All the royal officials at the king’s gate knelt down and paid honor to Haman, for the king had commanded this concerning him. But Mordecai would not kneel down or pay him honor.
Esther 3:2 (NIV)
It’s hard to believe that in April I’ll mark twenty years of chapter-a-day blogging. Two decades of mornings like this — coffee cooling, Scripture open, asking what the Great Story is doing in my small one. Along the way, some lessons have etched themselves in my mind and soul. One of those things is the repeated refrain “everything is connected.”
With today’s chapter, the story of Esther takes a dark turn. Vashti made her exit. Esther made her entrance. Now, it’s time for the villain of the story to take the stage. His name is Haman the Agagite. He is a rising star in the Xerxes administration. He climbs the imperial ladder and finds himself in the position of Xerxes right-hand man. He’s the second most powerful man of the world’s largest empire. With the position comes wealth, status, and the ability to sway the emperor.
When Haman and his entourage enter and leave the palace each day, the people in the streets were told to bow to Haman. History is filled with examples of what tyrants, monarchs, and dictators can easily make the masses do without question. Haman the Agagite is no different than men who came before him, and many men who would come after him. He commuted to work, and an empire bent at the waist as he passed.
One man refused.
Mordecai.
For days, Mordecai stands while everyone bows. No protest. No screaming about injustice. No raised placards. Just quiet refusal. Bowing is never just political. It is always, at some level, spiritual.
Tyrants, monarchs, and dictators don’t react well to those who refuse to bow. Haman is no different. Dishonored, angry, and enraged by Mordy’s daily refusal to bow, Haman institutes an internal investigation to discover the identity of his ego’s nemesis. That’s when he discovers that Mordecai is a Jew.
Stop right there.
I mentioned in yesterday’s post/podcast that a theme of Esther are things that are hidden. With the revelation of Mordecai’s nationality, there is a hidden plot twist lost to most readers.
When introduced in the story, we learn that Uncle Mordy was a descendant of Kish of the Hebrew tribe of Benjamin.
Reach back into the Great Story hundreds of years and there was another son of Kish of the tribe of Benjamin named Saul. He was the first king of Israel. One of the climactic moments of Saul’s tragic reign happens in 1 Samuel 15. He is fighting against Agag, king of the Amalekites. His instructions were to destroy Agag’s army completely. Saul failed to do so.
Fast forward hundreds of years in the empire of Persia.
Mordecai — descendant of Kish, from the same line as Saul — meets Haman, descendant of Agag.
Saul’s disobedience left a thread unfinished — and history has a way of tugging loose threads.
What goes around, comes around.
In the Great Story, everything is connected.
Mordecai is also not alone in his refusal to bow. He has other compatriots in the same exile who endured another tyrants demand to bow. Their names were Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. In fact, they served the previous empire under Nebuchadnezzar with their friend Daniel. Daniel survived to serve the Persian emperor, as well. Mordecai may have even crossed paths with him as an administrator in employ of the same empire. There is a precedent for Mordecai’s quiet courage.
In the Great Story, everything is connected.
Ancient hatreds are rekindled. One man refuses to bow and sparks Haman’s prejudices against an entire people. The second most powerful man in the world’s largest empire decides to kill all the Jews in the Empire. He plots a genocide. Long before there was Hitler and Himmler there was a man named Haman.
The Great Story and our history are also connected. As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, the story God is authoring in me is part of the Great Story He is authoring between Genesis and Revelation.
In the quiet this morning, this leaves me to asking myself an important rhetorical question.
Where do I bow?
The masses in Susa simply bowed. It was practical, safe, and expected.
Only Uncle Mordy stood.
Faith often begins there, not with heroics — just a quiet spine.
One man standing exposes evil, provokes hatred, and begins deliverance. God often writes history through the smallest acts of loyalty. Mordecai’s refusal looks insignificant. But heaven notices loyalty that makes empires rage. And sometimes the whole story turns on one person who stays standing when everyone else kneels.
What would it take to make me bow?
That’s where today’s chapter ends, and where my story connects and continues.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
