Friday, March 25, 2022

For Such a Time as This (Part 1)

 

For Such a Time as This

(Part 1)

For Such a Time as This (Part 1) - Audio/Visual 

If you keep quiet at a time like this, deliverance and relief for the Jews will arise from some other place, but you and your relatives will die. Who knows if perhaps you were made queen for just such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14)

The story of Esther takes place during the rule of Ahasuerus, which means “Mighty Man,” but you probably know him better as Xerxes. He succeeded to the throne through his father, Darius, and ruled the Persian Empire from 486 to 465 B.C. He governed 127 provinces, or Satripes, that stretched from India to Ethiopia, kind of like states within a union. His capital was the city of Sushan, or Susa, and as the story unfolds Xerxes has just returned, defeated, at the hands of the Greeks in the Battle of Thermopylae. Remember the movie, 300? It was the Hollywood blockbuster about Leonidas who, with 300 soldiers, fights to the last soldier against Xerxes’ million troops – just long enough for Sparta to respond and turn Xerxes away. Depressed from his embarrassing defeat, Xerxes came back to Susa and threw a drinking party that lasted for 6 months. Think of it as an 180-day open house with a hosted bar.

Of course, all good things must come to an end, even binges. So, to secure his position and continued respect of the aristocracy, Xerxes decides to throw a stag party (men-only) during the final seven days of his six-month bender, but this time for the Who’s Who of Susa. Not wanting to offend anyone, however, Xerxes said that drinking was optional, but word had it that if the king took a drink, everyone took a drink; and Xerxes liked to drink. In fact, by the end of this final week he’d had so much to drink that he came up with the brilliant idea of inviting his wife, the queen, to come to the party in her royal crown “in order to show her beauty to the people.” (Esther 1:11) Some have suggested that this invitation was intended for Vashti to come only in her crown.

Now it just so happened that the queen was throwing a party, or “feast,” of her own. Interestingly, the word “feast” (mišteh) occurs as many times in the book of Esther as it does in the entire Old Testament. Susa was, apparently, a regular party town. Unfortunately, Vashti wasn’t in the mood to party with a bunch of drunk guys, especially if the invitation was intended for her and her crown, only. So, like any upstanding, sober woman she said, “No.” Needless to say, Xerxes was not happy. Here’s the most powerful ruler of the known world and his own wife won’t even obey his command – and this in the presence of all of his Hoi Polloi guy friends. “No” apparently didn’t mean “no,” and what started out as a domestic dispute mushroomed into a full-blown political crisis. Huh. What’s a king to do? Well, you turn to your trusted, equally drunk advisors, one of whom was Memucan.

Memucan suggested that if the king did nothing about this crisis then all of the women in the kingdom would follow the queen’s example and revolt, which would leave all of the men without their partners, including certain matrimonial benefits. So, what’s a king to do? Well, you quickly pass emergency divorce legislation which is exactly what you’d expect from a bunch of drunk guys. The guts of the law? The queen was to never see the king again, and her crown was to be given to another. That way, the guys thought, the entire empire would know that a man was the king of his castle. This, of course, was political deflection at its best since the genesis of the legislation was due to the fact that the queen had demonstrated that the king was not the king of his own castle. But then again, facts have a way of becoming inconvenient if it doesn’t fit the narrative. Who’d have thought?

So, there was peace in the king’s household until the effects of the implementation of the emergency legislation left Xerxes a very lonely man. So, again, what’s a king to do? Have a beauty pageant, of course, where all of the contestants would be virgins and the king could have the pick of the litter, so to speak; kind of like The Bachelor. Well, you can imagine the publicity and excitement that the beauty contest generated, and it got the attention of Mordecai, son of Jair, son of Shimei, son of Kish. (This will become important later, i.e., think king Saul, a descendant of the tribe of Benjamin whose father was Kish.) Now, Mordecai had an orphaned cousin whom he’d adopted as his own whose name was Hadassah, or Ishtar, aka: Esther. Like her name (the Hebrew, Hadassah, means “Myrtle,” and her Persian name, Ishtar, means “star”), Esther was lovely, beautiful and a rising star.

