ranged from the traditional one that it is a recounting of historical events to the claim that it is entirely fictional: One German scholar began his retelling of the story with the words "Es war einmal" (Once upon a time), giving it the appearance of a fairy tale.4
As is often the case, the truth probably falls between these extremes. There is nothing that contradicts known historical data, or even anything inherently improbable, in the story of an attempted pogrom during the reign of Xerxes. But we also have no positive independent corroboration of the story and there are apparent discrepancies with what we do know. For example, Xerxes' queen was not named Vashti (who is deposed at the beginning of the biblical book) or Esther, but Amestris.5 Moreover, the names Esther and Mordecai are suspiciously close to Ishtar and Marduk of the Babylonian pantheon. We might surmise that the Book of Esther is something like an historical novel, with a considerable amount of fiction drawn out from one or a few basic historical facts.
The question of the historical accuracy of Esther is not, however, crucial for our further discussion. What is of greater interest for our purposes is the development of the present form -- or to be more accurate, forms -- of the story.
The statement in the previous section, that Esther makes no reference to God or religious practices, is true only of the Hebrew Masoretic text, which is considered canonical by most Protestants and which is translated and placed after the book of Nehemiah simply as "Esther" in Protestant Bibles.
The Greek translation of the Septuagint, however, is significantly longer than the Hebrew version and contains religious material that changes the emphasis of the story in a significant way. A translation of the full text of the Septuagint version is now usually printed in Bibles that contain the Apocrypha, such as NRSV and REB, although, strictly speaking, only the additional sections are "apocryphal."
The motivation for these additions, which include prayers of Mordecai and Esther and other specific references to God's action in the story, seems fairly clear: They change what could be read as a purely secular account into an explicitly religious one. But this is not the end of what we can learn from the textual tradition.
One Greek manuscript tradition, the so-called "Alpha text" of Esther, provides evidence for a version which was earlier than the Masoretic text and differs from it in important ways.6 The most interesting thing for our present purpose is that this earlier Hebrew version apparently had explicit religious language. In the canonical text, for example, Mordecai tells Esther that if she remains silent, "relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter" (4:14),7 but the corresponding statement in the Alpha text is "God will be their help and deliverance."8 Thus it seems that the omission of a reference to God here in our present version of the story is not an accident, but the result of a deliberate change made in the course of redaction of the book. God was intentionally omitted as an actor in the story.
The Theology of Esther
Since Esther does not mention God, it may seem paradoxical to speak about its theology. One reply might be that Esther and Mordecai's trust in the God of Israel; their prayers for help and God's protection of the Jews are presupposed by the simple fact that the book is, after all, part of the Bible. It is the canonical context of the book which provides its theology. This is actually the case, but to jump immediately to that conclusion will keep us from learning one of the main lessons of Esther. We need to start from the fact that the book is, when read by itself, a religionless story of gender, ethnicity, and political struggle.
We must begin then with the fact that the story of Esther can be told with no reference to God. In this regard it is quite modern and realistic, whether or not it describes events which actually happened. Historical accounts of palace intrigues, plans for ethnic cleansing, and apparent coincidences which change the course of events (such as the king being reminded at a critical moment of his indebtedness to Mordecai) are described in history books without religious language.
Thus we have an entirely secular story which is complete on its own terms. But now we do have to take into account the context of the book as part of the canon of scripture. This context means that the God of Israel is at work in the story. This God who acts is hidden -- hidden at least from the characters in the story, who never refer to God and apparently don't appeal to him for help. There is not even, as some have suggested, a "coded" reference to God. It is true that the Hebrew word maqom, translated "quarter" or "place" in 4:14, "relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter," later became one of the euphemisms that replace the divine name, Hamaqom, "the place," stands for YHWH.9 But if the writer or redactor of Esther had intended a subtle reference to God in this passage it would have read "the place," not "another place."
To say that God is "hidden" might suggest just a neutral absence of the divine. But if we believe that God is at work in the story then the divine activity must make use of some of its human characters. That is a familiar theme in the Bible: God raises up people like Moses and David, or even Ahasuerus' predecessor Cyrus (Isaiah 45:1-7), in order to carry out God's purposes.
