Dan Olinger

"If the Bible is true, then none of our fears are legitimate, none of our frustrations are permanent, and none of our opposition is significant."

Dan Olinger

Chair, Division of Biblical Studies & Theology,

Bob Jones University

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Reasons to Celebrate in Hard Times (Psalm 103), Part 4: Let Us Thank Him

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Part 1: God Is Good to You and Me | Part 2: God Is Good to His People | Part 3: God Is Great

How do we respond to God’s goodness and greatness, to his utter commitment to seek and accomplish our welfare, forever?

Our response should be automatic, immediate, and immense.

We should be grateful.

We should all be grateful.

David makes that point with a crescendo of praise:

20 Bless the LORD, ye his angels, that excel in strength, that do his commandments, hearkening unto the voice of his word.

I teach systematic theology, with its 10 traditional doctrinal units. The unit on salvation—soteriology—is a lot longer than the unit on angels, for a simple reason: we don’t know much about angels, because we’re not told much.

We do know that we humans are “a little lower than the angels” (Ps 8.5), and that they serve both God (our verse here) and God’s people (He 1.14); that they have considerable, but not infinite, power (Da 10.13); and that some of them, at least, enter God’s throne room (Is 6.2). These are not personages to be trifled with.

But David calls them to praise God. And then he escalates.

21 Bless ye the LORD, all ye his hosts; ye ministers of his, that do his pleasure.

God often refers to himself as “the LORD of hosts,” a title we take to speak of his power to enforce his will, backed as he is by heavenly armies. (Of course, as omnipotent, he doesn’t need the backing, but it makes for powerful imagery [2K 6.17].)

All those hosts? The ones with the chariots of fire? They bow in humble corporate gratitude before him who is good, who is great.

22 Bless the LORD, all his works in all places of his dominion.

Remember how, during Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the Pharisees told him to hush the exuberant crowd? Do you remember what Jesus said to them?

“If these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out” (Lk 19.40).

The inanimate creation itself knows its creator, and David calls it to do the obvious thing—to call out in praise to him.

Which, come to think of it, creation does, every day, and every night (Ps 19.1-6).

I’ve heard that song on the beach at 6.30 am, when I stand with a small band of strangers to watch the glowing orb first peek its beams over the clear horizon.

I’ve heard it while viewing the butterfly display at Chicago’s Field Museum, each creature a different color, some even changing colors as you walk by—even though they’re dead—and meditating on the size of heaven’s graphic design department, all their energies expended on creatures that are made of paper and live for just a week.

I’ve heard it while meditating on flagellates, those tiny creatures that inhabit the digestive tract of termites and break down the indigestible cellulose—which is the only thing that termites eat—into substances that the termite can digest, all the while being protected by the termite from the surrounding oxygen, which is toxic to flagellates. (Which do you suppose evolved first—termites? or flagellates?)

I’ve heard it while threading between thunderheads while negotiating Bozeman Pass in a Cherokee Six.

I’ve heard it in the immense darkness of night in Death Valley or a Nebraska ranch or a Pacific or Caribbean island when I tip my head back toward the sky and stand awash in the light of millions of stars.

Creation’s praise continues all around us, 24 hours a day, despite the brokenness of the planet.

And so I conclude as David does—

Bless the LORD, O my soul.

How can I keep from singing?

I note that there’s more to come.

One day, soon enough in God’s eternal timetable, we all—all God’s people, all his servants, human and otherwise—will surround his throne and sing his praises, millions of voices, including my currently feeble one, raised in perfect praise to the one who is worthy, because he is good, and because he is great, and because he has loved and rescued us.

Even so.

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

Reasons to Celebrate in Hard Times (Psalm 103), Part 3: God Is Great

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Part 1: God Is Good to You and Me | Part 2: God Is Good to His People 

It’s often been said that if God is great but not good, we’re doomed to extinction; if he’s good but not great, then we’re doomed as well, because there’s nothing he can do about our needs. David has delighted us with his meditation on God’s goodness, but now he exponentiates that delight by noting that God can—and will—do all that his goodness motivates him to do.

To begin with, he knows (Ps 103.14)—specifically, he knows the weakness of our constitution (“our frame, … that we are dust,” as the KJV so lyrically puts it).