As “luck” would have it, Esther gets discovered in the beauty pageant and is taken to Susa for a year of beauty treatments including diet, exercise, pedicures, manicures, etc. Think of the Golden Door just north of here. The year-long spa treatment included 6 months of perfumes and preparations for her beautification, and another 6 months of oil of myrrh coupled with massages using perfumed oils. Hegai, one of the king’s eunuchs, took a liking to Esther and made sure that she got all of her beauty treatments, including an allowance, and threw in seven servants from the king’s palace just for good measure. He then moved her and the servants to the best place in the “house of women,” which is a polite way of saying “harem.” Tragically, the beautiful, young virgins who were there for the king’s pleasure, but eventually passed over, could never marry and, eventually, became widows since they were forbidden to ever marry as they were, or at least had once been a part of the king’s harem. So much for March’s “Women’s History Month.”

During her year-long preparation at the salon, Esther had never revealed her Jewish heritage to anyone since Mordecai, her adoptive cousin, had encouraged her to keep that part of her history a mystery, at least for now. But like any adoptive dad, Mordecai worried about Esther and every day he would pace up and down in front of the “women’s quarters,” ahem, harem, to keep an eye on her. After the 12 month beautification period had passed, each woman, at the king’s invitation, would be escorted into the palace and would take something special from the harem to the king. She would go to the palace in the evening and return in the morning to the king’s eunuch who kept the concubines, but this time in a second house. And unless the king asked for her again, she would there remain - forever.

When it came Esther’s turn, rather than selecting something special for the king herself, she asked Hegai for his opinion which endeared her to everyone with whom she came into contact. And, of course, who better than Hegai to ask since he had the king’s confidence and likely knew what was really on the king’s mind. Apparently, Esther brought the “right stuff” because she didn’t come back the next morning. Instead, she was named the new queen. In fact, the king was so happy that he proclaimed a holiday and put on a huge party for all of his guests. The king loved Esther, and this is just another Biblical story which elevates a person of obscurity to greatness. It’s the same theme that the Bible gives in numerous stories like Joseph, Ruth, Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego, just to name a few.

Esther, by this time, had been instrumental in getting her cousin, Mordecai, promoted, so he sat in front of the king’s gate where all the action took place and happened to overhear two (2) disgruntled ex-employees, the king’s former doorkeepers, plotting to kill king Xerxes. Some scholars believe that this plot originated due to the fact that Mordecai, a Jew, had been promoted to the king’s court which incensed the old-school Persian politicos. Regardless, it was another divine “coincidence.”

Mordecai tells Esther about the plot, and Esther tells the king. Understandably, the king orders the death of the two (2) traitors and this goes down in the history books in the presence of the king which becomes a very important part of the story later on. But then in walks in Haman the Agagite, the Darth Vadar in the story. Haman was a descendant of the Amalekites. And if you remember your history, the Amalekites were the descendants of Esau who was the archetype of a Jewish hater. Thus, if Mordecai was descended from Saul, and Haman from the Amalekites, then the drama that follows is merely the continuation of a long-standing hostility between their families. Briefly, Agag, a king of the Amalekites, was captured and his people were slaughtered. Eventually, Agag was executed by Samuel the prophet, not king Saul, since Saul wasn’t known to follow God’s instructions very well. (See, 1 Sam 15.) Actually, the hostilities went back to the days of Moses who had admonished Israel to “blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven: do not forget.” (Deut. 25:19) Needless to say, it was a centuries-old grudge whose succeeding generations had very long memories.

