Our Old Testament reading (Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; Esther 9:20-22) is one of the few times in the lectionary that we encounter the book of Esther. The book of Esther captures a pivotal moment in the history of the Jewish people, when queen Esther’s bravery saves her people from destruction. This incident is the basis for the Jewish festival of Purim, which is still celebrated to this day. It’s one of the few places in Old Testament Scripture where, given the patriarchal society of the day, a woman was God’s chosen instrument for the salvation of the Jews.
There’s a good bit of backstory behind today’s reading, and what a soap opera it is. The story takes place when the Jews were in exile in Babylon. Esther was a descendent of Jewish exiles. The king’s former wife, Vashti, had failed to show proper respect to the king – i.e. refused to put herself on displace on the king’s half-drunken command to the kings’ half-drunken, drooling court officials - and was therefore exiled. The nerve! Who did Vashti think she was! As the king got over both his hangover and his royal temper tantrum, he soon missed Vashti, and ordered all the virgins of the land to participate in a sort of royal beauty contest, with the prize being the privilege of being the queen. Esther was one of those summoned. Ultimately Esther was deemed the most beautiful of all, and won the privilege of being queen. She deemed it prudent to hide her Jewish ancestry – her status as a descendent of the exiles - from the king. Meanwhile, Esther’s cousin, Mordecai, who had raised her, had fallen foul of Haman, one of the king’s officials, and as a result, an order was given for the execution, not only of Mordecai, but of the entirety of the Jewish people. Hearing of the order, Mordecai implored the queen to use her access to the King to save her people. Said Mordecai, “If you keep silence at such a time as this, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter, but you and your father’s family will perish. Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.” Esther replied that it was against the law for her to approach the king on her own initiative; only if he held out the royal scepter would her life be spared. Nonetheless, she said, “I will go to the king, though it is against the law; and if I perish, I perish.” Esther put her life on the line, revealed her identity, and saved her people from destruction. Haman and his supporters found themselves hanging from the very same gallows that Haman had set up for the destruction of the Jews.
Consider what must have gone through the mind of the king at this time. The king’s advisors had talked about the Jews as “those people”, as “them.” As in “not us.” As in “other than us.” As in “maybe dangerous to us.” Had the king continued to see the Jews as “not us,” as “them,” they would have been destroyed. It took brave queen Esther to go to the king and risk her life to change his view, that the Jews were not “them – those people – an abstraction” but “me, the queen, the love of your life.” Because of Esther’s bravery, the Jews were no longer “them over there” but part of “us right here.” And of course, for the King, when Jews are part of the king’s household, are family to the king, the King will work to save them. Because Jews are no longer them, but us.
You. Me. Them. Us. Pronouns that draw lines or erase them, pronouns that draw circles to include or exclude. Pronouns that often determine how we respond to our neighbor – depending on whether that neighbor is a “them” or an “us.” Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount tells us to “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you so that you may be children of your father in heaven, for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.” If we listened, what a wonderful world itwould be. In this world, though, where we live, we all carry biases that make us treat those congenial to us very well, and sometimes to treat those not congenial to us – uh…not very well. Or if we’re not hostile to the “them’s” in our life, we’re indifferent. When things happen to “them” it’s by definition “their” problem, as in “not our problem.” It doesn’t concern “us,” does it? . And I’m no exception; while I try very hard to treat everyone well, inevitably I find it an easier task with some people than with others, and the amount of energy I can bring to overcoming my biases varies from day to day and from circumstance to circumstance. So I’m preaching to myself as well.
Esther saved the Jewish people by risking her life in order to move from being a “them” to an “us.” Our society has many ways of defining “thems”. Some “thems” are relatively invisible. For the first half of the 20th century, Jews were considered outsiders to nearly as great a degree as during the time of our Old Testament reading. They were barred from some universities and from various lines of employment. Many changed their names and converted to Christianity in order to pass as “us”. The Holocaust awakened the conscience of many to the great danger of labeling and demonizing Jews as “thems.” And personal interaction also did a great deal. It’s easy to dismiss a word, an abstraction, less easy to dismiss a friend, a coworker, a neighbor right there in the flesh with whom we interact every day. And the lines between "us" and "them" shift over time. Germans, who founded our congregation, were once seen by other colonists as "them", and Ben Franklin despaired of Germans ever being able to function in proper American - that is to say, English speaking - society. Similarly, in past decades, other immigrant groups – Irish, Polish – eventually moved from being seen as a threat and considered “them” to acceptance as part of “us.” John’s Gospel speaks of Christ’s incarnation – his birth and life on earth - as “the Word becoming flesh,” but for “thems,” bridges can be built by the kind of interaction where a person labeled with a despised word – Jew or the name of some other group of “thems” – becomes right in front of you the flesh of someone you know and value, maybe love. This kind of incarnation can erase the lines between “them” and “us.” But if you’re a “them”, this interaction comes at a risk – you may be ostracized; you may be physically attacked, and one may approach such interactions with a fatalistic sense that, as Queen Esther said, “if I perish, I perish.”