However, we expect God to work through people like prophets, priests, and kings. The ones through whom God acts in Esther are different. The first chapter of Esther shows the ideas held about women in the culture in which the book is set: Queen Vashti is supposed to be the king's trophy bride, and is deposed because her refusal to play that role introduces the possibility that other women may be encouraged to disobey their husbands. For the woman Esther to be the instrument of salvation of the Jews in that setting is surprising.
Esther is a Jew, one of the chosen people, but this fact remains concealed during the process of her becoming queen. She is, in fact, an assimilated Jew who accepts marriage with one of the goyim and seems willing to be integrated into Persian society. (Her prayer in Esther 14:14-18 in the Apocrypha, "I ... abhor the bed of the uncircumcised," etc., shows what an observant Jew thought her attitude toward these things should have been.) We get the impression that only the threatened annihilation of her people aroused in Esther any real concern for Jewish identity. There is also a good deal of ambiguity about Mordecai. While it has become traditional to see Esther and Mordecai as heroes of the Jewish tradition, they are not really the types of people "zealous for the law" whom we expect to be heroes.10
Thus God is not merely "hidden" in Esther. God acts under the form of that which is in significant ways opposite to our concepts of God.
The Hidden God
The idea that God and God's activity in the world is hidden is likely to make people uncomfortable. It is natural to think that a deity who wants to be acknowledged, trusted, and worshiped would provide unambiguous evidence of the activity which should earn that kind of respect. How can we know for sure that there is a God who sustains our lives and the social order if there is no observable evidence of divine activity? We would really like God to show off a bit, to prove that he deserves the credit for what happens in the world. That would provide some support for our faith. And to tell the truth, it would make God a little more like ourselves, because we aren't above showing off and we want to get credit for the good things we do.
But the concealed character of God's action in the world is not a peculiarity of the book of Esther. "Truly, you are a God who hides himself, O God of Israel, the Savior" says Second Isaiah (45:15). The seventeenth-century scientist and Christian apologist Blaise Pascal saw this as characteristic of God's work in the world. "What meets our eyes denotes neither a total absence nor a manifest presence of the divine," he wrote, "But the presence of a God who conceals Himself. Everything bears this stamp."11
This language has a good deal of similarity with Luther's theology of the cross. God is paradoxically hidden by his revelation in that which is opposite to our ideas about God.
Because men misused the knowledge of God through works, God wished again to be recognized in suffering, and to condemn wisdom concerning invisible things by means of wisdom concerning visible things, so that those who did not honor God as manifested in his works should honor him as he is hidden in his suffering. As the Apostle says in I Cor.1 [:21], "For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe." Now its is not sufficient for anyone, and it does him no good to recognize God in his glory and majesty, unless he recognizes him in the humility and shame of the cross. Thus God destroys the wisdom of the wise, as Isa.[45:15] says, "Truly, thou art a God who hidest thyself."12
The notorious anti-Jewish attitude that Luther sometimes displayed is seen in some of his remarks about the book of Esther, especially one reported in the Table Talk:
I dislike the Book of Esther and that of II Maccabees, for they Judaize too much and contain much pagan naughtiness. Yet by this time the horrible thing has happened that the Book of Esther has a greater reputation among the Jews than Isaiah or Daniel; for Isaiah most clearly announces Christ, and Daniel clearly describes the rule and kingdom of Christ.13
Here his objection to Esther is not that it doesn't refer to God but that it "Judaizes too much" and contains "pagan naughtiness." But he says nothing about removing it from the canon. (It's worth noting also that he included both the Additions to Esther and 2 Maccabees in the Apocrypha of the Luther Bibel.) Luther's criticism of the Jews was not a matter of race but of religion, and when he speaks of "Judaizing" he means basically an attitude of righteousness through works and ceremonies and promotion of the idea of a political Messianic kingdom. Of course, whether this is a fair characterization is a very different matter!
In spite of this criticism, Esther is in Luther's translation of the Bible, and in its usual place in the western canon, after Nehemiah and before Job. This contrasts with his treatment of Hebrews, James, and Jude, which he removed from their usual places in the New Testament and put (with Revelation) at the end because he had questions about their status. (His views on these books are set out in his prefaces to them, which can be found in volume 35 of the American Edition of Luther's Works).
