It might appear that everything in the book of Esther is happening by chance, but the heavenly-minded reader will appreciate that there is a masterful Playwright orchestrating all things for the good of His covenant people—those who love Him and are called according to His purposes (Rom. 8:28). There are no accidents in God’s providential care. Each and every coincidence in the book of Esther is shouting of God’s silent and invisible providence, which governs all His creatures and all their actions (WSC 11). 

The book of Esther doesn’t directly mention God’s name. In fact, the story is rather void of religion and piety altogether. The main characters don’t seem to be devout and faithful Jews that are overly concerned with keeping God’s covenant. What can we learn about God and His ways in such a book?
Notwithstanding my love for Esther and her story (one of my daughters is named Hadassah, Esther’s Jewish name), I must admit that there are times in the narrative when I am left wondering where Esther and Mordecai’s true hope lies and whether their actions reflect the faith described in Hebrews 11. Despite these initial impressions, on closer inspection, Esther teaches us deep theological truths that can invigorate the Christian life. Here are three things to know about the book of Esther.
1. God’s Covenant Faithfulness: The Book of Esther Is a Suspenseful Narration of the Near Eradication of God’s Covenant Promises
Esther takes place far away from the promised land. Some of the Israelites had returned to Jerusalem from exile after the decree of Cyrus in 539 BC (see Ezra 1:1–4). Some, however, decided to stay in Persia. The reader is quickly introduced to one of those Jews who stayed. She is swiftly swept up into high Persian life, becoming queen after the Persian king had been embarrassed by his prior queen’s insolence.
Through masterful storytelling that weaves in suspense, irony, and satire, the author recounts how a petty, nonverbal gesture ignites a personal dispute between two men (Haman the Amalekite and Mordecai the Jew). This dispute almost results in the annihilation of God’s covenant people (and thus, His promises) through government-sanctioned genocide. It’s only through a bout of insomnia for a foolish king and the momentary shrewdness of a morally compromised queen that the tables are turned at the last minute. The leader of the genocide, Haman, ends up on the gallows that he constructed for his enemy, Mordecai, and the Jews are spared from extermination.
The book reads like a suspense novel, and if you haven’t read the story in one sitting, I encourage you to do so. The plot twists teach us something very important: God is committed to keeping His covenant promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and no puppet of Satan—not Pharaoh, not Ahab, not Absalom, not Nebuchadnezzar, not Haman—can thwart God’s covenant commitment to preserve a people for Himself.
2. God’s Invisible Providence: The book of Esther is silent about God to teach us something loudly about God.
The satirical almosts in the book of Esther narratively demonstrate God’s works of providence, which the Heidelberg Catechism describes. 
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The Great Commission, then, isn’t intended for the Apostles alone, as some have argued. The Great Commission is the glorious mission of the church, which is built on the foundation of the Apostles and prophets (Eph. 2:20). Another common misconception is that the Great Commission is synonymous with evangelism. But look at the scope of Jesus’ marching orders: go, make disciples, baptize in the triune name, teach to observe and keep all that Christ commanded, and be mindful of His authority and presence. This sounds a lot like the ordinary work of the church—and that’s precisely the point.

It’s easy to admire the grit and determination of farmers. My great-grandfather and grandfather were farmers. I loved riding in the combine with my grandfather, watching the vast fields of corn being gathered in. As I got older, I realized that not every day as a farmer was like that day. I only got to enjoy the harvest day. For months before the harvest, the farmers till, sow, and wait. There’s a long wait between the plowing and the harvesting, and there are many environmental elements that threaten to derail the healthy growth of those crops in the months of waiting. Although farming has changed over millennia, one thing has remained: there’s always a time of waiting. Imagine, then, the surprise of an Israelite farmer during the eighth-century BC when he read that a day was coming when there would be no time of waiting between plowing and reaping.
In Amos 9, the Lord revealed to the prophet that a day would come when the nations would call on His name. This promise was no different from the Lord’s promise to Abraham that he would be “the father of a multitude of nations” and that through him “shall all the nations of the earth be blessed”; or to Isaac that he would “become a company of peoples”; or to Jacob that “a company of nations shall come from you” (Gen. 17:5; 22:18; 28:3; 35:11). In the day Amos speaks of, the crop would be so abundant that the harvester wouldn’t have enough time to collect the harvest before the plowman was already tilling the ground for the next batch of crops—a farmer’s dream (Amos 9:13)! But when will this day be?
According to Amos 9, this day of abundant harvesting and blessing with God in the promised land would come when the booth of David is raised up (Amos 9:11). The house of David was in ruins at the time of Amos’ prophecy, but when the One who will rebuild the booth of David—the Messiah—appears, He will restore true Israel under God’s rule and bring the gentiles into His fold. A righteous descendent of David needed to repair the harvesting fields of Israel.
Aware of the prophecy of Amos, it is no wonder that many faithful Israelites in the first century were on the lookout for the Son of David (e.g., Luke 2:25). Around that time, a Judean man named John began preaching about the kingdom of God (Matt. 3:1–2), and about One coming after him who would “gather his wheat into the barn” and burn the chaff (Matt. 3:12). The One John spoke of—Jesus—seemed to give some Israelites hope. Jesus’ life and ministry harkened back to the glory days of Israel when the house of David reigned. Could He be the one to “restore the kingdom to Israel?” (Acts 1:6). The Gospel writers leave no doubt that Jesus Christ is the long-awaited “Son of David” (see Matt. 1:1; 9:27; 12:23; 15:22; 20:30–31; 21:9, 15; Luke 1:32; 18:38).
Further, Jesus situated Himself in the “agricultural” mission of God. He said that His work was to accomplish the will of the Father (John 4:34) and to gather the wheat into the Father’s barn (Matt. 13:30). He told His disciples that the “harvest is plentiful” (Matt. 9:37) and that “the fields are white for harvest” (John 4:35). He fulfilled the Lord’s ancient mission to gather His wheat into the barn. This is good news.
But there’s a problem. The One who was to restore Israel was delivered over to crucifixion. He “breathed his last” (Luke 23:46) without completing the harvest. It appeared that the booth of David had fallen once more. The disciples expressed their shattered hope: “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel” (Luke 24:21).
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Second Corinthians teaches us that genuine Christian ministry is characterized by “simplicity and godly sincerity” (2 Cor. 1:12), that church officers aren’t self-sufficient (2 Cor. 3:5), and that ministry is more dying to self than it is self-promotion (2 Cor. 4:11–12). Paul elected not to accept compensation from the Corinthians, not wanting to introduce a stumbling block (2 Cor. 11:7–9). He didn’t carry letters of recommendation with him (2 Cor. 3:1–3). He refused to practice cunning (2 Cor. 4:2) or to tickle ears (2 Cor. 2:17) because it wasn’t his ministry or his message—it is God’s. The same is true of all Christian servants in the new covenant.