The fact that God knows all things is an immense assurance to us, his people. He knows who we are and what we are; he knows what’s coming down the highway at us; he knows what it will take to deliver us from the Enemy. He knows.

And because he is good—a point David has already established—he loves us and wills to deliver us.

Omniscience is one of the noncommunicable attributes of God, one of the ways he stands apart from, and above, all other beings and all the forces of his creation. When we face the complexities of life, there’s a lot we don’t know, and we find that ignorance frustrating—“What should I do?”—and sometimes even fear-inducing—“What’s going to happen to me?” But he knows.

There’s more.

He lives.

We have a few short years—as I approach age 70, I understand all the more how short they are—in which we can get done all those things we seek to accomplish, the bucket list and everything else. We’re constantly frustrated by the obvious fact that there just isn’t enough time.

15 As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. 16 For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more.

But God, God lives forever. He has always existed, and he always will. For him there is no deadline pressure, no crowded schedule, no ebbing of strength or mental focus.

And that means that his attributes, all of them, have always been and always will be. That goodness David told us about? Still good. Always will be.

Here David focuses on a single aspect of God’s goodness:

17 But the mercy of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him, and his righteousness unto children’s children.

Here the KJV calls this attribute “mercy,” which in English is the withholding of deserved punishment. That in itself is a remarkable source of hope.

But the other English versions render this word differently:

  • NASB: “lovingkindness”
  • ESV: “steadfast love”
  • CSB: “faithful love”
  • NIV “love”

It should occur to us that these are much bigger ideas than just mercy, the withholding of punishment. And that’s a clue that there’s more to this underlying Hebrew word than we might expect.

This is the word hesed, which is one of the most theologically significant words in the entire Hebrew Scripture. It’s the focus of the most often-repeated verse in the Bible: “his mercy endureth forever.” When I was in Seminary, my Hebrew professor glossed it as “steadfast loving loyalty.”

This is covenantal commitment to an important relationship. It’s the fierce determination to see to the welfare of someone you are committed to in love. It’s how husbands ought to treat their wives, and wives their husbands, and parents their children, and children their parents.

Totally committed. Determined.

That’s how God sees his people. And he sees them that way forever. No matter what.

If you’re his child, he is committed to exercising his goodness on your behalf for as long as he lives—until, as the founder of my university put it, “the angels sing a funeral dirge over his grave.”

And that, my friends, will never happen.

He is infinitely good, and he is infinitely great. He wants to protect, direct, and empower his people; he is able to do that; and he is committed to do it.

So how should we respond?

Next time.

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

Reasons to Celebrate in Hard Times (Psalm 103), Part 2: God Is Good to His People

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Part 1: God Is Good to You and Me

David—or whoever wrote this Psalm—has begun with a call to praise God, and he’s given as his first reason a series of good things God has done for him—and you, and me; the recipients there are all singular. In the next section he changes to the plural; he talking about things that God has done not just for “me,” but for “us”—for his people corporately. Throughout history, God has consistently intervened to meet the greatest needs of his people.

At Israel’s birth as a nation, God revealed himself to them in multiple ways: at the burning bush (Ex 3.1-6), through the plagues in Egypt (Ex 5-12), at the parting of the Red Sea (Ex 14.21-31), and at Sinai (Ex 20). In fact, verse 8 of our Psalm is essentially a direct quotation of Exodus 20.6.

And what is the characteristic of God—what is the good thing about him—that the Psalmist chooses to highlight in this section?

Mercy.

In his dealings with his people, God is the sort of person who doesn’t give them the punishment that they deserve. Despite our sin, despite our selfishness, despite our arrogance and disrespect toward him, he shows mercy.

Specifically,

  • He is slow to anger (Ps. 103.8). He doesn’t lose his temper or lash out in uncontrolled rage. He puts up with a lot from us and doesn’t crush us like a bug—which, as omnipotent, he certainly could. He deals with us carefully, tenderly, reasonably, patiently.
  • When he does get angry—and when he should get angry,* he does—he doesn’t stay that way forever (Ps 103.9). When his justified anger has accomplished his purpose, he calmly sets it aside.
  • His dealings with us are underproportioned (Ps 103.10). He doesn’t give us the negative things we deserve.

He is merciful—filled with mercy, the attribute that stops punishment or consequence well short of what is truly called for.

And why is that?

Well, for starters, that’s who he is, and he always acts consistently with his nature.