Back at Susa, everyone bowed down to Haman since he was the Prime Minister of Persia. Well, everyone except for Mordecai who was a professed Jew and whose heritage was no secret: he’d told Haman’s servants that he was Jewish. In a Persian empire, and in Haman’s eyes in particular, it was an act of civil disobedience that had to be punished. Haman hated to be disrespected at the city gate when everyone else would give obeisance to him except that Jew boy, Mordecai. The problem was that Haman was a student of history and knew that going toe-to-toe with Mordecai probably wouldn’t end well. Believing that past could be prologue, Haman had every reason to fear Mordecai but that didn’t sate the hate. So, after giving the matter some thought he came up with a solution to his problem. His solution? Kill all of the Jews. Hitler had nothing on Haman’s genocidal madness. But this was a pretty grave final solution, and Haman couldn’t do it without some help. So, he enlisted his sorcerers for their advice since there’s nothing like consulting the soothsayers when you’re considering the extermination of more than a million human beings on the basis of their race.

The sorcerers weren’t consulted so much in connection with Haman’s plan since he was the Prime Minister, after all. No, Haman just needed a little advice as to when the plan should go into effect. So, after rolling the dice, or casting the “pur” (Esther 3:7), the “experts” told Haman that the plan should begin in eleven (11) months which suited Haman just fine; there was a lot to do when it came to murdering millions of people, not the least of which was getting the king’s approval. So, Haman went to his boss and told the king, generically speaking of course, that there was a group of people who lived in Persia who were just, well, “different,” i.e., not like them, and making matters worse they weren’t obeying the king’s laws. “So, in my opinion, it’s not fitting that they remain and should be destroyed. In fact, I feel so strongly about this that I’ll donate $13 million to your treasury for the privilege of seeing this law go into effect. So, what do you say, king baby?” (Esther 3:9) Now, at the time, $13 million was about 2/3 of Persia’s gross national product. So, was Haman’s offer an offer that the king couldn’t refuse? Stay tuned.

Grace,

Randy

Thursday, March 3, 2022

Beauty & the Beast

 

Beauty & the Beast

Beauty & the Beast - Audio/Visual 

Jesus was beaten with whips and handed over to the soldiers to be crucified. The governor’s soldiers took Jesus into the governor’s palace, and they all gathered around him. They took off his clothes and put a red robe on him. Using thorny branches, they made a crown, put it on his head, and put a stick in his right hand. Then the soldiers bowed before Jesus and made fun of him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They spat on Jesus. Then they took his stick and began to beat him on the head. After they finished, the soldiers took off the robe and put his own clothes on him again. Then they led him away to be crucified. (Matt. 27:26–31)

What would have happened to the Beast if the Beauty hadn’t appeared? Remember the story? There was a time when his face was handsome, and his palace was pleasant. But that was before the curse, before the shadows fell on the castle of the prince, and before the shadows fell on the heart of the prince. And when the darkness fell, he hid. Secluded in his castle, he was left with a glistening snout, curly tusks and a bad mood. But all that changed when the girl came. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened to the Beast if the Beauty hadn’t appeared. Better yet, what would have happened if she hadn’t cared? And who’d have blamed her if she hadn’t? He was a beast. Hairy. Drooling. Roaring. Defying. And she was such a beauty. Stunningly gorgeous. Contagiously kind. If ever two people lived up to their names, these two did it in spades. Who would’ve blamed her if she hadn’t cared? But she did. And because the Beauty loved the Beast, the Beast became more beautiful himself.

The story’s familiar to most, but not just because it’s a fairy tale. It’s familiar because it reminds us of ourselves – there’s a beast in each of us. It wasn’t always that way, of course. There was a time when humanity’s face was beautiful, and the palace was pleasant. But that was before the curse, before the shadow fell across the Garden of Eden, before the darkness fell across the heart of Adam. And ever since the curse, we’ve been different. Beastly. Ugly. Defiant. Angry. We do things we know we shouldn’t do and then we wonder why we did them.

The ugly part of me showed its beastly face one night when I was in college. I was driving on a two-lane road that was about to become a single lane. A woman in a car beside me was in the lane that continued, and I was in the lane that stopped. I needed to be ahead of her. My schedule was, no doubt, more important than hers. So, I floored it. She did, too. And when my lane ended, she was a fender ahead of me. I growled and slowed and let her go ahead. Over her shoulder she gave me a sweet little bye-bye wave. But then the sinister part of me said, “Hey, wait a minute. She can’t do that! Maybe you should shed a little light on the situation.” So, I put a little high beam in her rear view mirror. She retaliated by slowing down. To a crawl. This woman was mean.

