Introduction

The book of Esther presents a seemingly impossible situation: God's people face annihilation, Persian decrees cannot be overturned, and God appears to be completely silent. We might expect a burning bush, ten plagues, or some dramatic miraculous intervention. We would expect that God is going to act in a dramatic and certain way. Instead, the Lord works through something far more ordinary. He works through the boredom of insomnia. His solution to cure the insomnia is to have Persia’s decrees read to him. This arbitrary moment changes the course of history and shows that Persia’s decrees will not stand.

The Providential Problem

Esther is caught between two unmovable Persian decrees. There is one forbidding wives from disrespecting their husbands. This was sent out to all the provinces.

There is another decree that calls for the annihilation, full extermination of the Jewish people in eleven months. This goes all the way back to Amalek trying to conquer Israel.

The messianic line itself is on the verge of being wiped out. Yet God's answer to this crisis is not a miracle, but insomnia. This seems absurd. The Lord parted the sea for Israel. He sent the 10 plagues. He made a donkey talk. Now, the Lord is working through a sleepless night? Well, the king is reminded that Mordecai saved his life. He also knows that Mordecai has not been rewarded for his deed. The sleepless night is interrupted by the morning and a man with an urgent request.

The King's Query

As the king searches for a way to honor Mordecai, Haman arrives at the palace. Haman has a spring in his step. He is going to overturn history and make things right. He is going to kill Saul’s descendant. His wife and friends came up with the plan. He just needs to manipulate the king a little bit.

The king notices that someone is outside and wants to know who it is. He learns that it is Haman. He invites Haman into the room, and before Haman can speak, the king asks him a question: what should be done for the man the king desires to honor? Haman, blinded by his own pride, assumes the king must mean him. He wants it to be public that he is significant in this kingdom. The best thing would be to have Mordecai sing Haman’s praises before Mordecai is exalted on the pole. So Haman gives his answer. He wants to be paraded around the city. He wants the royal robes on him. He wants to be on a royal horse.

The trap is sprung by Haman's own mouth. The king tells him to do exactly that, but for Mordecai the Jew. The man who wrote the decree to exterminate the Jewish people is now forced to parade his nemesis through the streets while shouting out Mordecai’s honor for all of Susa to hear. God is not sending a prophet. He is using Haman's own arrogance to proclaim the triumph of the messianic line. God’s decree will stand. His passive power is greater than the serpent’s scheming.

Haman's Horror

Haman rushes home in shame, and the advisors who once fueled his confidence now deliver a devastating verdict: Haman will not trample the serpent seed. The Lord does not need to use plagues to protect his people and undo Persia’s decree. He simply needs to inflict a restless night. Haman must come to grips with the fact that his wife cannot advise him out of this predicament.

Before Haman can even process this prophetic warning, the king's servants arrive to escort him to Esther's banquet. The narrative leaves us on a chilling cliffhanger, but the message is already clear. Unlike the unstable Persian king who regretted sending away Vashti, God does not reverse his decrees. The seed of the serpent will not stand. The messianic line will not be exterminated. And Haman, like Amalek before him, is running out of time. God’s promise is real. God is not manipulated by his advisers.

Conclusion

The book of Esther is a book criticized because God is silent. However, God is not passive. God is active in his silence. A night that seems arbitrary is all God needs to save his people.

He is working through the most mundane details of human life to ensure that his promises cannot fail. The decrees of Persia, for all their pomp, and certain decrees do not veto God’s will. The Lord promised to conquer death, and so he did in Christ, as Christ has been raised triumphantly from the grave.

In chapter 5 of Sinclair Ferguson's "Devoted to God," we confront an unavoidable reality: the Christian life is a battlefield. The moment you became a Christian, you stepped into a war zone where the flesh and the Spirit are locked in mortal combat for your soul.

Paul's command in Galatians 5 is both a promise and a call to action: "Walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh." This isn't about trying harder in your own strength. Christian holiness is rooted in what God has already done through Jesus Christ and the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Ferguson helps us understand that we live with a foot in two ages. We live in the old age dominated by flesh, sin, and death, and the new age dominated by the Spirit, grace, and life. We explore the biblical pattern of indicative (what God has done) leading to imperative (how we're called to live), and discover five practical principles.