But the Psalmist highlights another reason: he has a relationship with us; we are his people (Ps 103.11-13).

  • We fear him, reverence him, recognize his fatherhood over us (Ps 103.11).
  • He has removed our transgressions from us (Ps 103.12), as far as the east is from the west. I’ve traveled to the other side of the world both by going east and by going west, and I can tell you that they never meet. Why has he done this remarkable thing? Why has he unburdened us of the guilt of our sin? From the Psalmist’s perspective, he’s done so because Israel is his people, his special flock, and he’s given them the grace of forgiving their sins when they offer the specified sacrifices at the specified place. We who are not physical Israel know that those sacrifices prefigured another sacrifice, a greater, perfect sacrifice, offered by God the Son through the eternal Spirit unto God the Father. God has forgiven us because our sin debt has been paid, and we are now cloaked in the righteousness of Christ.
  • He is our Father, and we are his children (Ps 103.13). That’s a significant relationship, a permanent one, one that calls for love and patience and loyalty and provision and protection.

So it’s not just that God’s a nice person, nice to all the human persons in a beneficent sort of way. No, we his people are corporeal, a body, a flock, and we have a relationship with the God who created and redeemed us. He’s good to us for reasons far deeper than the need to help a beggar on the street or an accident victim on the highway.

We’re family.

And we’ll always be family.

* There are times when anger is the only appropriate response. If you see a child being sexually abused, you should get angry, and you should put a stop to it. Injustice should make us angry and spur us to action. Imminent threats to the well-being of those we love should make us angry. They make God angry, and that is a virtue, not a weakness or a flaw.

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

Reasons to Celebrate in Hard Times (Psalm 103), Part 1: God Is Good to You and Me

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We live in unstable and unhappy times. Lots of people are complaining—and there’s a lot to complain about. But we all know that living in a spirit of complaint isn’t good for us, and we also know that we tend to magnify our difficulties and minimize our joys.

I’ve been spending extra time in the Psalms lately, and I’ve found that time to be well invested. It’s good to be around happy people—though not all the Psalms are happy, certainly—and it’s good to be reminded that our time is not substantially different from what lots of other people have endured, and over which they have triumphed.

Psalm 103 is a simple meditation on good things, encouraging things—and better yet, eternal things. According to its superscription, it’s Davidic—by David, or perhaps for him or in his style; the Hebrew preposition can mean a lot of things. It begins and ends with a call to praise, first by the author himself (Ps 103.1-2) and at the last by all of creation (Ps 103.20-22). In between, the Psalmist considers some of the reasons why we should praise God—and along the way there’s a hint that his life hasn’t been all sunshine and roses.

We’ve all heard the children’s prayer at mealtime:

God is great,
God is good;
Let us thank him
For our food.

This psalm appears to pray that prayer on a much grander scale.

The Psalmist begins—after the initial call to praise—with God’s goodness (“his benefits,” Ps 103.2), and specifically his goodness to the Psalmist himself as an individual. He lists those benefits in two categories.

First, God has delivered him (and you, and me) from many of the negative things about life:

  • He forgives all your sins (Ps 103.3).
    • We’re defeated by an enemy far greater than we are; we’re at the mercy of sin, and we even find ourselves being attracted by it. We’ve sinned ourselves so deeply into slavery and brokenness that there seems to be no hope for us.
    • But God has stepped into our misery and has rescued us, applying Christ’s righteousness to us and forgiving the depraved things we’ve done. Further, he’s cast them into the sea (Mic 7.19), as far from us as the east is from the west (as we’ll see later in the psalm).
  • He heals all your diseases (Ps 103.3).
    • Is this line an indication that the Psalmist has just come through hard times? He seems to speak from experience.
    • We find that often physical healing is available to us in answer to our prayers; but I think, given the close reference to forgiveness of sins, that we should consider our healing from spiritual sickness and death (Ep 2.1-7) here.
    • And further, we anticipate the day when there will be no more disease—physical or spiritual—because God has brought history full circle and returned us to the “very good” state in which we began (Re 21.4).
  • He redeems us from destruction (Ps 103.4)—that is, he sets us on a path to life instead of death.

