Coming Out and Coming In

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist

Esther, selected verses

Solidarity Sunday, Peacemaking Sunday

 

Don’t forget who you really are, Esther. Hadassah . . .

Do not ever forget who you really are!

This is how I imagine Mordecai preparing his cousin for her life as a queen in the land of their conqueror. Yes, you must hide your identity in order to succeed, I can hear him telling her. In fact, the very name “Esther” is related to the Hebrew word that means “to hide” or “to keep secret.” So yes, you must keep your true identity a secret, he surely says. And yes, you must use your “feminine wiles” to win the king. But do not ever forget who you really are. And whose you really are.l

Hadassah . . .

“Hadassah,” as I have learned this past week, is a myrtle plant. And the leaves of the myrtle plant, I have learned this past week, have a sweet fragrance that is released only after the leaves are tested and stretched and challenged. So that what has once been beautiful to look at may now appear bruised and broken but is instead a great gift of calming comfort to all in need of a blessing of grace.

So do not ever forget who you really are, Hadassah who becomes Esther. And do not ever forget who you can become when you are tested and stretched and challenged and graced.

Which of course really does become the invitation for Esther the Queen once she learns of the plot to destroy her people. And her mettle is tested, and her courage is stretched, and her wisdom is challenged, and her true identity is graced as she “comes out” to the king. Over a meal. And begs him to save her people.

When I shared the story of Esther with our youth this morning, I left them hanging here. What do you think happens next? I asked them.

They were pessimistic. I wanted the happy ending.

Which of us is right?

The king does feast at the banquet of Esther’s table day after day after day, eating of the bread she has prepared in wisdom, drinking of the wine she has mixed in hope. The king does say yes to her plea to save her people. And they all live happily ever after, thanks to Esther’s bravery and courage!

Except the story keeps on going . . .

The problem with the Book of Esther, the problem with the human race, the problem with us, is that our violence does not truly end with a banquet, even though it should. Right here. In communion. Instead the violence changes hands.

The problem with the Book of Esther, the problem with the human race, the problem with us, is that the one who may appear to be all-powerful is in fact powerless to stop the consequences of his own violent power once it has been set in motion. Once the king has ordered a violent uprising against the people of his own queen, he cannot simply call it off. The anger is stoked. The masses are armed. The damage is done.

Or so they think.

In order to save Esther and her people, the only thing they think they can do is arm them in return. So that they might defend themselves. Which they do. Which they must! But which, in doing so, leaves “seventy-five thousand of those who hated them” dead at their hands.

Not exactly a cause for celebration.

The problem with the Book of Esther, the problem with the human race, the problem with us, is that the violence does not end unless we make an active choice toward nonviolent resistance to the violence we condemn. Which is, of course, what Jesus did. Teaching us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us and do not return evil for evil. Even to the point of death.

But if we are to say the way of Jesus is somehow “better” than the way of Esther, then we would also need to confess at the same time that we—who live in a largely Christian nation, with political campaigns making bold claims about representing “Christian values”—are at this very moment still fighting wars in self-defensive retribution. Just like Esther. And that we, like Esther, might very well be causing more death in response to the threat we fear than was ever threatening us in the first place.

And if we are to say the way of Jesus is somehow “better” than the way of Esther, then we would also need to consider how contemporary the Book of Esther sounds in light of the Holocaust. And to remove the log from our own “Christian” eyes before we start pointing out specks in the eyes of others.

This is why, in the end, we must come back to this banquet, on this World Communion Sunday, on this Peacemaking Sunday, on this Solidarity Sunday. We have a confession to make to the Prince of Peace about how very far we have fallen from the peace that passes understanding. We have to beg God to show us yet again the way to resist the violence that would claim us all. And to re-member who we really are. Which is, in the end, also “Hadassah.” That beautiful, sweet, fragile gift of grace. Always intended to bloom with joy. As a garland of peace. Through every land and nation. For just such a time as this.

I pray it may be so. Amen.