Silas
Beloved Servant
The story of Esther cuts deep because it shows a person poised between two fears, the fear for her own life and the fear of watching her people destroyed. When she finally says, “If I perish, I perish,” she is not shrugging in despair. She has recognized that her safety was never truly in her own hands anyway. She has put herself entirely into the care of God.
I am struck by how many people read Esther and immediately go to the courage. But what produced the courage? It was not a sudden surge of personal bravery. It was the fasting. It was the deliberate act of turning away from every natural support. She refused to lean on her position or her beauty. She did not try to calculate the odds. She recognized that divine help was the only way forward, and she sought it with the whole community behind her. That kind of reliance changes a person. It reorders your whole understanding of where your life comes from and what it rests upon.
And here is where we must be careful. It is easy to take a story like this and turn it into a lesson about our own heroic sacrifice, as though God rewards us because we muster up enough boldness. But that is not the good news. The good news is that God does not bless us because of our performance or our brave gestures. He blesses us because He loves us, and He loves for us to trust in Him. Esther's boldness grew out of an emptying, not out of a striving. Her story points us toward something far greater than an example of courage. It is a shadow of the One who would truly stand in the gap.
Just as Esther prepared to perish for her people, Jesus gave His life. But there is a radical difference. Esther was willing to perish, and God spared her. Jesus actually fell into the ground and died. What Esther could only risk, Jesus accomplished. And His sacrifice was not a hopeful gamble that maybe God would show up. It was the fulfillment of God's eternal plan, the righteous One willingly laying down His life for the ungodly. He died for those who had no strength, no claim on His kindness. When we look at the cross, we are not looking at an inspiring model to imitate in our own strength. We are looking at the foundation of our entire relationship with God.
There is a reason the Scripture insists that a man is not justified by the works of the law but by the faith of Jesus Christ. God does not account us righteous because we fast well or because we take great risks for Him. He accounts us righteous through faith in Christ alone. My relationship with God is no longer based upon my keeping of rules. It is not based upon my spiritual disciplines. It is based upon my believing in the One whom God has sent. And because I believe, God sees me in Christ. He imputes Christ's righteousness to me. That is a solid position.
So when you face your own moment of crisis, your own unction to step out and trust God with an uncertain outcome, do not think the way forward is to grit your teeth and promise God you'll be brave enough. The way forward is to sink your roots deep into the reality that you are already in Christ. You have already been joined to Him in His death and His life. The old self-centered existence that scrambled for its own safety was crucified with Him. The life you now live is by the faith of the Son of God who loved you and gave Himself for you. Your life is so bound up in Him that you can say with joyful defiance, “For me, to live is Christ.”
That changes how we fast. That changes how we pray. We are not twisting God's arm. We are not trying to improve upon the righteousness we already have in Christ. We are simply bringing our empty hands and saying, “Lord, You are my life. I am not my own. I belong to You, and I trust You with the outcome.” When you know that your inheritance is incorruptible and reserved in heaven for you, kept by the power of God through faith, you can walk into any throne room. You can face any danger. The worst the world can do is send you into the presence of the One you were living for anyway. That is not a reckless resignation but a living hope.
So let your prayer be simply this: to live for Christ every day, not to earn His favor but because you already have it. Ask Him to enable you to finish whatever work He has prepared for you, not relying on your own strength but on the grace that is sufficient. Whether He asks you to risk your comfort, your reputation, or your very life, the firm ground beneath you does not move. Dying is gain. And living is Christ.
I am struck by how many people read Esther and immediately go to the courage. But what produced the courage? It was not a sudden surge of personal bravery. It was the fasting. It was the deliberate act of turning away from every natural support. She refused to lean on her position or her beauty. She did not try to calculate the odds. She recognized that divine help was the only way forward, and she sought it with the whole community behind her. That kind of reliance changes a person. It reorders your whole understanding of where your life comes from and what it rests upon.
And here is where we must be careful. It is easy to take a story like this and turn it into a lesson about our own heroic sacrifice, as though God rewards us because we muster up enough boldness. But that is not the good news. The good news is that God does not bless us because of our performance or our brave gestures. He blesses us because He loves us, and He loves for us to trust in Him. Esther's boldness grew out of an emptying, not out of a striving. Her story points us toward something far greater than an example of courage. It is a shadow of the One who would truly stand in the gap.
Just as Esther prepared to perish for her people, Jesus gave His life. But there is a radical difference. Esther was willing to perish, and God spared her. Jesus actually fell into the ground and died. What Esther could only risk, Jesus accomplished. And His sacrifice was not a hopeful gamble that maybe God would show up. It was the fulfillment of God's eternal plan, the righteous One willingly laying down His life for the ungodly. He died for those who had no strength, no claim on His kindness. When we look at the cross, we are not looking at an inspiring model to imitate in our own strength. We are looking at the foundation of our entire relationship with God.
There is a reason the Scripture insists that a man is not justified by the works of the law but by the faith of Jesus Christ. God does not account us righteous because we fast well or because we take great risks for Him. He accounts us righteous through faith in Christ alone. My relationship with God is no longer based upon my keeping of rules. It is not based upon my spiritual disciplines. It is based upon my believing in the One whom God has sent. And because I believe, God sees me in Christ. He imputes Christ's righteousness to me. That is a solid position.
So when you face your own moment of crisis, your own unction to step out and trust God with an uncertain outcome, do not think the way forward is to grit your teeth and promise God you'll be brave enough. The way forward is to sink your roots deep into the reality that you are already in Christ. You have already been joined to Him in His death and His life. The old self-centered existence that scrambled for its own safety was crucified with Him. The life you now live is by the faith of the Son of God who loved you and gave Himself for you. Your life is so bound up in Him that you can say with joyful defiance, “For me, to live is Christ.”
That changes how we fast. That changes how we pray. We are not twisting God's arm. We are not trying to improve upon the righteousness we already have in Christ. We are simply bringing our empty hands and saying, “Lord, You are my life. I am not my own. I belong to You, and I trust You with the outcome.” When you know that your inheritance is incorruptible and reserved in heaven for you, kept by the power of God through faith, you can walk into any throne room. You can face any danger. The worst the world can do is send you into the presence of the One you were living for anyway. That is not a reckless resignation but a living hope.
So let your prayer be simply this: to live for Christ every day, not to earn His favor but because you already have it. Ask Him to enable you to finish whatever work He has prepared for you, not relying on your own strength but on the grace that is sufficient. Whether He asks you to risk your comfort, your reputation, or your very life, the firm ground beneath you does not move. Dying is gain. And living is Christ.