Like 1 Corinthians, 2 Corinthians covers a myriad of issues in addressing a church that is beset by immorality, false teachers, sectarianism, and theological confusion. In this letter, the Apostle Paul’s care and concern for the Corinthian church are palpable. Let’s consider three important characteristics of the letter that help us understand and apply its overall message.
1. Second Corinthians represents the culmination of Paul’s intense dealings with the church at Corinth.
The founding of the church in Corinth (around AD 52) took place during Paul’s second missionary journey (see Acts 18:1–11). Luke tells us that Paul stayed in Corinth for more than eighteen months. It seems that soon after Paul left Corinth for Antioch, significant problems arose in the new congregation. Paul found out about these problems while in Ephesus on his third missionary journey (see Acts 19). In all likelihood, 2 Corinthians is the fourth letter that Paul had written to the church within a span of roughly two years:

Letter 1: The “previous” (nonextant) letter (see 1 Cor. 5:9)
Letter 2: 1 Corinthians
Letter 3: The “severe” (nonextant) letter after the “painful” visit (see 2 Cor. 2:3–4; 7:8–12)
Letter 4: 2 Corinthians

Paul sent the “severe” letter through Titus, who returned to Paul with a joyful report of the church’s repentance and loyalty to the Apostle and the Apostolic teaching. Thus, 2 Corinthians is a “happy” (though not perfect) culmination of a complex relationship between the Apostle and the Corinthian believers. Paul’s joy at the report from Titus regarding the Corinthians’ welfare (see 2 Cor. 7:6–7) demonstrates what the Apostle valued in the life of the church. These include the peace, purity, and unity of the church (including church discipline), as well as the Christian’s ethical conduct, humility, and generous stewardship. If the Apostle was so anxious that this church possess and manifest these attributes, we ought to work toward these in our churches and our Christian lives as well.
2. Second Corinthians provides a strong defense of Paul’s Apostolic ministry.
Paul goes to great lengths to demonstrate, contra the false “super-apostles” (2 Cor. 11:5), that his Apostleship is genuine because he has been commissioned and entrusted by the risen and ascended Lord Jesus Christ to speak in His name (see 2 Cor. 5:18; 13:3).
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A Christian is someone who has been renewed (regeneration), is being renewed (sanctification), and will be renewed (glorification). His sin has been dealt with judicially (justification), it is being dealt with progressively (sanctification), and it will be dealt with permanently (glorification). These nuances help us make sense of the presence of sin in the life of a Christian. While we saints remain in these bodies of sin in a fallen world, we continue to battle our own flesh and its non-reigning, extant sin—which is why Christians still do bad things. But one day, coming soon, we will do only that which is good, in glorified bodies and a renewed world that aren’t polluted by sin and corruption. 

