The Hangman's Errand: When Pride Parades Its Own Demise Text: Esther 6:10-11
Introduction: The Comedic Timing of God
The book of Esther is a masterclass in divine providence, and it is a book where God has arranged things so that He never once takes a curtain call. His name is not mentioned, not even once. And yet, His fingerprints are all over every square inch of the crime scene. The entire narrative is a testimony to the fact that God governs the world He made, and He does so with a flair for the dramatic and a profound sense of irony. He writes the story, and He loves a good plot twist.
We live in an age that has no category for this kind of God. Our modern sensibilities prefer a God who is either distant and uninvolved, a sort of absentee landlord, or a God who is tame and manageable, a celestial butler who can be summoned to clean up our messes. The God of Esther is neither. He is the sovereign playwright who arranges sleepless nights for pagan kings, who orchestrates the reading of dusty court records at just the right moment, and who delights in hoisting the wicked on their own petard. He is a God who laughs (Psalm 2:4). And in this chapter, we are invited to laugh with Him.
The scene before us is the hinge point of the entire book. Haman, swollen with pride and malice, has just spent his evening building a gallows seventy-five feet high for Mordecai. He has come to the king's court early in the morning, eager to get permission to hang the Jew who refuses to bow to him. But God was up much earlier than Haman. The Lord, who neither slumbers nor sleeps, has been busy arranging the stage for one of the most humiliating and public reversals in all of Scripture. Haman, in his lust for glory, has unknowingly written the script for his own abject disgrace and for the exaltation of his mortal enemy. This is not just a story about palace intrigue; it is a scale model of how God runs the universe. He gives the wicked enough rope, and they, with meticulous care, proceed to build their own gallows.
The Text
Then the king said to Haman, "Take quickly the robes and the horse as you have said, and do so for Mordecai the Jew, who is sitting at the king’s gate; do not fall short in anything of all that you have spoken."
So Haman took the robe and the horse and clothed Mordecai and led him on horseback through the city square and called out before him, "Thus it shall be done to the man whom the king delights to honor."
(Esther 6:10-11 LSB)
The King's Command: An Unraveling (v. 10)
We begin with the king's jaw-dropping command to Haman in verse 10.
"Then the king said to Haman, 'Take quickly the robes and the horse as you have said, and do so for Mordecai the Jew, who is sitting at the king’s gate; do not fall short in anything of all that you have spoken.'" (Esther 6:10)
Imagine the silence in the room. Haman has just laid out, in breathless detail, his own personal fantasy of glory. The royal robe, the king's own horse, the crown, the parade. He thinks the king is asking for suggestions for Haman's upcoming employee-of-the-month award. And the king, Ahasuerus, a man not known for his sharp intellect or moral fiber, becomes in this moment the unwitting instrument of divine justice. God can make a donkey speak, and He can certainly use a dull-witted pagan king to deliver a line with perfect comedic timing.
"Take quickly," the king says. Hurry up. Don't dawdle. The urgency of the command must have been the first stab of cold steel in Haman's gut. The king is enthusiastic about this plan. And then comes the name that unravels Haman's entire world: "Mordecai the Jew." Not just any man, but the very man Haman has come to kill. The man sitting at the king's gate, the man whose simple, unbending integrity has been a constant source of rage for the proud Agagite.
Notice the glorious specificity. God is in the details. The king identifies him by his people, "the Jew," which is the very reason Haman wants to exterminate him and his race. He identifies him by his location, "sitting at the king's gate," the very spot where Haman's pride was daily offended. God is not just defeating Haman; He is rubbing his nose in it. He is making the punishment fit the crime with glorious, tailor-made precision.
And the final twist of the knife: "do not fall short in anything of all that you have spoken." Every single detail that Haman dreamed up for himself must now be lavished upon his enemy. He has to fetch the robe he coveted. He has to lead the horse he longed to ride. He has to shout the praises he ached to hear. Haman has meticulously designed his own humiliation. This is a profound spiritual principle. The lusts and proud ambitions of the wicked are the raw materials God uses to fashion their destruction. The pit they dig for the righteous becomes their own grave (Psalm 7:15). The net they hide catches their own feet (Psalm 9:15).
