A Not Quite So Happy Ending: Esther Part 3

The third and last in the story of Esther

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Transcript

Sermons from Mission Hills UCC

San Diego, California

Rev. Dr. David Bahr

david.bahr@missionhillsucc.org

October 13, 2024

“A Not Quite So Happy Ending”

Esther 8: 1-2 – Common English Bible

That same day King Ahasuerus gave Queen Esther what Haman the enemy of the Jews owned. Mordecai himself came before the king because Esther had told the king that he was family to her. 2 The king took off his royal ring, the one he had removed from Haman, and gave it to Mordecai. Esther put Mordecai in charge of what Haman had owned.

 The Book of Esther begins with a detailed explanation of over-the-top extravagance involving a party that lasts for six months and a final week of drunken debauchery capped off with the demand that the king’s beautiful wife, Vashti, parade in front of a bunch of drunk men wearing only her crown.  As you know by now, she said no, which set off a panic that women all over the kingdom would refuse their husband’s demands too.  The king agreed to issue an order that “every man is the master of his own house” and banished the queen from the kingdom.  

To replace her, the king agreed to an extravagant plan involving a kingdom-wide search for beautiful women, all brought to the capital city for a year of beauty treatments before the king made a final choice of the woman who pleased him the most.  He chose Hadassah, a young Jewish woman, also known by her Persian name, Esther.  Her uncle Mordecai advised her not to reveal their Jewish identity, but there came a moment when it was just such a time; a time when revelation was exactly what was needed.

You see, there was a man named Haman, the highest official in the king’s court, whose ego demanded that he be treated like the highest official in the king’s court, which meant that everyone who passed by must bow in front of him.  Mordecai refused.  A furious and indignant Haman went to the king with “information” that there was a certain dangerous element in the kingdom, “they’re not like us,” and they’re plotting against you – not that “a guy named Mordecai hurt my feelings.”  The payback, the revenge Haman sought was Mordecai’s execution by impaling him on the sharpened end of a 75-foot pole, although in some translations, he built gallows to hang him.  But that wasn’t satisfaction enough.  Haman wanted to kill all of Mordecai’s people – every Jew in a kingdom of 127 provinces stretching from India to Ethiopia.

He manipulated the king’s fears and insecurities into a mandate issued for a specific date – a date chosen by throwing dice known as pur.  On that date, everyone was ordered to kill their Jewish neighbors.  Mordecai overheard these plans and got word of it to Esther and she went right into action.  She set a trap and lured Haman’s huge ego into it, which ended with Haman being impaled on the very pole Haman erected for Mordecai.  Haman’s wealth and position were given to Mordecai.  And the plans to kill the Jews were averted and evil was defeated.  Almost. 

You see, that original order that Haman manipulated the king to issue was still in effect.  Esther begged the king to revoke it, but for whatever reason, the king wasn’t allowed to change his mind even if he wanted to.  Anything written in the name of the king and sealed with the king’s royal ring can’t be called back.

The only remedy he could suggest was to issue a mandate to be carried out the day before.  He agreed to act fast.  The king prepared letters to all 127 provinces in the alphabet and language of each people and sent it with riders mounted on royal horses born of mares bred to run fast.  The order allowed Jews in each town to wipe out, kill, and destroy every army of any people and province that attacked them.

When that day came, the capital city greeted Mordecai with shouts of joy for it was a day of light, happiness, joy, and honor.  He wore a large gold crown with a blue and white royal robe under his white and red-purple coat.  In every town where those riders mounted on royal horses arrived, it was a day of happiness and joy with feasts and celebrations.  The tables had been turned on their enemies.  Haman’s ten sons were impaled on sharpened poles just like their father.  A few hundred others were killed.  All in all, not too bad – violent, yes, but not a massacre.  There were a few reports that “they did whatever they wanted to those who hated them – sword blows, killing, destruction…”  But, wait for it.

At the end of the day, the king heard reports of what had happened – 500 people dead, the ten sons of Haman impaled.  He asked Queen Esther, “What do you wish now?  I’ll give it to you.  What is your desire?”  She said, “Let us do it tomorrow too.”  Nothing is said of doing it in defense, which seems reasonable.  Rather, I guess you could say, it was kind of a “kill because you might be killed day” or a “kill before you get killed day.”  All we know is that at the end of a seemingly unnecessary second day, 75,000 of their neighbors lay dead.  

So, two weeks ago, we recognized the strength of Vashti to say no to any more of the king’s humiliating demands.  Last week we celebrated the creatively brilliant and risky strategy of Esther when she said yes to save her people at just the right time.  I love the story of Esther, right up to this not quite so happy ending.  

