Sleepless In Susa

Introduction: When God Works the Night Shift

History has turned on sleepless nights.

On one sleepless night in Babylon, Daniel prayed and an empire shifted.

On one sleepless night in Bethlehem, shepherds watched and angels sang.

On one sleepless night in Susa, the king tossed and turned—

and God turned the tide of history.

It’s a fascinating truth: when man can’t rest, God is still at work.

He doesn’t clock out when you lie awake.

He doesn’t stop being sovereign when your eyes can’t close.

He works the night shift, arranging pieces in the dark that will make sense in the morning light.

The Book of Esther, perhaps more than any other book in Scripture, shows us what the invisible hand of God can do.

God’s name is never mentioned in the entire story, but His fingerprints are everywhere.

This is not a story of how clever people are—it’s a revelation of how clever God is.

How brilliantly wise, how sovereignly patient, how invisibly precise.

A pastor once said:

> “There is no such thing as blind fate, but there is a Providence that guides and governs the world.

Providence is God’s ordering all issues and events of things, after the counsel of His will, to His own glory.

The wheels of the clock seem to move contrary to one another, but they help forward the hands of the clock.”

Friend, God’s providence is like that.

When it seems like the wheels of your life are grinding against each other—when events don’t align, when prayers seem delayed—He is moving the hands of your story toward His divine hour.

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Scene One: A Queen’s Risk

By the time we reach Esther chapter 6, the drama is already at its breaking point.

In chapter 5, Esther, trembling yet resolute, puts on her royal robes and steps into danger.

To appear before the king uninvited was to risk death. Archeology confirms that in the Persian throne room, there stood a man beside the king—his only job was to strike down any intruder unless the king raised his scepter.

One tilt of that golden rod meant life; no tilt meant death.

Esther stands in the inner court, holding her breath.

And then—it happens.

The king lifts the scepter toward her.

Against all odds, the queen who should have died is suddenly granted favor.

The royal business halts; the courtiers fall silent.

The king, perhaps surprised by his own compassion, says,

> “What is troubling you, Queen Esther? And what is your request? Even to half the kingdom it shall be given to you.” (Esther 5:3)

That expression—“half the kingdom”—was a Persian idiom. It didn’t mean he’d actually divide the empire; it meant, I’m in a generous mood. Ask for anything.

Esther replies softly,

> “If it please the king, may the king and Haman come this day to the banquet that I have prepared.”

Now that’s wisdom wrapped in courage.

Esther doesn’t blurt out her request; she builds anticipation.

She invites the king and Haman—the very enemy who plotted her people’s destruction—to dinner.

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Scene Two: Haman’s Pride, the Gallows’ Shadow

That evening, the king and Haman dine with Esther.

The wine flows, the conversation sparkles.

Haman’s chest swells with pride—he alone was invited!

He imagines himself the favorite of both crown and queen.

But as he leaves the palace that night, pride meets its test.

At the gate sits Mordecai, the Jew, the man who refuses to bow.

Everyone else stands in reverence, but Mordecai stays seated, steady, silent.

Haman’s joy curdles to fury.

How dare this man ignore him!

Scripture says Haman “was filled with anger,” but he restrained himself long enough to go home and brag.

He calls for his wife, Zeresh, and his friends, and begins the monologue:

his riches, his promotions, his ten sons, his honors—

the entire resume of a man drunk on self-importance.

The Hebrew rhythm almost mocks him:

Blah, blah, blah.

Finally he admits, “Yet all of this means nothing to me as long as I see Mordecai the Jew sitting at the gate.”

Imagine that—a man with everything, undone by one man’s posture.

Pride is like that.

It takes a small offense and magnifies it until it fills your entire horizon.

Let me illustrate.

Hold two quarters in your hand.

They’re small enough to see around.

But bring them close to your eyes—so close that they touch your lashes—and you’ll see nothing else.

Just fifty cents can block your entire view of the world.

So can envy. So can resentment. So can pride.

Haman’s wife gives him her counsel:

“Build a gallows fifty cubits high—seventy-five feet! In the morning, ask the king to hang Mordecai on it. Then you can go joyfully to the banquet.”

And Haman, grinning in wicked satisfaction, orders the gallows built.