She couldn’t have cared less if the whole city was late; she wasn’t going to go beyond fifteen miles per hour. And I wasn’t going to take my lights out of her rear view mirror. Like two stubborn mules, she kept it slow, and I kept it bright. But then, after a few more unkind thoughts, the road widened, and I started to make my pass. But wouldn’t you know, a red light left the two of us side by side at the intersection. What happened next was both good and bad. The good news is that she waved at me; the bad is that it was more like a one-finger salute.

Then conviction surfaced. “Why did I do that?” I’m usually a pretty calm guy, but for fifteen minutes I was a beast. And only two facts comforted me: I didn’t have an ichthys symbol on my truck, and the apostle Paul had similar struggles: “I do not do what I want to do, and I do the things I hate.” (Rom. 7:15) Ever felt like saying those words? If so, you’re in good company because Paul isn’t the only person in the Bible who wrestled the beast within. In fact, it’s hard to find a page in Scripture where the animal doesn’t bare his teeth.

King Saul chasing young David with a spear. Shechem raping Dinah. Dinah’s brothers (the sons of Jacob) murdering Shechem and his friends. Lot selling out to Sodom and then getting out of Sodom. Herod murdering Bethlehem toddlers. Another Herod murdering Jesus’ cousin. If the Bible is called the Good Book, it’s not because its people are – blood runs as freely through the stories as the ink on the pages. But the evil of the beast was never so raw as on the day Christ died.

The disciples were first fast asleep, then fast afoot. Herod wanted a show. Pilate wanted out. And the soldiers wanted blood. So, they scourged Jesus. The legionnaire’s whip consisted of leather straps with little jagged metal pieces on each end. His goal was singular: beat the accused within an inch of his death and then stop. Thirty-nine lashes were allowed but seldom needed. A centurion monitored the prisoner’s status. No doubt Jesus was near death when his hands were untied, and he slumped to the ground. The whipping was the first deed of the soldiers. The crucifixion was the third. (I’ll get to the second in a moment) Though his back was ribboned with wounds, the soldiers loaded the crossbeam on Jesus’ shoulders and marched him to the Place of the Skull and executed him. And we really don’t fault the soldiers for these two actions. After all, they were just following orders. But what’s hard to understand is what they did in between. Here’s Matthew’s description:

Jesus was beaten with whips and handed over to the soldiers to be crucified. The governor’s soldiers took Jesus into the governor’s palace, and they all gathered around him. They took off his clothes and put a red robe on him. Using thorny branches, they made a crown, put it on his head, and put a stick in his right hand. Then the soldiers bowed before Jesus and made fun of him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They spat on Jesus. Then they took his stick and began to beat him on the head. After they finished, the soldiers took off the robe and put his own clothes on him again. Then they led him away to be crucified. (Matt. 27:26–31)

The soldiers’ assignment was simple: take the Nazarene to the hill and kill him. But they had another idea. They wanted to have some fun first. So, these strong, rested, armed soldiers encircled an exhausted, nearly dead, Galilean carpenter and beat up on him. The scourging was commanded. The crucifixion was ordered. But who would draw pleasure out of spitting on a half-dead man? Spitting isn’t intended to hurt the body — it can’t. Spitting is intended to degrade the soul, and it does. So, what were the soldiers doing? Weren’t they elevating themselves at the expense of another? In other words, they felt big by making Christ look small.