The Obedience of the Damned (v. 11)
Verse 11 describes the bitter, soul-crushing task that Haman is now forced to perform.
"So Haman took the robe and the horse and clothed Mordecai and led him on horseback through the city square and called out before him, 'Thus it shall be done to the man whom the king delights to honor.'" (Esther 6:11 LSB)
There is no argument. There is no protest. Haman is trapped. To disobey the king is death. His only option is to swallow the gall and ashes of his pride and obey. And so, the man who wanted nothing more than to see Mordecai hanging high and dead is now forced to be his personal valet and town crier.
Think of the scene. Haman, the second most powerful man in the empire, has to go to the king's gate, find Mordecai, and say something like, "Excuse me. The king has instructed me to give you this robe. And this horse. And, if you'll just follow me, I am to lead you through the city and shout about how wonderful you are." Every step of that parade must have been a fresh hell for Haman. Every cheer from the crowd for Mordecai was a hammer blow to his soul. The very honor he lived for was being given to the man he hated, and he was forced to be the master of ceremonies.
And what of Mordecai? The text is beautifully silent about his reaction. He simply receives the honor. This is important. Mordecai's earlier refusal to bow to Haman was not, as some might piously assume, a refusal of all civil honor. It was a refusal to honor a wicked man, an Agagite, a spiritual descendant of the Amalekites whom God had commanded Israel to blot out. Mordecai was not being a sourpuss anarchist. He was being covenantally faithful. But when the king, the legitimate civil authority, commands that he be honored, he receives it. He understands the place of civil government. His objection was to Haman's character, not to the concept of honor itself.
The proclamation itself is the final irony. "Thus it shall be done to the man whom the king delights to honor." These are Haman's own words, coming back to mock him from his own mouth. He is forced to publicly announce his own defeat and the victory of God's chosen servant. He becomes a prophet of his own doom.
The Great Reversal and the Gospel
This story is a historical narrative, but it is more than that. It is a trailer for the gospel. It is a preview of the ultimate reversal that God accomplishes in the person and work of Jesus Christ. The world is full of Hamans, full of proud and rebellious men who hate God's anointed and plot against His people. They build their gallows, their systems of oppression, their towers of Babel, their secular empires, and they believe they are winning.
But God has a Mordecai. He has a beloved Son, Jesus Christ, who sat humbly at the gate. He was despised and rejected by men. The Hamans of this world, the chief priests, the scribes, the Roman governors, plotted against Him. They took Him and hung Him on a tree, a gallows of their own making. They thought they had won. They thought they had silenced the one whose righteousness offended them. They rolled a stone in front of the tomb and went back to their palaces, confident in their victory.
But God was up early on the third day. And He orchestrated the greatest reversal in the history of the cosmos. He took the very instrument of shame and death, the cross, and made it the instrument of salvation and glory. He took the one who was executed and made Him the King of kings and Lord of lords. God said to the Devil, and to Herod, and to Pilate, and to every proud rebel, "Take the robes of glory, the name that is above every name, and the royal procession of the ascension, and do so for Jesus the Nazarene. Proclaim before the entire cosmos that this is the man whom the King of Heaven delights to honor."
And one day, every Haman will bow. Every knee will bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father (Philippians 2:10-11). Some will do so in joyful adoration, and others will do so with the gall and ashes of Haman in their mouths, but all will do it. The story of Esther is a promise in miniature that history is moving toward this great and final coronation. God's enemies will be made His footstool, and His people, like Mordecai, will be vindicated. This is the logic of the gospel. It is the reason we can have a rugged, muscular optimism about the future. The pride of man will always build its own gallows. But the humble faithfulness of God's people will, in the end, be led in triumph through the city square.