Text: Esther 1 (selections)
Speaker: Mark Rupp
In preparation for this second sermon in our Wisdom series, I spent a lot of time these last few weeks mulling over the concept of wisdom. What is wisdom? How do we become wise? What is wisdom’s opposite? What makes someone or something wise? How do we listen when wisdom is calling?
At some point I realized that my understanding of wisdom has been deeply influenced by the time I’ve spent over the last few years playing DnD, which for the uninitiated, stands for Dungeons and Dragons. It is a tabletop roleplaying game, which means it’s somewhat like a video game but instead of sitting in front of a screen waiting for a computer system to react to the choices you make–choices which are more or less limited by the certain combination of buttons you can push–in DnD you sit around with other humans in front of someone acting as the Gamemaster, who reacts to the choices you make for your character–choices which, for the most part, are limited only by your imagination.
I often like to describe the game simply as collaborative storytelling using dice to add an element of chance. If you watched any of Stranger Things on Netflix, the kids in that show were playing a much older version of DnD. What we do nowadays is waaaaaaay cooler and not nerdy at all…Just kidding! I’m pretty sure I reached peak nerdiness a few years ago when I realized that I had just spent the last half an hour sitting around a table with fellow adults buying imaginary hats for our imaginary characters from an imaginary store called Gnome Depot.
But I digress. My understanding of wisdom has been shaped by experiences with DnD because it is a game where you create characters using 6 main stats, three of them physical and three of them more internal. The three internal stats include Charisma, Intelligence, and, yes, Wisdom. And so my idea of how to define wisdom is not only shaped by how the game defines wisdom, which reads, “Wisdom reflects how attuned you are to the world around you and represents perceptiveness and intuition.”
It is also shaped by the fact that within the game there is a long running discussion about just how to differentiate wisdom and intelligence. There is even a section in the game rules with advice on how to navigate this difference which says: “Wisdom checks allow characters to perceive what is around them (the wall is clean here), while Intelligence checks answer why things are that way (there’s probably a secret door).”
And thus, lodged deep within MY brain is the idea that wisdom and intelligence are different things, often in contrast to one another, usually seeking different ends. I actually like the definition the game offers for wisdom and how it points to an attunement to the world around us, awareness to the subtleties of our surroundings, and the ability to see the endless connections that exist within and beyond our own experiences.
In reality, an extremely wise person will also be highly intelligent, but the mechanics of the game invite us to think in terms of contrast. And even though they are interrelated, I do think there is a difference between intelligence and wisdom. At its most hyperbolic expression, intelligence is more focused, attempting to get at facts and logic, understanding how something works in order to be able to recreate it. Wisdom is more broad, recognizing the ambiguities of a life that defies neat boxes and categories, accepting the limitations of our experiences while remaining attuned to the experiences of others. Wisdom calls us to trust our intuition and follow where it leads even if we can’t always put clear words to it. It doesn’t just recreate the systems and structures that already exist but dares to call us back to something more foundational on which to build something new.
So often, then, the expression of wisdom requires poetry, and metaphor, and parable, and story. Last week Joel opened our series on Wisdom by preaching on what could be considered THE Wisdom text from the biblical tradition, the Book of Proverbs, itself a collection of wise sayings. He preached from chapter 8 of Proverbs, and expounded on the idea that Wisdom is “the source of everything…the first of God’s creations.”
The opening verses to the book of Proverbs give us insight into the purpose of the book and the very nature of wisdom. They read, “The proverbs of Solomon, King David’s son, from Israel: Their purpose is to teach wisdom and discipline, to help one understand wise sayings. They provide insightful instruction, which is righteous, just, and full of integrity.” The purpose of wisdom, the direction to which it points us is righteousness, justice, and integrity.
There are some disagreements over what should be considered “Wisdom Literature” within the scriptures, but both Proverbs and the Book of Esther are typically lumped together in the third portion of the Hebrew scriptures known as the ketuvim, or Writings. Even if Esther and some of the other books within the ketuvim are not full of pithy one liners about wisdom, I believe they too constitute Wisdom Literature because they seek less to catalogue historical facts or make logical arguments and more to invite readers into a conversation.
If you read Esther from beginning to end, it reads like a soap opera, with over the top characters, scheming villains, and plot twists that are a little too on the nose. So while the narrative is loosely based in a real context with at least some historical grounding, it is best to read it through the lens of what one commentator described as “historical novella.” The point is not to teach readers what actually happened, but to use a context that is familiar to tell a story of a people figuring out their identity.
While not typically categorized as wisdom literature like Proverbs, Esther’s themes resonate deeply with the principles of wisdom—discerning the right course of action in complex situations, navigating power dynamics, and recognizing divine providence in human affairs. Esther is one of the two books in the biblical canon in which God is not specifically mentioned, yet we are invited to see that God is there, that Wisdom is there. Wisdom literature teaches us how to live faithfully in a complicated world, to navigate complex situations with humility and purpose.
