This morning, I’m still reading from the Book of Esther. I said earlier that reading Esther is like reading a play, much like Hamlet or Macbeth by Shakespeare. I find it interesting – and weirdly fun – to read it out loud and give each of the voices their own identity. Esther starts out timid but gains in strength as she accepts responsibility and grows in authority. Mordecai speaks with the wisdom of age and experience, but sometimes with a tinge of fear for himself and his people. Xerxes, the powerful king of the Persian Empire, comes across as a weak, ineffective fool. Then there’s Haman.
Every great play needs a villain and, in Esther’s story, that’s Haman. He’s one of those “over-the-top” bad guys who, when I hear his voice, is hissing and spitting with anger. He’s the sort of character we want to see lose from the minute we meet him, but he also makes us shake our heads and smirk a little. He’s too evil for his own good.
Haman had the ear of the king and the power of the king’s court. But he wasn’t content with honor, wealth, or influence; he wanted glory and wasn’t willing to share the limelight with anyone else. In the theology of Esther, Haman wanted to be worshipped like God. He gets King Xerxes to order that everyone bow down to him, just as if he were the king. When Mordecai refused to bow, Haman’s pride was wounded so deeply that he plotted not only Mordecai’s death but the destruction of all the Jewish people. Talk about extreme!
In one of Scripture’s most ironic turns, Haman builds a gallows seventy-five feet high from which to hang Mordecai. He wants everyone to see and fear him. But by the end of Esther, those gallows become his own downfall: “So they impaled Haman on the pole he had set up for Mordecai.” (Esther 7:10). That’s the textbook definition of poetic justice.
We can laugh at Haman’s over-the-top arrogance, but if we’re honest, we’ve all had our “mini-Haman” moments. Pride has a way of sneaking in, whether it’s needing the last word in an argument, craving recognition for something good we did, or quietly resenting it when someone else gets credit for something we did. Pride whispers, “You deserve more,” and if left unchecked, it builds its own gallows.
Scripture warns us again and again: “Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.” (Proverbs 16:18). “God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble.” (James 4:6).
Humility, by contrast, grounds us. It frees us from the exhausting task of proving ourselves. It keeps us open to God and constantly reminds us of God’s grace at work in us. It’s also a reminder that God sees what we do for him and for others, and that’s the most important thing.
Haman’s story is a cautionary tale, but a hopeful one. It reminds us that pride doesn’t get the last word … unless we let it. God’s justice overturns arrogance. God’s mercy lifts up the humble. When our egos start building gallows, God gently calls us back down to earth before we fall.
So, maybe today’s questions are simple: How do I recognize it when I’m tempted to let pride try to bring glory to me instead of to God? And how can I trade my all-too-human sense of pride for humility before God and kindness toward others?
Prayer: Lord, keep me from tripping over my own pride. Teach me the freedom of humility, and remind me that true honor comes from serving you and loving others, and not from proving myself. Help me trust that you see the good that I do and accept that as the most important thing. Amen.