Then the Psalmist considers how he has replaced those negative things with positive ones:

  • He crowns us with lovingkindness and tender mercies (Ps 103.4)—that is, he pours out his loving loyalty and his compassion on us. He is a gentle and committed shepherd.
  • He feeds us well, nourishing us for strength (Ps 103.5). I think it’s interesting that God made food taste good. He could have made it all a tasteless grey paste, just something we have to choke down every so often to keep our strength up. But he didn’t do that; he made food really good. Salty, sweet, sour, bitter, meaty. Cold, hot, and in between. Crunchy, smooth, creamy, crispy. It’s all good.

There’s a lot more that God does for each of us that demonstrates his goodness; the Psalmist has given us just a sampling. We can profitably meditate on the much longer list. And as we’ll see, the Psalmist is just getting started.

Next time.

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

On Korah … and His Sons, Part 2: Grace

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Part 1: Judgment

Our story so far is riddled with judgment; it seems like fodder for the old allegation that the God of the Old Testament is a God of impatience, fury, judgment, and violence.

But there’s a reason that allegation has been long and thoroughly discredited.

Even in the telling of this story, there is grace.

To begin with, the fact that there can even be a rebellion is evidence of grace. God has pronounced judgment on this generation of Israelites because of their unbelief at Kadesh-barnea, but he hasn’t withdrawn from them either his presence or the promises he has made. They are still a nation, with laws and order and stable leadership. If they had gotten what they deserved, there would have been nothing to rebel against.

And that leadership, who have been directly attacked, do not lash out against the threat; they leave the decision to God (Nu 16.5)—even though they’re furious (Nu 16.15). Even the Lord, to whom belongs judgment, doesn’t lash out; his glory appears, giving all who see time to avert the judgment (Nu 16.19). And with judgment impending, Moses—of all people—intercedes for the lives of those in peril (Nu 16.22), and then tells everyone the way of escape (Nu 16.26).

After the outbreak of judgment against the rebels, God orders memorial in the altar plates, so that the people will be reminded of the danger that lurks down the road of rebellion (Nu 16.38).

And when the rebellion continues in spite of everything, Moses and Aaron intercede to stop the plague that is now raging.

Grace at every turn.

But still there’s more.

There’s a little line later in the book, one that seems like a throwaway—

“Notwithstanding the children of Korah died not” (Nu 26.11).

God allowed Korah’s line to continue.

And 500 years later, we hear from them again.

When Solomon instituted the Temple ceremonies, he retained the Levite orders; the descendants of Korah who had not died served in the temple. And what a service they had.

(I should say here that some scholars believe that these Temple workers were descended from a different Levite named Korah, based on 1Ch 9.19. I’m inclined to disagree, because 1) 1Ch 9.19 doesn’t require that this be a different Korah—in fact, “both” Korahs have a son named Ebiasaph [1Ch 6.37-38]); 2) The rebel Korah’s people were in fact Levites engaged to serve in the Tabernacle complex; and 3) There seems to be no reason for the Spirit to inspire the “throwaway line” about Korah’s children not dying if they’re just going to disappear from history at that point.)

The Korahites served as porters, bakers, and musicians—and the musicians wrote eleven of the Psalms: 42-49, 84-85, and 87-88.

And if you’ll look through these Psalms, you’ll find that they contain some of the most lyrical lines in the whole hymnbook—

Psalm 42:

1 As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God. 2 My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God? … 11 Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.

Psalm 45:

6 Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever: the sceptre of thy kingdom is a right sceptre. 7 Thou lovest righteousness, and hatest wickedness: therefore God, thy God, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows. 8 All thy garments smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia, out of the ivory palaces, whereby they have made thee glad.

Psalm 46:

1 God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. 2 Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; 3 Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. 4 There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High. 5 God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early.

Psalm 48:

1 Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised in the city of our God, in the mountain of his holiness. 2 Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is mount Zion, on the sides of the north, the city of the great King.

Psalm 84:

1 How amiable are thy tabernacles, O LORD of hosts! 2 My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for the courts of the LORD: my heart and my flesh crieth out for the living God. 3 Yea, the sparrow hath found an house, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even thine altars, O LORD of hosts, my King, and my God.

Psalm 85:

10 Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other.

Psalm 87:

3 Glorious things are spoken of thee, O city of God.

The rebels learned. And a gracious God restored to them a heritage.

We’re all rebels. But rebels can repent, and repentant rebels can thrive.

