This chapter in the book of Esther introduces Haman, the ultimate bad guy. Haman represents all that is bad in politics. He is arrogant and self-serving. All law and morality is judged by what is good for him. If you've read the chapter you will know that Haman was "enraged" that Mordecai would not bow down and pay him honor. So Haman, like every bad politician, wants to make a lot of people suffer because of the actions of one person. Instead of punishing Mordecai, Haman gets the king's permission "to destroy, kill and annihilate all the Jews—young and old, women and little children—on a single day…and to plunder their goods." Haman becomes the definition and embodiment of a genocidal maniac. Power corrupts.
This chapter reminds us that there is a war going on. It is not a war between countries or tribes, it's a spiritual war as old as time. It's a war between God and those who oppose him. Mordecai understood this. It is why he wouldn't bow down to Haman. This war is as active today as ever. For example, the number of Christian martyrs is increasing every year. Last year over 160,000 Christians died for their faith. Projections are 175,000 will die this year.
I wonder about this a lot. If there is a (spiritual) war going on, why don't I experience more conflict? Have I become so complacent and conciliatory that no one has a reason to oppose me? In other words, is it possible that I don't experience more conflict in my life because I am not a threat to the enemy?
Last week I had the privilege of meeting with a group of men-all in their twenties-who want to reengage. I was impressed with their desire to make the necessary changes in their lives-however drastic-so that they might be prepared for the return of the Lord. Isn't that what every Christian is supposed to be doing? We are not here on this planet just to get by. As I have said in previous posts, there is more to this life than this life.
One of the things I like about the book of Esther is its subtlety. That may sound a little odd, but by that I am referring to the fact that God is not mentioned by name in the book, but there he is in the assumptions of the protagonists, especially Mordecai. So this book is, in a sense, answering the question: "how would a person act in their everyday life who was sold out for God?" Therein lies the subtlety. We see in it the effects of a godly worldview, not the worldview itself. As a point of contrast, look at the stories of Elijah on Mount Carmel, or Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. Here we find direct confrontation. Sometimes God calls us to that, but sometimes he calls us to something a little more oblique.
So, the big question is, what might a person be like who was sold out for Christ? Would that person parade around with signs at ball games and public events? Or might it be more subtle than that? The point is that being sold out for God does not necessarily mean a full frontal assault against the forces of darkness. It may mean just standing your ground like Mordecai. I have a suspicion that most of the 160,000 believers who died last year were just trying to be true to God in their daily circumstances. That's subtle, but also profoundly righteous. So much so it cost them their lives.
Jesus told us to count the cost. The cost for you and me, according to Jesus, is everything: "In the same way, any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple." I don't think that means you need to take a vow of poverty, or live in a commune, but it does mean that you need to place everything at God's disposal. That means your money, your time, your gifts and talents, and your relationships. It might even mean your life.