The story is not universally loved.  In fact, its placement in the Bible was very contentious and not accepted as canonical in Judaism until the third century, not until the fourth century in the Western Church, and not until the 8th century in the Eastern Church.  Martin Luther said he wished it never existed, but perhaps not because of the 75,000 dead people.  It’s criticized because Esther’s Jewish identity is more about her ethnicity than her religion.  There is nothing particularly religious about the book, no prayers.  God is never mentioned.  God is presumed perhaps, but not named.  The Septuagint, the Greek version used by Catholics, attempts to fix this “problem” with editing, inserting six verses to speak about God more explicitly.  Jews and Protestants follow the Masoretic text, the Hebrew version passed down by the rabbis.  In this, God’s role is simply assumed, a hidden identity, perhaps like Esther’s original intent.  I say, if there is to be any editing, let’s edit out the slaying of 75,000 innocent people.  

My former church shared its building with a Jewish synagogue for 36 years.  The rabbi’s office was just down the hall from mine.  Our congregations enjoyed this unique interfaith opportunity and had things we did together every year.  Esther is the basis for joyous annual celebrations of Purim with costumes and feasting and fun.  One year I asked him, what do you do with the dead 75,000.  He said they don’t read that part, and added, “just because it’s in the Bible doesn’t mean it’s right.”  

 And it’s true.  Both progressive Christians and progressive Jews read the Bible seriously, not literally.  We know to ask questions of meaning.  For example, Lot’s wife didn’t literally turn into a pillar of salt.  We might ask and reflect upon, what happens when we look back.  Jonah didn’t literally sit in the belly of a whale.  We might ask and reflect upon, what might happen if we refuse our calling.  Were a literal Adam and Eve banished from a perfect Garden of Eden?  We might ask and reflect upon, “where do we come from and why is the world full of such evil.”  And were 75,000 people killed by their neighbors over a slight to someone’s ego?  Or, maybe we should ask, is it possible that such a thing would happen?  Therefore, we might ask and reflect upon, why is the world so filled with such violence, and what can we do.

 There are times we’d like a little payback, even crave a little revenge – just a little.  If Esther ended with “And they all lived happily ever after,” I wouldn’t be challenged to explore this darker place of revelation that there are secrets I’d prefer not to share – that there are certain people I would like to experience some suffering for lies, deceit, and manipulation.  Let me just sit in this truth for a moment.  And wouldn’t it feel a little satisfying for those victims, targets of hate and violence, to get a little reversal of fortune for themselves?

But hatred for hatred is lazy.  It takes no effort to condemn and so much criticism is unimaginative.  The harder work, the work of faith, is to imagine our way to love.  To create ways to peace.  To move from thoughts of what “they deserve” to what “we deserve – what we can build together.”  As we have discovered throughout the summer and all the characters we have explored, every one of us are light and shadow – a complicated web of mixed intentions and motivations, hurt feelings, secret plots and cravings.  Then from that honesty, who do we actually want to be?  What is our aspiration?  And how?

On our 40-day countdown of prayers before the election, today’s is a prayer by Sister Joan Chittister, one of the Benedictine Sisters of Erie in Pennsylvania – a community with whom I spent a lot of time when I lived in Cleveland.  An excerpt of her prayer today speaks directly to this:  

Great God, who has told us “Vengeance is mine,” (as in, not yours)
 save us from the vengeance in our hearts and the acid in our souls.

Save us from our desire to hurt as we have been hurt,
 to punish as we have been punished,
 to terrorize as we have been terrorized.

Give us the depth of soul, O God, to constrain our might,
 to resist the temptations of power, 

to refuse to attack the attackable,
 to understand that vengeance begets violence,
 and to bring peace—not war—wherever we go.

For You, O God, have been merciful to us.
 For You, O God, have been patient with us.
 For You, O God, have been gracious to us.

And so may we be merciful and patient and gracious and trusting
 with these others whom you also love.

This we ask through Jesus, the one without vengeance in his heart.
 
 

In 2018, right in the middle of this polarizing and divisive era we are living through, Pope Francis articulated a prayerful challenge for people of faith.  I invite us to say it together:

Creator, make us instruments of your peace.

Where there is shouting, let us practice listening.

Where there is confusion, let us inspire harmony.

Where there is ambiguity, let us bring clarity.

Where there is exclusion, let us offer solidarity.

Where there is sensationalism, let us use sobriety.

Where there is superficiality, let us raise real questions.

Where there is prejudice, let us awaken trust.

Where there is hostility, let us bring respect.

Where there is falsehood, let us bring truth.

Creator, make us instruments of your peace.  Amen

There are parts of my life I would like to edit out.  But, Esther’s ‘not quite so happy ending’ becomes more meaningful because it is just as truthful as our own unedited story – it’s joyful in its triumphs, painful in its failings, mostly hopeful and plenty of messy, and always extravagantly beloved.