Photo credit: publishers of the 1890 Holman Bible, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

On Korah … and His Sons, Part 1: Judgment

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The Old Testament book of Numbers is the story of the 40 years that the Israelites wandered in the Wilderness of Sinai. (I’ve written on the book’s larger significance here.) This whole period is of course a judgment for the nation’s unbelief at Kadesh-barnea; because Israel did not believe that God would give them the land he had promised to Abraham and his descendants, that unbelieving generation would die in the Wilderness, and their children, for whose lives they had feared, would take the land instead (Nu 13.26-14.35).

It’s no surprise, then, that we find individual acts of judgment popping up throughout the book. One of the most remarkable of those is what we call Korah’s rebellion; it’s notable for both the starkness of the judgment and the extravagance of the mercy that God extended.

We find the account in Numbers 16, a longer-than-usual chapter. We meet two relatively small groups of Israelites who believe that Moses and Aaron have taken more authority on themselves than they should have. The leader of one group is Korah, a Levite, and in fact a first cousin of Moses and Aaron (Ex 6.18, 20; Nu 16.1). The two leaders of the other group are Dathan and Abiram, members of the tribe of Reuben (Nu 16.1)—who, incidentally, was Jacob’s firstborn and rightful heir, but who lost the primogeniture for sleeping with his father’s concubine (Gn 35.22; 49.3-4). It’s easy to see how all three of those men would have been jealous of Moses’ authority— “why him and not us?”

Their charge is that Moses and Aaron haven taken this authority upon themselves illegitimately (Nu 16.3, 13). Evidently, they see as evidence of that the fact that Israel has not entered the Promised Land (Nu 16.14)—which seems weak evidence, given that the people themselves had refused to go in.

Moses’ response to the challenge is straightforward. Do Korah and his followers want to be priests alongside his cousin Aaron? Well, then, they should bring censers before the Lord alongside Aaron, and we’ll see what the Lord has to say about that (Nu 16.16-19).

And so they do. There are 250 men, each with a smoking censer, standing next to Moses and Aaron.

The glory of the Lord appears (Nu 16.19), and, remarkably, Moses begins to intercede for those facing judgment (Nu 16.22). And at the Lord’s command, Moses warns the whole congregation to get away from the rebels to avoid their fate (Nu 16.24-26).

As always, some believe the prophet, and others don’t. They act—or don’t act—in accordance with their belief, and unbelief brings consequences. In this case, the earth opens and swallows the rebels (Nu 16.31-33).

God orders the survivors to make metal plates from the rebels’ censers and to cover the altar with them (Nu 16.38). There will be a permanent reminder of the sin that brings judgment (Nu 16.40).

But this is not the end of the story.

Incredibly, rebellion continues. “All the congregation” accuses Moses of having killed good people (Nu 16.41).

Isn’t this ludicrous?! The earth opened up, for crying out loud. Shouldn’t that be an indication that Moses had supernatural backing? And “all the congregation” is unable to see what’s plainly before their eyes?!

Yikes.

And here comes the glory of the Lord, for the second time (Nu 16.42). A plague begins to spread among the people (Nu 16.46), and Moses sends Aaron out through the camp with a burning censer—a legitimate one (Nu 16.47).

“And he stood between the dead and the living, and the plague was stopped” (Nu 16.48).

This is not a pleasant episode in Israel’s history. I’m confident that none of us would want to have been there to see it.

But, as always, there is grace throughout this account, and even more grace to follow. We’ll consider that aspect of the story next time.

Photo credit: publishers of the 1890 Holman Bible, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Second King, Part 10: The Missing Piece

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Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: We’ll See Who’s Boss | Part 3: Selfish Aims | Part 4: The King Gets What He Wants | Part 5: A Roll of the Dice | Part 6: The Tease | Part 7: Any Old Tablet | Part 8: Mental Explosion | Part 9: What Goes Around

With Haman out of the picture, we all know the rest of the story. There’s still the problem of the unalterable date for the extermination of the Jews. Xerxes promotes Mordecai to Haman’s place (Es 8.2) and assigns him to solve the problem (Es 8.8). Mordecai’s solution is both simple and just: authorize the Jews to use deadly force if necessary to defend themselves (Es 8.11). With that decree, the earlier one largely loses its force, since government sanction of murder kind of loses its appeal if you’re not protected from the consequences.

