Commentary - Esther 6:1-9

Bird's-eye view

In the book of Esther, God's name is famously absent, but His fingerprints are all over everything. This chapter is perhaps the hinge on which the entire story turns, and it is a master class in divine providence and irony. God is not mentioned, but He is everywhere present, orchestrating events down to the smallest detail, including a pagan king's insomnia. Haman, swollen with pride and malice, has just built a gallows for Mordecai and is on his way to get the king's permission to hang him. But before he can make his request, God sets in motion a series of events that will not only save Mordecai but will also elevate him to the highest honor, using Haman himself as the instrument of it all. This is not just a fortunate coincidence; it is the calculated move of a sovereign God who delights in turning the tables on the wicked and exalting the humble. The pride of Haman is about to be spectacularly humbled, and the faithfulness of Mordecai is about to be publicly vindicated. This is the way God works. He doesn't just defeat His enemies; He makes them pay for the parade.

Outline

Context In Esther

We are at the tipping point. Haman the Agagite, the enemy of the Jews, has secured a decree to annihilate them. Mordecai the Jew has been mourning in sackcloth and ashes, and Queen Esther has risked her life to approach the king, successfully inviting him and Haman to a banquet. She has invited them to a second banquet the next day, building the suspense. In the meantime, Haman, full of wrath because Mordecai will not bow to him, has been counseled by his wife and friends to build a gallows seventy-five feet high and to ask the king in the morning to have Mordecai hanged on it. The stage is set for what appears to be the final triumph of wickedness. But as the proverb says, pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. This chapter is that fall, and it is a long way down.

Key Issues

Verse by Verse Commentary

v. 1 During that night, sleep had fled from the king, so he said for them to bring the book of memoranda, the chronicles, and they were read before the king.

The story turns on a pagan king's insomnia. Let that sink in. The fate of God's covenant people hangs in the balance, and the instrument God uses to save them is a restless night. Ahasuerus can't sleep. This is not just indigestion. This is the hand of God, quietly and unobtrusively moving the king, like a chess piece, into position. God governs all things, from the rising of the sun to the sleeplessness of a monarch. And what does a king do when he can't sleep? He doesn't count sheep; he has the court records read to him. We might think this would be the perfect cure for insomnia, but God had a specific page He wanted the king to hear. This is not random. The book of memoranda, the chronicles, is brought out. This is the official record of the kingdom, the history of deeds both great and small. And God is about to use this dry, dusty record to spring His trap.

v. 2 And it was found written what Mordecai had told concerning Bigthana and Teresh, two of the king’s eunuchs from those who were doorkeepers, that they had sought to send forth their hand against King Ahasuerus.

Of all the records, of all the deeds of the Persian empire, the servant's finger lands on this one. What are the odds? With God, there are no odds. It was "found written." The passive voice here is doing a lot of heavy lifting. Who found it? A servant, yes, but who guided the servant's hand? The same God who kept the king awake. The record details Mordecai's faithfulness. He had uncovered an assassination plot against the king and reported it. He did his civic duty, not for reward, but because it was the right thing to do. He was loyal to the king under whom he lived, even a pagan one. This is a quiet testimony to the character of the man Haman is about to ask to have executed. Mordecai saved the king's life.

v. 3 And the king said, “What honor or greatness has been done to Mordecai for this?” Then the king’s young men who attended him said, “Nothing has been done for him.”

The king's conscience is pricked. A great service was rendered, a debt was incurred. Ahasuerus, for all his faults, understands that such loyalty must be rewarded. It is a principle of good governance. His question, "What honor or greatness has been done to Mordecai?" is the question God has placed in his mouth. And the answer is devastating in its simplicity: "Nothing has been done for him." Nothing. The great king of Persia, ruler of 127 provinces, had overlooked this great act of loyalty. This is a loose thread in the tapestry of the kingdom, and God is about to pull it, unraveling Haman's entire wicked scheme. Mordecai's good deed was recorded, but then forgotten by men. But it was not forgotten by God.

v. 4 So the king said, “Who is in the court?” Now Haman had entered the outer court of the king’s house in order to speak to the king about hanging Mordecai on the gallows which he had set up for him.

The timing here is exquisite. It is the work of a master storyteller, which is to say, it is the work of God. Just as the king is wondering how to honor Mordecai, Haman arrives. And why is he there so early? He is eager. He couldn't sleep either, but his restlessness was born of hatred, not divine prompting. He has his gallows ready, and he has come to get the king's signature on a death warrant. He walks into the court full of himself, convinced that his moment of ultimate triumph over his hated enemy has arrived. He is walking right into the buzzsaw of God's providence. He thinks he is arranging a hanging, but he is actually arranging an honoring. He is about to be asked for his expert opinion on a matter very close to his heart, but he will completely misunderstand the subject.

v. 5 And the king’s young men said to him, “Behold, Haman is standing in the court.” And the king said, “Let him come in.”