Have you ever done that? Oh, maybe you’ve never spit on anyone, but have you ever gossiped? Slandered? Have you ever raised your hand in anger, or rolled your eyes in arrogance? Have you ever blasted your high beams in someone’s rear view mirror? Ever made someone feel bad so you would feel good? That’s what the soldiers did to Jesus. And when you and I do the same, we do it to Jesus, too. “I assure you, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me.” (Matt. 25:40) In other words, how we treat others is how we treat Jesus. And although tough to hear, we’ve got to face the fact that there’s something beastly within each and every one of us. Something beastly that makes us do things that surprise even us. Haven’t you surprised yourself? Haven’t you reflected on an act and wondered, “What got into me?” The Bible has a three-letter answer for that question: S-I-N. There is something bad — beastly — within each of us. As the Apostle Paul so plainly put, we are “by nature children of wrath.” (Eph. 2:3)

It’s not that we can’t do good. We do. It’s just that we can’t keep from doing bad. In theological terms, we’re “totally depraved.” Though made in God’s image, we’ve fallen. We’re corrupt at the core. The very center of our being is selfish and perverse. David said, “I was born a sinner — yes, from the moment my mother conceived me.” (Ps. 51:5) Could any of us say any less? Each one of us was born with a tendency to sin.

And this depravity is a universal condition. Scripture says it plainly: All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned, every one, to his own way. (Isa. 53:6) The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it? (Jer. 17:9) There is none righteous, no, not one .… All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. (Rom. 3:10, 23) Of course, some would disagree. They look around and say, “You know, compared to everyone else, I’m a pretty decent person.” But a pig might say something similar. He might look at his trough partners and announce, “I’m just as clean as everyone else.” Compared to humans, of course, that pig needs help. And compared to God, we humans need the same. The standard for sinlessness isn’t found at the pig trough, but at the throne of heaven. God, himself, is the standard.

Our deeds are ugly. Our actions are harsh. We don’t do what we want to do; we don’t like what we do. And what’s worse — yes, there’s something worse — we can’t change. We try. Oh, how we try. But “(c)an a leopard change his spots? In the same way, Jerusalem, you cannot change and do good, because you are accustomed to doing evil.” (Jer. 13:23) The apostle agreed with the prophet: “The mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law — indeed it cannot.” (Rom. 8:7)

Still disagree? Still think the assessment too harsh? If so, try this. For the next twenty-four hours lead a sinless life. Not a perfect decade, or year, or even a perfect month. Just one perfect day. Can you do it? Can you live without sin for one day? No? Well then, how ‘bout an hour? Could you promise that for the next sixty minutes you’ll have only pure thoughts and actions? Still too hard? Then how about the next five minutes? Five minutes of worry-free, anger-free, unselfish living — can you do it? Not likely, and that applies to both of us. So, we have a problem then: we are sinners, and “the wages of sin is death.” (Rom. 6:23) We have a problem: we are not holy, and “anyone whose life is not holy will never see the Lord.” (Heb. 12:14) We have a problem: we are evil, and “evil people are paid with punishment.” (Prov. 10:16) With all these problems then, what can we do?

Allow the spit of the soldiers to symbolize the filth in our hearts. And then observe what Jesus does with that filth. He carries it to the cross. Through the prophet he said, “I did not hide my face from mocking and spitting.” (Isa. 50:6) Mingled with his blood and sweat was the essence of our sin. God could have deemed otherwise. In God’s plan, Jesus was offered wine for his thirst, so why not a towel for his face? Simon carried the cross of Jesus, but he didn’t mop the cheek of Jesus. And legions of angels were only a prayer away. Couldn’t they have taken the spittle away? They could have, but Jesus never commanded them to. For some reason, Jesus chose the saliva. Along with the spear and the sponge, he bore the spit of man. Why? Maybe he saw the beauty within the beast. But that’s where the correlation with Beauty and the Beast ends because in the fable, the beauty kisses the beast. In the Bible, the Beauty does much more. He becomes the beast so the beast can become the beauty. Jesus changes places with us. We, like Adam, were under a curse, but Jesus “changed places with us and put himself under that curse.” (Gal. 3:13)

What if the Beauty had not come? What if the Beauty had not cared? Then we would have remained a beast. But the Beauty did come, and the Beauty did care. The sinless one took on the face of a sinner so that we sinners could take on the face of a saint.

Grace,

Randy