In spite of Luther's words about the book, Esther in its canonical context illustrates very well the hidden character of divine action that Luther's theology of the cross leads us to expect.14 There is "pagan naughtiness" in the book, but that is problematic only if we think that the purpose of the book is to teach us morality. It is quite another thing to see this as part of the divine concealment, the "alien work" which God does in order to bring about his "proper work."15
Esther can also give us some novel guidance for social action. Romans 13:1-7 provides a basis for understanding political authorities to be ministers of God, and in the book of Esther we certainly have such authorities. But the crucial act which will save God's people, Esther going in to the king unbidden to appeal to him, is really one of civil disobedience. She tells Mordecai,
All the king's servants and the people of the king's provinces know that if any man or woman goes to the king inside the inner court without being called, there is but one law -- all alike are to be put to death. Only if the king holds out the golden scepter to someone, may that person live (Esther 4:11).
Yet at his urging she resolves to go, with words which both show a willingness to accept the penalty for breaking the law and give a hint of one who would "set his face to go to Jerusalem" (Luke 9:51): "After that I will go to the king, though it is against the law; and if I perish, I perish" (Esther 4:16).
Notes
1 Robert Gordis, Megillat Esther (New York: The Rabbinical Assembly, 1972), p. 1.
2 Commentaries that have been helpful in the writing of the present paper are, in addition to Gordis' Megillat Esther, L. E. Browne, "Esther" in Matthew Black (ed.), Peake's Commentary on the Bible (New York: Thomas Nelson, 1962), pp. 381-385, Carey A. Moore, Esther (Doubleday, Garden City NY, 1971), D. J. Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1984), and Jon D. Levenson, Esther (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997).
3 See, e.g., the essays in Part I of Athalya Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Esther, Judith and Susanna (Sheffield, England: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), and Timothy K. Beal, The Book of Hiding (New York: Routledge, 1997).
4 M. Haller, cited in Browne, "Esther."
5 Herodotus, The Histories, pp. 479 and 619-621. See also Levenson, Esther, p. 24.
6 Levenson, Esther, pp. 32-34.
7 Biblical passages are cited from the New Revised Standard Version.
8 Levenson, Esther, p.33.
9 Encyclopedia Judaica (Jerusalem: Keter, 1971), s.v. "God, Names of: In the Talmud," by L. I. Rabinowitz, p. 683.
10 These issues are dealt with in Beal, The Book of Hiding. Note the subtitle of that work, "Gender, Ethnicity, Annihilation, and Esther."
11 Blaise Pascal, The Pensees (Baltimore: Penguin, 1961), #602, p. 222.
12 Martin Luther, "Heidelberg Disputation" in Luther's Works, volume 31 (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1957), pp. 52-53.
13 This saying of Luther is one from the Table Talk that was not included in the American Edition of Luther's Works. See Heinrich Bornkamm, Luther and the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1969), p. 189 and Beal, The Book of Hiding, pp. 6-8.
14 George L. Murphy, "The Theology of the Cross and God's Work in the World," Zygon 33, 221 (1998).
15 Paul Althaus, The Theology of Martin Luther (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1966), pp. 119-120.
Stan Purdum responds: Regarding the hiddenness of God, you could refer to the "Cloud of Unknowing." Here's how I described it in a sermon a few years ago:
A fourteenth-century English monk whose name we do not know wrote about the human attempt to reach God. He said that when we first lift up our hearts to God, we often encounter only a kind of darkness, or what he termed a "cloud of unknowing." He maintained that there exists between us and God a sphere of human ignorance that blocks the path to God. He did not mean we could not connect with God, but that we can never fully penetrate the mystery that, to some large degree, conceals God from our sight. And this monk concluded that the only way through this cloud of unknowing is not knowledge, but our longing love for God.
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Related Illustrations
With respect to the ancient tradition of Carnival, the lyrics from the song "Topsy Turvy," from the Disney animated film The Hunchback of Notre Dame, capture the spirit of reversal. The music is by Alan Menkeand the lyrics by Stephen Schwartz. You may want to locate these words on the Internet.
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On unlikely saviors ...
There's an old story about a woman who received a phone call at work, informing her that her daughter had fallen ill with a fever. She rushed to the pharmacy to get some medicine, but when she left the building she found she had locked her keys in the car. She ran into a nearby laundromat and got a wire coat hanger, but -- try as she might -- she was unable to get the car door open. In desperation, she prayed to God to send her some help.