This is a battle, but it's one we fight as wounded soldiers, encouraging each other onward and upward, always finding our resources in Christ.

Introduction

Most things that bring us comfort are only appropriate in proper situations. For instance, a warm blanket, a favorite flannel shirt, a pair of pajamas. Each has its place. You do not wear a blanket or pajamas in public settings. You do not wear an old comfy flannel shirt to a wedding.

But the Heidelberg Catechism opens with a striking claim: that there is a single comfort appropriate in every circumstance. In fact, this is a single comfort in life and in death. This raises an honest question: can any comfort truly be that universal? So we look at the claim of Heidelberg Catechism Question and Answer 1. What is our ONLY comfort in life and in death?

"I Give Them..”

At first glance, Christ's claim to give eternal life sounds more like an imposition than a comfort. If it's not something we opt into, is it really a gift? To answer this, the catechism points us to a hard truth: we are not neutral recipients. Like those enslaved by debt or victims of war, we are slaves. We are either slaves of sin or slaves of righteousness. We are slaves. (Romans 6:18)

The catechism reminds us that Christ is a faithful savior and not a tyrannical master. It's the portrait of a redeemer who pays the debt we couldn't pay and frees us from a master, the tyranny of the devil, who sought to destroy us. We learn that the Devil’s marketing pitch for Adam and Eve did not end well. It turns out that it is a good thing that Christ is overbearing, that he overwhelms us with His grace, as He gives us eternal life. This is the gift that we do not naturally want, but the gift that we need to live life to the fullest in this age. Truly, living life for Christ is the highest and greatest thing we can do rather than pursuing our own independence.

"They Will Never Perish"

This promise seems false. We go to Christian funerals, which means that Christians do die. Is Christ overpromising and underdelivering?

When we look deeper into Scripture, we see that "perish" implies something deeper than a mere physical death. In Mark 1:24, Christ encounters demons. They cry out, inquiring if Christ is going to destroy them/perish them. To perish is to be undone, destroyed, stripped of your identity and purpose. It is much more than death. What Christ promises is that the forces that assemble against his people will not succeed. We think of our sin or the sins that tempt us outside of us. We think of Satan and his satanic army. We think of any influence that pulls us from Christ. The assurance is that we will not be undone or overcome. We will never perish.

"No One Can Snatch Them”

We hear the promise that he knows all the numbers of the hair on our heads. This might sound creepy or overbearing. But when we read this statement in light of Christ as faithful Shepherd, it becomes something else entirely: an assurance that nothing in our lives escapes his notice or his care. He is not the hired hand who flees when the wolf appears. He is the Shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep. The high priestly prayer in John 17 reminds us that he intercedes on behalf of his people. The fourth servant song promises that: “yet he bore the sin of many, and makes intercession for the transgressors.”

So when Christ promises that no one will snatch them out of the Father’s hand, he is assuring us no one will seize us from our shepherd. The "snatching" language describes a forcible seizure against one's will. Christ's answer is that even this cannot prevail. The same one who prayed for his disciples on the eve of the cross still intercedes for those who believe through their word, two thousand years later.

We cannot see Christ as a creepy stalker. Rather, we need to see him as the empowering savior who protects his people. He does not empower us to live for ourselves, but to live for him. It is only as we live in communion with our Savior that we truly have life.

Conclusion

So, can there be only one comfort that is appropriate in every situation, season, and circumstance? Yes! The catechism's opening answer assures us of our value. Our value doesn't rest in our accomplishments, our reputation, or our self-determination. It rests on the fact that we bear the image of God. Our value rests in the fact that Christ has redeemed us. Our joy is living as slaves of righteousness as we walk in the Holy Spirit. We have been redeemed by Christ. The communion we once pushed away has been restored because the Good Shepherd sought us. He shepherds us through this life, through death itself, and into the age to come. The comfort of belonging to Christ isn't a soft sentiment for easy days. It is the one comfort sturdy enough for every circumstance because his sheep will not be undone. His sheep will never perish. His sheep will never be snatched. Let us proceed in the confidence that our Lord is our definitive redeemer.