There are apparently a good number who don’t use discretion on the matter, and they face the consequences of their actions. And the long-range consequence is that today the Jews have a holiday, Purim (“lots”), so-called for the casting of lots by which Haman determined on what day the genocide of the Jews would occur.

This is the story in broad strokes. But there’s something missing.

We’ve seen an awful lot of coincidences in this story.

  • Mordecai hears of the assassination plot.
  • One night the king can’t sleep.
  • His servant picks a random clay tablet from the archives.
  • Haman is standing outside as the tablet is read.
  • Haman assumes the king’s question is about him.
  • Haman doesn’t know Esther’s ethnicity.
  • The king completely misconstrues Haman’s actions toward Esther.

Are these all just coincidences? Are the Jews the luckiest people ever?

That’s just not reasonable.

It really seems as though someone is directing the progress of this plot. There’s intelligence behind it.

Whose intelligence? Esther’s? Mordecai’s?

That’s ridiculous. Esther couldn’t have predicted that she would be queen, and neither of them could have directed the servant to choose that particular tablet from the archives, or could have misdirected the king to interpret Haman’s motives completely inaccurately.

No, this intelligence is bigger than either of them, or both of them put together.

This is a divine providence.

But—and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this—there’s no God in this book. That is, he’s never mentioned.

Mordecai gets close when he tells Esther that she may have come to the kingdom for such a time as this (Es 4.14), but that’s an implication, not a specification.

God’s not mentioned. Anywhere.

But if you don’t see him in this story, you’re not paying attention.

And that means that this story has significance even for people who don’t celebrate Purim.

We all face difficulties of various kinds, even threats. And when we do, we want a visible—and powerful, and loud—Deliverer. We want intervention. We want action. We want a beatdown.

But God doesn’t need to do all that. He can deliver us in any way he chooses, and these days those ways don’t include voices from heaven or angelic armies. Sometimes he just keeps somebody awake. Sometimes he just lets somebody overhear something. Sometimes somebody just picks out exactly the right random thing.

Even when God is silent, he is there, and he is at work, including caring for his people.

He’s the real King.

Photo credit: Xerxes’ tomb; dynamosquito from France, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Second King, Part 9: What Goes Around 

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Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: We’ll See Who’s Boss | Part 3: Selfish Aims | Part 4: The King Gets What He Wants | Part 5: A Roll of the Dice | Part 6: The Tease | Part 7: Any Old Tablet | Part 8: Mental Explosion 

Haman’s confidence at last night’s banquet has disappeared. Now he knows that one of the Jews he has convinced the king to execute—Mordecai—is an honored court official, and that as his wife has so helpfully pointed out, at some point in the next eleven months before the determined day of genocide, he’s going to be in a very difficult situation.

But for tonight, at least, he’s a guest of the king and queen, and there will be feasting. Might as well eat, drink, and be merry, even if at some point we die. Everybody dies eventually, right?

I’m speculating here. The writer has ended chapter 6 with a sense of foreboding; in the movie version there would be ominous music over that last sentence of the chapter. Whether Haman shares that sense of foreboding isn’t stated.

At this feast, as at the previous one, the king demonstrates that he knows this whole thing isn’t about eating or social interaction. He asks his queen again, “What is it that you want? I am willing, eager to give you whatever you might ask” (Es 7.2).

When he had asked her that question the previous night, she had simply put him off for a day, most likely to build anticipation and thus to heighten the shock of what she was going to reveal.

Now it’s time.

She asks the king to deliver her and her people from extinction (Es 7.3-4).

I note that even at this point, she does not mention the word “Jews.” It’s likely that Haman still doesn’t know her ethnicity; he may still have no idea how much trouble he’s in at this moment.

Xerxes is puzzled. Who in his right mind would seek to exterminate the Queen—and all her people? What madness is this? Don’t these morons know who they’re dealing with?

So he asks (Es 7.5). Whoever the criminals are, they will be neutralized.

And now, in one brief sentence (Es 7.6) it all comes crashing down.

It’s Haman.

This has to be the fastest transition from Clueless to Uh-Oh in the history of ever.

The king, realizing that he has been betrayed by his highest-ranking official, and likely not knowing that Haman had no idea he was endangering the Queen, storms in a rage out into the garden, likely in an effort to compose himself. Haman, now able to smell the aroma of cooked goose, moves to the Queen to beg for his life.

