Our identity in times like these
Identifying as a Christian can be tricky, especially when living and working in a culture with an anti-Christian bias. On the one hand, it’s wise to be shrewd and patient in our witness. On the other hand, the gospel is public truth, and Christians are called to public faith.
Plus, when we don’t identify as God’s people, we risk building relationships on false foundations, and it’s only a matter of time before our true identity is revealed. Just ask Esther.
Identity Is Complicated
The book of Esther is a complicated story about identity. In its first few chapters, Esther offends almost everyone. Feminist liberals note her compliance and failure to identify as a strong woman. Religious traditionalists lament her hidden faith, which leads her to break religious laws and sleep with a Gentile who isn’t her husband.
Yet the text doesn’t allow for these interpretations. First, although Esther’s rise to power is remarkable, the author’s main issue isn’t female empowerment, but the death threat faced by God’s people. In other words, the main distinction in the book isn’t between men and women, but between Jew and Gentile.
Second, although we’re told that Esther hides her background, we’re not told why (Esth. 2:20). We don’t know her motives, only know her situation—she’s a young Jewish girl who has been conscripted unwillingly in a pagan king’s harem. The moral ambiguity of her story raises the question, “What real choice does someone in her situation have?”
Make a Choice
There comes a time, though, when Esther is forced to make a choice about her identity. Upon discovering that powerful forces are plotting to kill the Jews, Esther’s cousin Mordecai urges her to use her political connections and risk her place in the palace in order to save her people:
Do not think that because you are in the king’s house you alone of all the Jews will escape. For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this? (Esth. 4:13–14)
But Esther is afraid. Approaching the king unbidden is a capital offence forgiven only by the king and, although she’s the queen, there’s no guarantee she’ll receive his mercy. After all, he didn’t forgive the last queen, and he hasn’t slept with Esther in a month—and he hasn’t been sleeping alone.
Esther has no prophetic vision or biblical promise to claim for her safety. Without knowing the end of the story, she must decide whether or not to identify with God’s people.
If I Perish, I Perish
Yet Mordecai’s point is clear—her life may potentially be lost if she goes to the king, but it will certainly be lost if she doesn’t. Perhaps with mixed motives of self-preservation and missional calling, she replies:
Go, gather all the Jews to be found in Susa, and hold a fast on my behalf. . . . Then I will go to the king, though it is against the law, and if I perish, I perish. (Esth. 4:16).
In this moment, Esther goes from being a young woman making compromises to a mature queen giving orders. Her response, Tim Keller notes, is the language of identification, mission, and obedience. Mordecai’s call to action causes her to realize that she’s not in the palace for herself, but for others.
It’s Never Too Late
Some of us are in positions of influence in our culture—whether as public school teachers or public company executives—and we have to navigate questions of identity in complicated situations that might cost us. Does it matter whether anyone at work knows I’m a Christian when my faith isn’t directly related to my work? If I’m seeking a job in an industry that has an anti-Christian bias, like journalism or higher education, should I refrain from putting church volunteer activities on my résumé? Isn’t being present at a company—even if that means engaging in morally questionable activities—better than abandoning it altogether?
To answer these questions, seeing Esther as an example will crush us, but seeing Jesus as a Redeemer will save us. He’s the ultimate mediator who risks the palace and its riches to save us (Phil. 2:6–11). Going before the King, he doesn’t say “If I perish, I perish,” but “When I perish, I perish.” When he’s our security, value, and worth, we can risk the palace—positions, connections, careers, and riches—because, in him, we’re truly free. As the gospel becomes increasingly precious to us, we begin to see that these questions aren’t just about us, but about others, too. When we’re in positions of influence and open about our identification as God’s people, we can be a part of his redemption of his people.
But some of us wonder whether God can use our ambiguous moral pasts or our questionable mixed motives. As Karen Jobes writes:
Perhaps, like Esther, you have been brought to this moment in your life by circumstances over which you had no control, combined with flawed decisions you made along the way. Perhaps instead of living for God, you have so concealed your Christian faith that no one would even identify you as a Christian. Then suddenly you find yourself facing calamity. . . . Regardless of the straights you find yourself in, turn to the Lord. . . . his purposes are greater than yours.
Wherever you are right now, you are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works (Eph. 2:10). You have certain gifts, abilities, talents, weaknesses, sufferings, and experiences that enable you to help certain people—though it may cost you. No matter how you came to power in your company, church, or organization, it’s never too late to hear and obey God’s call.
If you understand that you’re his child, then your mission isn’t for yourself, but for others. And who knows? Perhaps you have come to your position for such a time as this.