Moments later, a Hells Angels type roared up on his motorcycle. "Good Lord," the woman thought, "is this who you've sent to help me?"
With some trepidation, she approached the biker and asked if he could help her break into her car. He grinned a huge, toothy grin and said, "No problem." Moments later, her car door was open.
"Thank you," she said to her unlikely helper, "You're a very nice man."
"No, lady, you've got that wrong," the biker replied, "I am not a nice man. I just got out of prison for grand theft, auto."
As she got into her car and prepared to drive home with her daughter's medicine, the woman prayed, "Thank you, Lord, for sending not just any helper -- you sent me a professional!"
* * *
"My grandmother, who lived in Southern Illinois, was well-known for her faith and lack of reticence in talking about it. She would go out on the front porch and say, 'Praise the Lord!'
Her next door neighbor would shout back, 'There ain't no Lord!'
During those days, my grandmother was very poor, so the neighbor decided to prove his point by buying a large bag of groceries and placing it at her door.
The next morning, Grandmother went to the porch and, seeing the groceries, said, 'Praise the Lord!'
The neighbor stepped out from behind a tree and said, 'I brought those groceries, and there ain't no Lord.'
Grandmother replied, 'Lord, you not only sent me food but you made the devil pay for it.' "
-- Ray Kerley, in a message posted on the Ecunet computer bulletin board, November, 1999.
* * *
"The Road Ahead," a prayer by Thomas Merton
My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
* * *
"Paradox," a poem by the Welsh poet, Huw Menai
If the good God were suddenly
To make a solitary Blind to see
We would stand wondering all
And call it a miracle;
But that He gives with lavish hand
Sight to a million souls we stand
And say, with little awe,
He but fulfills a natural law!
* * *
Preacher and theologian Leonard Sweet tells of a Native American tribe that had a tradition of sending young braves out into the woods alone for training. On the night of a boy's thirteenth birthday, he was blindfolded and taken miles away from his village. When he took off the blindfold, he was in the middle of thick woods. By himself. All night long.
Every time a twig snapped, he must have visualized a wild animal ready to pounce. Every time an animal howled, he imagined a wolf leaping out of the darkness. Every time the wind blew, he wondered what more sinister sound it masked. No doubt it was a terrifying night.
After what seemed like an eternity, the first rays of sunlight shone down through the trees of the forest. Looking around, the boy saw flowers, leaves, and the outline of the path. Then, to his utter astonishment, he beheld the figure of a man standing just a few feet away, armed with a bow and arrow. It was his father. He had been there all night long, his bow drawn, his arrow ready -- watching over his son from the darkness. The night is dark. The threats are real. The wilderness is lonely. But we are not alone.
-- Adapted from Leonard Sweet in SoulSalsa (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2000), pp. 23-24.
* * *
"What troubles us is not so much the sheer fact that believers suffer along with everybody else. C. S. Lewis once pondered this. If the children of God were always saved from floods like believing Noah and his family; if every time somebody pointed a gun at a Christian, the gun just turned to salami; if we really had a money-back guarantee against hatred, disease, and the acts of terrorists, then of course we wouldn't have to worry about church growth. Our churches would fill with people attracted to the faith for secondary reasons. These are people who want an insurance agent, not a church. For security they want Colin Powell, not God. We already have people becoming Christians because they want to get rich or get happy. What would happen to people's integrity if becoming a believer really did give you blanket protection against poverty, accident, and the wages of sin?
No, it's not the fact that we have to take our share of the world's suffering that surprises us. After all, our experience and the rest of Scripture have taught us to expect hardship. What worries us is that Psalm 91 tells us not to worry. It says, "A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you." This is advertising that sounds too good to be true ....
Psalm 91 says no evil shall befall us. When we have cashed out some of the poetry and then added in the witness of the rest of Scripture, what we get, I believe, is the conclusion that no final evil shall befall us. We know that we can believe God with all our heart and yet have our heart broken by the loss of a child or the treachery of a spouse or the menace of a fatal disease. We know this is true -- everyone in the church knows it. And yet, generation after generation of bruised saints have known something else and spoken of it. In the mystery of faith, we find a hand on us in the darkness, a voice that calls our name, and the sheer certainty that nothing can ever separate us from the love of God -- not for this life and not for the li