The first chapter of Esther begins in the Persian court of King Xerxes, a realm of decadence and power. The king throws a lavish banquet to display his wealth and authority. I had our scripture reading for today cut out a few verses that went into very specific details about just how lavish this party was: gold couches, mosaic floors, purple crystal, ornate golden cups each with its own unique design. Trust me, it was swanky to say the least.
In a moment of hubris during the height of the party, Xerxes commands Queen Vashti to appear before his guests wearing the royal crown to display her beauty. Even though the text is not specific, many people believe that this summons meant she was called to appear in ONLY her crown. Regardless, the drunken order of a king with seemingly limitless power is a stark reminder of how unchecked authority can lead to foolishness, injustice, and abuse. It highlights the urgent need for wisdom and courage in confronting such abuses, yet that courage will not come from any of the King’s so-called wisest sages, “yes” men who serve only to bolster the structures of power that benefit themselves and maintain the status quo.
What remains as part of the great irony of this story is that the response of those sages to the king about how Vashti’s refusal has the potential to upset the gendered social order of the kingdom, does, in some small way, come true. Or at least starts to come true. Even though Xerxes follows the sages’ advice by punishing Vashti and sending her away, her refusal sets off a chain of events that will reverberate throughout the story.
Though Vashti’s role in the story is brief, her taking a stand against the abusive authority of the king paves the way for Esther’s rise, and, I believe, creates space for Esther to be inspired and commit to her own act of resistance when the occasion calls for it.
Were Vashti’s actions wise? There are a lot of ways of looking at this question and coming to the conclusion that they were unwise. Did she accomplish her goals? It’s unclear what specifically motivated her to refuse the king’s summons, but the immediate outcomes are banishment and a reinforcement of male authority over wives and households. In some respects you could say that Vashti’s actions made the situation far worse for many.
The work toward greater justice will often appear unwise when viewed through the lens of dominant power. This reminds me of a book I read in seminary that I’m sure I’ve referenced before because it was so foundational for me. It is by Sharon Welch and is called, A Feminist Ethic of Risk. In the book, Welch develops this “ethic of risk” in contrast to what she calls an “ethic of control,” and argues that we need to let go of the notion that responsible, ethical, or perhaps wise actions are to be judged by what they accomplish. Rather ethical actions are those that create space and inspiration for other ethical actions. She writes,
Given that we cannot guarantee an end to racism nor the prevention of all war, we can prevent our own capitulation to structural evil. We can participate in a long heritage of resistance, standing with those who have worked for change in the past. We can also take risks, trying to create the conditions that will evoke and sustain further resistance…Even if we stop war in our lifetime, the challenge of preventing such destruction will also be faced by another generation. We cannot make their choices; we can only provide a heritage of persistence, imagination, and solidarity.
Vashti may not have accomplished any significant changes or moves toward a more just society, but her story becomes part of a heritage of resistance, imagination, and solidarity. Her risk of defying the king created space for others to imagine themselves standing for something greater than themselves. Vashti’s refusal in the face of abusive power is echoed in later chapters of Esther when the new queen considers what she should do and ultimately decides to take her own risk to save her people, saying “If I perish, I perish.”
Vashti, and in extension, Esther’s story are more than historical; they are a theological reflection on the courage it takes to challenge unjust systems. Their resistance becomes a sacred moment, teaching us that even seemingly personal acts of defiance can align with God’s larger work toward justice. Their refusal to comply with the king’s unjust commands is a model of wisdom in action—acts rooted in integrity and the recognition of our inherent dignity.
It reminds us that true wisdom leads to justice, even when the cost is high. It reminds us to take risks for the sake of justice, even if all that those risks accomplish is creating a heritage of resistance that lives beyond us. It reminds us that the work of justice may often look unwise by the standards of a world consumed by dominating forms of power.
Next week we will look at the theme of Wisdom and Jesus, but these stories of Vashti, Esther, and Jesus live in the same heritage of resistance. The wisdom of God is the foolishness of the cross. Let us tell those stories, and retell them over and over again, and find ourselves within them as we collaboratively retell these stories with our very lives.
Because friends, there may be many ways we are called to resist the decrees of kings in the coming months and years. I cannot tell you what the wisest course of action will be, but I do hope that we can hold these stories for the Wisdom Literature that they are, that we can see ourselves in their heritage of resistance to anything that denies the inherent worth and dignity of one another, and that we can be wise enough to take risks for the sake of justice.
At one point in the book I referenced earlier, the author reflects on the Serenity prayer, which says, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” In response she offers the following reflection and her own prayer, which I’d like to close with. She writes,
The drive of moral life is that we can never know the difference between that which we can change and that which we cannot. Our challenge is to move creatively in a very different sort of adventure, one whose prayer is more like this: ‘What improbable tasks, with which unpredictable results, shall we undertake today?’ In trading an ethic of control for an ethic of risk, and in living out this ethos, we can neither undo the past nor control the future. But we can learn from the past, and we can live creatively, responsibly, and compassionately in the present.
As we consider the nature of Wisdom and its relationship to the work of justice, let this be our prayer: “Oh God, what improbable tasks, with which unpredictable results, shall we undertake today?” Amen.