"Behold, Haman." The man of the hour. The king's most trusted advisor. In Haman's mind, who else could the king possibly want to see at this moment? The servants announce him, and the king, with a problem to solve, says, "Let him come in." The trap is now fully set. The victim is walking in of his own free will, puffed up with pride and ready to offer his counsel. The stage is perfectly arranged for a dramatic and ironic reversal.

v. 6 So Haman came in, and the king said to him, “What is to be done for the man whom the king delights to honor?” And Haman said in his heart, “Whom would the king delight to honor more than me?”

This is the pinnacle of pride. The king poses a general question, but Haman's ego immediately makes it personal. The king speaks of "the man whom the king delights to honor," and Haman's heart screams, "Me!" He doesn't even consider another possibility. His pride is so all-consuming that it has made him a fool. He cannot conceive of a world where he is not the center of the king's universe. This is the fatal flaw of the wicked. They believe their own press. They think the world revolves around them, and this blindness prevents them from seeing the cliff edge right in front of them. Haman's internal monologue reveals the depth of his narcissism, and it is this very narcissism that God will use to humiliate him.

v. 7 Then Haman said to the king, “For the man whom the king delights to honor,

Haman begins his reply, savoring the moment. He is, in his own mind, writing the script for his own glorious day. He is about to describe the highest honors the kingdom can bestow, and he is going to lay it on thick. Every detail will be calculated to feed his own vanity. He is a connoisseur of pomp and circumstance, and he is about to design the perfect parade for the man he despises most in the world.

v. 8 let them bring a royal robe which the king clothes himself in, and the horse on which the king has ridden, and on whose head a royal crown has been placed;

The requests are audacious. This is not just any robe, but one the king himself has worn. This is not just any horse, but the king's own steed. And not just the horse, but the one with the royal crown on its head. Haman is asking for symbols of royalty itself. He wants the man to be dressed as the king, to ride as the king. In his pride, he is reaching for the very emblems of the throne. He wants to be seen by all as being, for a day, the king's double. This is the honor he believes he deserves, and it reveals the grasping, envious nature of his heart.

v. 9 and let the robe and the horse be given over to the hand of one of the king’s most noble princes, and let them clothe the man whom the king delights to honor and lead him on horseback through the city square and call out before him, ‘Thus it shall be done to the man whom the king delights to honor.’ ”

And here is the final, delicious irony. Who should lead this parade? Not some lowly servant. No, it must be one of the king's most noble princes. Haman is ensuring that the honor is maximized by having a man of the highest rank serve as the parade marshal. And what is this prince to do? He is to act as a valet, clothing the honored man. He is to act as a stable boy, leading the horse. And he is to act as a town crier, shouting out the reason for this great honor for all to hear. Haman, in designing what he thinks is his own tribute, has meticulously crafted the precise details of his own deepest humiliation. He will be that noble prince. He will clothe Mordecai. He will lead Mordecai's horse. And he will be forced to shout, over and over again, the praises of the man he came to kill. This is not just poetic justice; this is divine, sovereign, and gloriously ironic justice.

Application

The first and most obvious application is that our God reigns. He reigns over the details, the small things, the seemingly random events of life. A sleepless night, a dusty book, an opportune arrival, God weaves these mundane threads into a tapestry of redemption and justice. We are often tempted to think that God is only in the thunder and the earthquake, but this story reminds us that He is also in the still, small voice, and even in the rustling pages of a court chronicle. We must learn to trust His providence, even when we cannot see His hand. God is always working, always plotting for the good of His people and the glory of His name.

Second, we see the anatomy of pride and its inevitable end. Haman's story is a cautionary tale written in capital letters. Pride blinds a man. It makes him foolish. It causes him to misread every situation and to assume that all things are about him. And in the end, it leads to utter humiliation. The gallows Haman built for Mordecai will be his own. The parade he designed for himself will honor his enemy. As Christians, we must be diligent to mortify pride in our own hearts. We are to walk humbly with our God, recognizing that any honor we have comes from Him and is for Him. If we exalt ourselves, we will be humbled. But if we humble ourselves, in due time, He will exalt us.

Finally, we are encouraged to be faithful in the small things, just as Mordecai was. Mordecai did the right thing when he uncovered the assassination plot, and then he seems to have forgotten about it. He wasn't seeking a reward. He was simply being a faithful man in his station. For a time, his faithfulness was forgotten by men, but it was never forgotten by God. We are called to this same kind of quiet, steady faithfulness. Do the next right thing. Fulfill your duties before God. Do not grow weary in well-doing, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up. God sees, He remembers, and He will reward.