We find ourselves in the capital of the Persian Empire, where the King is throwing a massive, months-long display of ego and excess - to be exact, a 187-day long party. It is a world of drunken whims, staggering patriarchy, and unfair power. When Queen Vashti refuses to be paraded like a trophy before the King’s guests, the court panics. They don’t just banish her; they issue a fearful decree to every corner of the empire, commanding that every man must be the absolute master of his own home. Imagine that! But, it is in this chaotic, high-stakes atmosphere that a search begins to find a new queen.
Enter Esther and her cousin Mordecai. They are Jews - outsiders living in exile, navigating a culture where they are the "other." Following Mordecai’s advice, Esther enters the palace but hides who she is, living in a protective closet of assimilation. She wins the crown by blending in, while Mordecai stays outside the gates, watching over her.
But the air grows heavy with the rise of Haman, a man consumed by pride. When Mordecai refuses to bow to him, Haman’s rage turns deadly. He offers the King a massive bribe to destroy all Jewish people, casting lots to set the date of their destruction. As the decree of death is posted, the city falls into confusion. The distance between the comfort of the palace and the grieving streets becomes a canyon that can no longer be ignored.
Let us listen now to the heart of this struggle, as we read from Esther, chapter 4, verses 1 through 17.
When Mordecai learned all that had been done, Mordecai tore his clothes and put on sackcloth and ashes and went through the city, wailing with a loud and bitter cry; he went up to the entrance of the king’s gate, for no one might enter the king’s gate clothed with sackcloth. In every province, wherever the king’s command and his decree came, there was great mourning among the Jews, with fasting and weeping and lamenting, and most of them lay in sackcloth and ashes. When Esther’s maids and her eunuchs came and told her, the queen was deeply distressed; she sent garments to clothe Mordecai, so that he might take off his sackcloth, but he would not accept them. Then Esther called for Hathach, one of the king’s eunuchs who had been appointed to attend her, and ordered him to go to Mordecai to learn what was happening and why. Hathach went out to Mordecai in the open square of the city in front of the king’s gate, and Mordecai told him all that had happened to him and the exact sum of money that Haman had promised to pay into the king’s treasuries for the destruction of the Jews. Mordecai also gave him a copy of the written decree issued in Susa for their destruction, that he might show it to Esther, explain it to her, and charge her to go to the king to make supplication to him and to entreat him for her people. Hathach went and told Esther what Mordecai had said. Then Esther spoke to Hathach and gave him a message for Mordecai: “All the king’s servants and the people of the king’s provinces know that, if any man or woman goes to the king inside the inner court without being called, there is but one law: to be put to death. Only if the king holds out the golden scepter to someone may that person live. I myself have not been called to come in to the king for thirty days.” When they told Mordecai what Esther had said, Mordecai told them to reply to Esther, “Do not think that in the king’s palace you will escape any more than all the other Jews. For if you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another place, 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.” Then Esther said in reply to Mordecai, “Go, gather all the Jews to be found in Susa, and hold a fast on my behalf, and neither eat nor drink for three days, night or day. I and my maids will also fast as you do. After that I will go to the king, though it is against the law, and if I perish, I perish.” Mordecai then went away and did everything as Esther had ordered him.
On this Pride Sunday, we find ourselves standing with Esther at the threshold of that very inner court we just read about.
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Many in the LGBTQ+ community know the heavy, stifling air of that protective closet. They know the trade-off: the silence offered in exchange for a little bit of safety. For Esther, the palace was a place of security, of silk and perfume, provided she never mentioned where she came from. Her hesitation to help wasn’t a lack of faith; it was a terrifying reality. She knew the law: to approach the King without an invitation was to court death.
She was living a fractured life. There was the "Queen Self"—the one who walked the halls of power—and the "True Self"—the one connected to the Jewish people - her people - mourning in the streets.
But notice who bridges this gap: it is Mordecai. He stands outside the gates, wearing sackcloth - an external garment that symbolizes a deep internal anguish. In wearing it Mordecai refuses to let the palace forget the pain in the streets. As the sound of weeping reaches the palace walls, the silence of Esther's closet begins to feel less like a sanctuary and more like a cage. Mordecai’s voice pierces through her fear, reminding her of a hard truth: privilege is never a permanent shield against hate.
This brings us to the great "Perhaps" of the story.
The Book of Esther never mentions God by name, yet God’s fingerprints are all over this messy melodrama. When Mordecai challenges Esther, he says something profound: “If you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish.”
Then comes the question that transforms her life: “Who knows? Perhaps you have come to this royal position for just such a time as this.”
This "perhaps" suggests that her placement in the palace wasn’t an accident, but a purposeful calling. And let’s be honest: Esther and Mordecai were not perfect saints. They were complicated people breaking traditional religious laws just to survive in a hostile empire. Yet, God does not wait for our perfection to use our presence. God works through the mess, the unexpected twists, and the ordinary people who choose to act.
Beloved, this is where the story lands on us. We must talk about our own palaces.
For many of us in this community, our lives look a lot like the palace. We enjoy the security of being the majority. We possess the privilege of racial equity, financial stability, or the ease of moving through the world as individuals without fear of rejection or judgment.
Mordecai’s challenge to Esther is a direct challenge to us: our positions of safety are not personal prizes; they are structural responsibilities.
If you are straight, if you are white, if you are secure—you are being called to the vocation of the palace. Your privilege is not something to feel guilty about; it is something to leverage. God is asking us: Will you use your comfort to shield your own silence, or will you use your access to open the gates for others?
For the few among us who do know the exhaustion of the closet, the message of Pride is an invitation to claim your whole self—to refuse to let the world break you into pieces. But for the rest of us, Pride is a calling to stand outside the gates like Mordecai, to listen to the stories of pain, and to use whatever power we have to change the decree.
This turning point requires a shared courage. Esther did not act alone; she asked her community to fast and stand with her. Her final resolve—“If I perish, I perish”—is the ultimate act of solidarity. It is the moment her privilege and her identity became a tool for justice.
Her bravery reminds us that our liberation is bound up in one another. On this day, as we celebrate the magnificent diversity of God’s creation, we have to ask: What risks are we, the comfortable majority, called to take to ensure that those outside the gates can move from mourning to celebration? Shared courage is the bridge between a world of exclusion and a future of joy.
And a spoiler here. At the end of this story, the mourning in the streets will become a festival of joy. This story teaches us that God is committed to healing this world, even when God seems hidden in the shadows of power and policy. God uses ordinary, complicated, privileged, and marginalized people alike to weave a story of hope.
Go forth from this place knowing that your position in this world is a calling. You have been placed in your families, your workplaces, and this community for just such a time as this.
May we have the courage to claim our whole selves, the wisdom to share our privilege, and the strength to love out loud—trusting that the God of the "Perhaps" is weaving all of us together for good.
Amen.
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