There are generally two basic forms in which this question is asked. First, most Christians have at some point asked themselves, “If I’m a true Christian, why do I keep sinning?” Second, Christians and others have asked questions like, “How could Christians have committed such atrocities during the Crusades?” The two questions are different, but they have essentially the same theological and biblical answer. The answer requires us to understand what Scripture says is true of Christians in the threefold application of redemption. We must consider the Bible’s teaching about what has already happened to the Christian, what is happening to the Christian, and what has not yet happened to the Christian.
Already: What Has Happened to Christians (Regeneration, Justification, Adoption)
According to the Bible, when a person becomes a Christian, he has gone from death to life. He has experienced what we often call “regeneration.” This is foundational to our Christian identity. The Christian is a new creation (2 Cor. 5:17). He has been born again (John 3:3; 1 Peter 1:3). He was in darkness, and now he is in light (Acts 26:18; Eph. 5:8; 2 Cor. 6:14; 1 Peter 2:9). He was dead in trespasses and sins, and now he is alive together with Christ (Eph. 2:1–2; Col. 2:13). He was a slave to sin, and now he is a slave to righteousness (John 8:34; Rom. 6:1–23; Gal. 5:1). He had a heart of stone, and now he has a heart of flesh (Ezek. 11:19; 36:26). Regeneration and its fruit, conversion to Christ, signify a drastic change in identity. Regeneration does not, however, purge the effects of our fallenness from our souls and bodies. Regeneration imparts spiritual life into the soul, but one’s history before regeneration is not changed. This means that a Christian will hate his sin, but he still might be attracted to the same sins as he was before conversion. In the new birth (i.e., regeneration), we are effectually called, meaning that the Spirit not only calls us to embrace the Lord Jesus Christ by faith but also gives us the ability to respond to that call. When we place our faith in Christ, the Spirit unites us to Christ, from whom we receive the benefits of redemption, including “justification, adoption and sanctification, and the several benefits which in this life do either accompany or flow from them” (Westminster Shorter Catechism 32). In our union with Christ, justification, adoption, and sanctification are distinct yet inseparable benefits. In the act of justification, a person is pardoned of all sins and accepted as righteous in the sight of God only on account of the imputed righteousness of Christ received by faith alone (WSC 33). In the act of adoption, a person is received into the number and given a right to all the privileges of the sons of God (WSC 34). In the work of sanctification, a person begins to be renewed in his whole being after the image of God and is enabled more and more to die unto sin and live unto righteousness (WSC 35). Whereas justification and adoption are acts of God, sanctification is a work of God. Justification and adoption are punctiliar, one-time events. Sanctification is a progressive, lifelong work. So while the Christian is declared righteous in God’s sight on account of the imputed righteousness of Christ, he has not yet been entirely renewed in his whole being. At least not yet. As Martin Luther said, the Christian is simul justus et peccator—at the same time righteous and sinful. Regeneration makes a man new, yet he is an undeveloped man—a man who is being sanctified but has not yet been perfected.
Already/Not Yet: What Is Happening to Christians (Sanctification—Mortification and Vivification)
Some people, upon conversion, find that many of their old affections and sinful patterns immediately dissolve. Others experience a more gradual renewal of their desires. Although there is a sense that we are sanctified at our conversion, in that we are set apart as holy to the Lord, sanctification as a process is experienced at different rates.
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We’re not slaves to the sins of our parents. We are either slaves to sin or slaves to righteousness (Rom. 6:12–23). God has providentially placed us in our respective families, cultures, and societies, with all the privileges, temptations, and disadvantages that come with that context (see Acts 17:26). The parentage that truly matters is whether we’re under the headship of Adam or Christ (Rom. 5:12–21).

There are times when the Bible seems to contradict itself about whether we are punished for our parents’ sin—sometimes even in the same book. For instance, the second commandment forbids the worship of God through images because the Lord is “a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and the fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing steadfast love to thousands of those who love me and keep my commandments” (Ex. 20:5–6; Deut. 5:9–10). We also read in the book of Numbers that the Lord will “by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, to the third and the fourth generation” (Num. 14:18). Yet in Deuteronomy, we read, “Fathers shall not be put to death because of their children, nor shall children be put to death because of their fathers. Each one shall be put to death for his own sin” (Deut. 24:16).
Centuries later, Ezekiel warns, “The soul who sins shall die. The son shall not suffer for the iniquity of the father, nor the father suffer for the iniquity of the son. The righteousness of the righteous shall be upon himself, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon himself” (Ezek. 18:20). Similarly, Jeremiah prophesies of a day when “they shall no longer say: ‘The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge’ ” (Jer. 31:29). So, which is it? Does God punish children for the sins of their fathers? The answer is yes and no. Let’s get the yes out of the way first.
Adam, Federal Headship, and Original Sin
God does punish us for the sins of our first parents (see Rom. 5:12–14; 1 Cor. 15:22). This is because of the covenantal role Adam played as a federal head in the prelapsarian covenant of works. Adam uniquely represented all his posterity, such that when our first parents fell, they incurred punishment not only for themselves but for their descendants—all people who would be born into this world through ordinary generation (see Westminster Shorter Catechism 13–17). The Westminster Confession of Faith explains regarding our first parents and original sin, “They being the root of all mankind, the guilt of this sin was imputed; and the same death in sin, and corrupted nature, conveyed to all their posterity descending from them by ordinary generation” (WCF 6.3). The only way, then, that we’re delivered from the sin and misery brought on us by our first parents is by being united by faith to a faithful head—the Lord Jesus Christ. Concerning our federal parentage, then, God deals with us according to our parents’ sins or obedience. In this way, our answer to the question at hand depends on how we define parents in context.
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