We know that it was customary in biblical times to eat at a low table or off a mat on the floor. The diners would recline on one side, propped up on an elbow. This was the procedure at the Last Supper, for example, when John the apostle reclined on Jesus’ breast (Jn 13.23). With that in mind, I suspect that Haman jumped to his feet, walked over to where the Queen was reclining (KJV calls it a “bed”; most modern versions call it a “couch”), and then threw himself down into a position of supplication. Angry because a Jew would not bow to him, he now ironically bows willingly at the feet of another Jew.

The king, presumably having composed himself, returns to the room to find Haman and the Queen both reclined in proximity to one another, and Haman clearly highly agitated and active, and he assumes that he’s witnessing a sexual assault (Es 7.8).

Yikes.

The king is now completely wrong twice over about Haman’s intentions. Haman had no intention of endangering the Queen in his attack on Mordecai, and of course he has no intention of assaulting the Queen with anything more than appeals for his life.

But the very act of pleading for his life has now ensured that it is forfeit.

What rotten luck.

A court official helpfully informs the king that there’s an instrument of execution ready—in Haman’s back yard, in fact. Apparently Haman had colleagues at court who were not his friends.

Off—and up—he goes.

Justice.

But we recall that even with Haman dead, the genocide proclamation is still in force and unalterable. We have a loose end to tie up.

Next time.

Part 10: The Missing Piece

Photo credit: Xerxes’ tomb; dynamosquito from France, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Second King, Part 8: Mental Explosion

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Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: We’ll See Who’s Boss | Part 3: Selfish Aims | Part 4: The King Gets What He Wants | Part 5: A Roll of the Dice | Part 6: The Tease | Part 7: Any Old Tablet

So the sleepy servant begins to read the cuneiform to the unsleepy king. And as he reads, the king gets un- and unsleepier. : – )

He’s hearing the story of how two of his court officials had been plotting to assassinate him, and someone named Mordecai had saved his life by reporting them.

As I’ve noted before, plots against Xerxes’ life were apparently common enough that now the king doesn’t even remember this specific event, even though he had ordered the execution of the conspirators (Es 2.23). In any case, he (probably) sits up in bed and asks what has been done to reward Mordecai for saving his life. The servants attending the king tell him that no reward has been given (Es 6.3).

Well. That’s just not right. He saved my life; we ought to do something for him. Since it was my life—the most important life in the kingdom, obviously—that he saved, we ought to do something really cool.

I need some creative ideas. Who’s got some ideas? Is there anybody in the courtyard?

Well, your Persianness, it’s the middle of the night; but surprisingly, there’s actually somebody out there—Haman, your highest court official (Es 3.1, 6.4).

Excellent! He’s a smart one; he’ll have some ideas. Get him in here.

Now, we can see the comedy coming. The king wants to reward Mordecai in some creative, spectacular way. Haman’s intention is to ask the king to authorize an early execution of, um, that very same Mordecai. The plot is getting downright Shakespearean. Or O. Henryian.

Haman is likely surprised at being ushered into Xerxes’ bedchamber in the middle of the night. This must be a pressing matter of State.

The king asks him a terse question: “What should be done for a man the king wants to honor?”

Now, we already know that Haman is a self-centered person. So we’re not surprised that his revealed motive isn’t “How can I be of service to the king?” but “Ooh! This is about me, isn’t it?!” (Es 6.6).

So Haman assumes that he’s the person the king wants to honor. And since we know that, we have a chance to see deep into his heart.

He offers his counsel—treat the man as if he were the king himself. Adorn the man in the royal robes, and place him on the royal steed, and parade him around the city, proclaiming his greatness.

What does this tell us?

Haman wants to be king.

He’s the very last person the king should want to be advising him. He’s a danger to the king and to the state. He’s no better than those two court officials whom the king had executed.

But the king can’t read Haman’s real motives, and he’s thinking of Mordecai anyway. So the suggestion sounds great to him. He tells Haman to make it so (Es 6.10).

We love imagining the explosion that must have occurred in Haman’s brain when he heard the king’s key words: “Mordecai the Jew.” I wonder what his face looked like.

At this point Haman does the one wise thing recorded of him in the whole Bible. He decides that this probably isn’t a good time to ask for the king’s permission to execute Mordecai.