While anti-semitism still rears its ugly head in various times and locations, Jews face much less overt hostility than they did 50 years ago. But evidently there’s just something in human nature – “sin” might be one descriptor - that needs a “them” to scapegoat, to hate and blame for all their problems. Nowadays, in the wake of 9-11, Muslims are very much considered as “them” – “!THEM!” in red, flashing capital letters – so much so that, my first class in seminary included a trip to a local mosque, in order to begin the process in our minds of moving Muslims from “them” to “maybe us.” Immigrants are also another “them” – while our rhetoric distinguishes between legal and illegal immigrants, in practice we tend to lump all immigrants together as “them.” We can all think of other groups of “thems” who are at best disregarded and at worst demonized. Gay folk. The mentally ill. The hungry. All the folks that get beat like a piñata and kicked around like a football during the runup to every election.
What does all this have to do with our 148th anniversary? I’d like to come back to Mordecai’s words to Esther, as Mordecai’s and Esther’s people faced destruction: “Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.” In other words, maybe this is why God led the King to choose Esther as queen. Behind these words is Mordecai’s deep conviction that, though his people faced grave and overwhelming danger, God was still in charge, and that by God’s providence Esther was in the position she was in for a reason.
We here at Emanuel Church are celebrating God’s care for us over the last roughly 150 years. From our founding during the time of the Civil War, our congregation has weathered a Great Depression and two World Wars. More locally, our congregation has also survived the passing of much of Bridesburg’s industrial base, as our neighborhood tries to hang on to the best of the past while finding a way to move forward. Those who have been here longer than I have, who are the living history of this congregation, have many wonderful stories of our history – our critical role in the founding of Bethany Children’s Home, now saving the lives of at-risk children and youth in Berks County, our cooperation and friendship with All Saints Roman Catholic church during their founding years. You’ve been there for the highs and lows – the comings and goings of many pastors over the years, some beloved, others who maybe didn’t quite fit, the church fights, and the reconciliations, the departure of old friends, and the arrivals of new friends.
And here we are, thanks in large part to the love and dedication of a core of dedicated members. And in the past year or two, it has been such a joy to welcome new members, from Bridesburg and nearby neighborhoods, and to have children with us in worship again. God is bringing new life in our midst. But one might ask, why are we here? Why has God enabled us to continue? I would answer, “we are here just for such a time as this?”
What kind of time is this? It’s a time in which many feel great spiritual hunger – incredibly strong need for meaning and purpose in their lives, for strength to overcome personal failings and to stand in the face of adversity, for connections to other human beings, for being part of something larger than just getting through the day - but are afraid to open the door of a church for fear of the condemnation they expect to find inside. In this economy, it’s also a time of great physical hunger, great need for food, clothing, and so many necessities of life. It’s a time in which economic and social factors put great stress on families, where it can take heroic efforts for parents to keep their children out of harm’s way and to bring them up to feel loved and valued, where parents are seeking safe and nurturing places for their children and themselves.
Why are we here? – just for such a time as this! Why are we here? – because God needs us, and because Bridesburg needs us. Why are we here? – to stand by those “thems” that the rest of society would prefer to forget, to love those whom others would hate or ignore. And as we do so, they are no longer “them”, but “us.”
It was risky for Esther to be there just at such a time as this. She had no way of knowing how the king would respond to her plea. And it’s risky for Emanuel to be here just as such a time as this. It’s risky to take on the challenges of a changing society. But it’s absolutely deadly to this congregation not to. In stepping out in faith to embrace the challenges God has set before us, we will find new life.
Our final hymn (Julian Rush’s “In the Midst of New Dimension”), from the New Century Hymnal, will be unfamiliar, and may seem like a strange choice for an anniversary Sunday. It’s a hymn about moving forward in times of uncertainty. The hymn speaks about working for peace amid conflict, about moving forward in the face of social change. But in its use of imagery such as the rainbow – sign of God’s promise to Noah never to destroy the earth – and fiery pillar – with which God led the children of Israel through the wilderness to the promised land – the hymn is a ringing affirmation of the faithfulness of God who has led Emanuel through the challenges and joys of Christian discipleship for the past nearly 150 years, and who, God willing, will continue to sustain us for many more. And the chorus is gives us a vision for the next 150 years, “we, your people; ours, the journey, now and evermore.”
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