Smart move.

He has an order from the king, and he obeys it.

Another smart move.

But again, I wonder what his face looked like.

And when Haman’s humiliating obedience is fulfilled, Mordecai returns to his normal life; boy, that was fun, but no big deal. And Haman, unsurprisingly, is humiliated, angry, unbelieving of all that has happened. Of all the rotten luck.

And now he has a second conversation with his household (Es 6.12-13), and the contrast with the earlier one (Es 5.10-14) is dramatic. His wife tells him, “Boy, you’ve done it now. If Mordecai’s a Jew, and the king’s proclamation—at your behest—can’t be altered, then, well, your goose is pretty much cooked.”

And here comes the king’s servant to escort him to dinner.

Stay tuned, my friends. This is going to be fun to watch.

Part 9: What Goes Around | Part 10: The Missing Piece

Photo credit: Xerxes’ tomb; dynamosquito from France, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Second King, Part 7: Any Old Tablet

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Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: We’ll See Who’s Boss | Part 3: Selfish Aims | Part 4: The King Gets What He Wants | Part 5: A Roll of the Dice | Part 6: The Tease

With Queen Esther’s plan in place, and in progress, the storyteller turns his focus to Haman. We already know that he’s proud and arrogant but not confident in his authority; he’s enraged by Mordecai’s simple refusal to bow to him—as if that matters—and his response far outmeasures the offense: he’s going to kill Mordecai, and he’s going to eradicate his entire people group.

The plan for the genocide is already in place, signed by the king and unalterable. Haman now turns to the specific task of getting rid of Mordecai without having to wait 11 months for the genocide date.

His approach has been affected, in ways he doesn’t realize, by Queen Esther, who has already outsmarted him. She knows of his arrogance and has played to it perfectly by inviting only him to join her and the king at a private but lavish feast—for two nights in a row.

His guard is completely down. After the first night, he goes home to his family and brags about the recognition (Es 5.11-12). But on the way home, the mere sight of Mordecai sitting in the gate increases his rage (Es 5.9). A slight has outweighed all the pleasures and privileges he holds in the kingdom.

He’s a petty, petty man.

And Esther knows it.

Haman’s wife and friends suggest that he rid himself of the problem of Mordecai with dispatch. He should build a gallows on which to hang the Jew.

When we hear “gallows,” we think of the hangman’s apparatus. But that’s not this at all.

This is a pointed stake, 75 feet tall (Es 5.14). You erect it, and then you lower the hapless victim onto the pointed top. It pierces his body, first from gravity and then from the writhing. When it gets to his heart—or maybe, mercifully, sooner—he dies.

I’m told that it’s an unpleasant way to go.

Haman likes the idea. He has his servants—he has plenty of servants—put the heinous contraption together.

He’s going to need the king’s permission to execute Mordecai before the appointed time. By now it’s nighttime, and the king isn’t available. But Mordecai clearly wants to get this thing done ASAP, so he takes the most efficient route open to him: he goes to the gate of the king’s court—probably the very place where he had seen Mordecai sitting earlier in the day—and he waits, like an iPhone fan waiting for the next model, or a Marvel fan waiting for the first showing. He’ll wait all night, he thinks, and be the first one in line in the morning. We’ll get this done.

He settles in.

And the whole story—all of it—hinges on what happens next (Es 6.1).

Xerxes can’t sleep.

That’s the hinge? A little thing like that?

Yep.

He can’t sleep.

So he calls a servant and tells him to go get a copy of the Congressional Record to read to him.

That’ll put him to sleep. Works every time.

And the servant, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and likely cursing the king under his breath, stumbles into the archive warehouse, weaves his way down a long aisle, and perhaps without even looking, pulls a nondescript clay tablet from a shelf. Doesn’t care what it is, because what it is doesn’t matter. Just need to get the stupid king back to sleep.

Back in the king’s bedchamber, the servant begins to read. This tablet, this randomly and blindly chosen tablet, is one we’ve seen before. It’s the scribal record of the two would-be assassins, who were executed after Mordecai reported them to the court.

What are the odds?

The hinge begins to move.

To be continued.

Part 8: Mental Explosion | Part 9: What Goes Around | Part 10: The Missing Piece

Photo credit: Xerxes’ tomb; dynamosquito from France, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons