The Story of Queen Esther- God's Hidden Providence - Complete Biblical Movie

She stands at the closed doors and knows. To enter uninvited means death. Persian law knows no exceptions, even for the queen. One people, one decree. One day, when they would all be killed, men, women, children, from one end of the empire to the other, stretching from India to Ethiopia. And only she, a young woman with a secret she'd kept for years, could stop it. Or she couldn't. Because first, she needed to stay alive. But before we reach those doors, we need to understand how an orphaned Jewish girl ended up as queen of the world's largest empire. Because it wasn't an accident. And that's precisely what makes Esther's story one of the most astonishing in scripture. Susa, the Persian capital, a city of palaces, canals, and imperial power before which kings bowed. Ahasuerus, apparently the one the Greeks called Xerxes, ruled here over 127 provinces. This wasn't just a vast country. It was the entire known world. Among the many people living in Susa was a small Jewish community, descendants of those whom Nebuchadnezzar had once exiled from Jerusalem, first to Babylon. Then, when Persia swallowed Babylon, they found themselves subjects of the new king. Among them was Mordecai, a man from the tribe of Benjamin, a serious and cautious man who served at the king's gate. And next to him was a girl named Esther, in Hebrew, Hadassah, Mirtha. She lost her father and mother as a child. Mordecai, her cousin, took her in and raised her as his own. He taught her to remain silent when silence saves, and to speak when words cost lives. One of these lessons she would learn much sooner than she thought. Meanwhile, in the royal palace, what is commonly called a political scandal was unfolding, but which was in fact the first link in a long chain of events that would change everything. King Ahasuerus held a banquet. Not just any banquet, a grand feast lasting 180 days, where he displayed the might of his empire before the assembled nobles and military leaders. Gold, purple, marble, wine from the royal reserves. And at the end of this long celebration, when the king was intoxicated and smug, he ordered Queen Vashti to be brought in, to show her off to the guests. She was beautiful. He wanted everyone to see it. Vashti refused. No one knows exactly why. The text is silent on the matter, but the fact remains. The queen said no to the Persian king in front of the entire court. And Ahasuerus, irritated, hurt, surrounded by advisors who vied with each other to explain to him what a dangerous precedent this would set for every wife in the empire, deposed her. Vashti ceased to be queen. The place next to the throne was empty, and the advisors proposed, let them gather the most beautiful girls from all the provinces. Let the king choose. A simple solution. A state one. Esther was among the girls who were brought to the palace. Mordecai didn't give her away because he wanted to break up. He gave her away because he had no choice. Those were the orders. And before she walked through the palace gates, he told her one thing. Don't tell anyone you're Jewish. Don't tell anyone who your people are. She remembered. At court, Esther fell under the supervision of Hegai, the chief eunuch in charge of the royal concubines. And something easy to overlook happened. Hegai fell in love with her. Not in a romantic sense, he singled her out from all the other girls, gave her the finest quarters, the finest maids, the best of everything the palace had to offer. Something about her, her character, her calm, that special stillness that comes with loss, endeared her to this experienced courtier. Twelve months. That's how long each girl's preparation lasted before she was presented to the king. Incense, anointing, training in palace etiquette. Each spent the night with the king once and then departed for other chambers. She never returned unless the king himself called her by name. When it was Esther's turn, Hegai advised her what to take with her. She followed his advice. No more, no less. No calculation, no games. Simply obedience. The king saw her and chose her. Esther became queen of the Persian empire. A crown was placed on her head. The king held a feast in her honor and declared a holiday throughout the provinces. And Mordecai came to the palace gates every day to check on her. He couldn't go inside. He could only stand outside and wait for news. It was at these gates that he would one day overhear a conversation between two guards plotting to assassinate the king. He would report this to Esther and Esther to the king. The plot would be uncovered, the guards would be executed, and Mordecai's name would be inscribed in the royal annals. They'll write it down and forget about it. For now. Because a man was about to appear at court who was destined to change everything. A man before whom everyone bowed. Everyone. Except one. Susa. In Persian, Shushan. A city that stands on the Kerker river, surrounded by palm trees and the scent of spices brought from a thousand trade routes. In this city there was no shortage of gold, silk, or power. Here stood the palace of Ahasuerus. The king whose name was known in every province from India to Ethiopia. 127 provinces. This isn't just a number, it's a world. Almost the entire known world lay at the feet of one man. And amid all this splendor, a small Jewish quarter. Narrow streets, the scent of Shabbat candles, a quiet language spoken here in whispers. The Jews lived in Susa as a guest people, or more accurately, as a captive people who had learned to smile and not show their memories of Jerusalem. Their ancestors did not come here of their own free will. Nebuchadnezzar led them out of their ancestral land, and then the Persians came. And everything remained almost the same. A foreign throne, a foreign language, foreign gods on every corner. Mordecai of the tribe of Benjamin lived here, a quiet man with a keen mind. He sat at the king's gate, the place where matters were decided, where rumors circulated, and where one could know a little more than the average citizen. He had no children of his own, but he did have a niece, or rather a cousin, whom he took in when her parents died. The girl's name was Hadassah. In Persian, her name was Esther. And within that name lay a hidden duality, a Jewish heart behind a Persian name, a secret hidden within another secret. Mordecai raised her like a daughter. He taught her to remain silent when necessary. He taught her to carry herself with dignity without attracting unnecessary attention. Don't tell anyone you're Jewish. This command was heard so many times throughout her childhood that she probably heard it in her dreams. Not out of cowardice, out of the wisdom of a man who understood that in an alien realm, survival is also a form of loyalty. Esther grew up beautiful, not just pretty, a rare beauty that was immediately noticed. But Mordecai saw something else in her, a quiet strength, the ability to listen, the ability to empathize with people, the ability to remain herself when everything around her demanded she become someone else. And then something happened that changed everything. Queen Vashti refused the king. She refused publicly, in front of the entire court, when Ahasuerus commanded her to attend the banquet and display her beauty to the guests. Whether it was pride, dignity, or fear that motivated her, that's debatable. But the result was clear. The king was enraged. His advisors were horrified, for if the king's wife could refuse the king in front of the entire people, what would stop the wives of commoners from doing the same? Power rests on obedience. Vashti had disrupted the order, and so she was removed, quietly, like one removes uncomfortable furniture. The kingdom was left without a queen. And then came the decree. Gather the most beautiful girls from all the provinces, bring them to Susa, place them in the royal harem under the care of the eunuch Hegai. Let them prepare for a year, incense, care, training, and then one night with the king, and the one he chooses will become queen in place of Vashti. This wasn't a beauty contest as we understand it. It was a selection process from which there was no turning back. A girl not chosen by the king remained in the harem forever. A widow of a living man, a wife without a husband, a name on a list forgotten. Esther was included on this list. Mordecai couldn't protect her. Against the king's decree, there was no shield, no word, no door that could be closed. They took her. They brought her to the palace. And there, among hundreds of other girls from hundreds of other provinces, the Jewish girl from the small quarter of Susa found herself in the very heart of the greatest empire on earth. She didn't know why. She didn't understand what was happening. She remembered only one thing, not to say who she was. Mordecai had ordered it and she remained silent. The Jewess behind the Persian name, the chosen one behind the modest smile, the secret no one saw. Hegai, the head of the harem, looked at her and for some reason singled her out immediately. He gave her the best position, the best maids, the best care. Perhaps it was a coincidence, or perhaps even then, a hand no one named was at work in this coincidence. The year passed. Esther prepared. Every day she entered deeper into this world, a world of the sense of myrrh and cinnamon, of precious fabrics and the quiet steps on marble floors. A world where every smile was calculated and every word a stake. She didn't lose her composure. She held on. But inside, what was inside we don't know. The book doesn't tell us about her tears. It tells us about her behavior and everyone who saw her loved her. All, not some, all. When her night came, she went to the king with what Hegai had advised. Just that. Nothing extra. No attempt to impress or outwit. Simply herself. And Ahasuerus looked at her. And chose her. A Jewish orphan from Persian captivity donned a royal crown. She became queen of an empire that had kept her people dispersed. It was an impossible story. Impossible, unless you knew who wrote it. Mordecai came to the palace gates every day to check on her. Esther sent him messages. The connection remained. The secret remained. But secrets don't last forever. And already in this palace, in these very corridors, where the scent of folklore and palace intrigue reeked, a man grew up who would one day decide to exterminate every last one of her people. His name was Amman. And while Esther was learning to be a queen, he was learning to hate. Three days. For three days, she neither ate nor drank. For three days, she did not leave her chambers. For three days, the entire Jewish people in Susa fasted with her, at her request, conveyed through Mordecai. And in those three days, Esther, queen of the great Persian empire, for the first time, truly understood who she truly was. Not a queen. A Jewess. A daughter of her people. And if she remained silent now, her people would cease to exist. She knew the law. Everyone knew it. Entering the king's presence without a summons meant death. No matter who you were. No matter that you were the queen. Persian law made no exceptions, even for the closest relatives. The only thing that could save someone entering uninvited was for the king to offer the golden scepter. Only then would the person survive. If they didn't offer it, the guards would carry out the sentence right there at the throne. Esther hadn't visited the king for thirty days. He hadn't called her for thirty days. This was a bad sign. Kings didn't explain their decisions. Perhaps he'd grown cold toward her. Perhaps there was another woman nearby. Perhaps he'd simply forgotten. But perhaps, in a Persian palace, is always the space between life and death. And yet, on the third day, she got up. She dressed in royal attire, not because she wanted to impress, but because she walked like a queen, with the dignity that comes not from a throne, but from a decision. She did what she feared. Step by step, she walked through the inner chambers. She emerged into the courtyard, and stopped opposite the throne room, where the king could be seen sitting on his throne. She didn't come in. She just stood and watched. And he saw her. What happened in that second in the throne room is unknown to us. Was there surprise in his eyes? Anger? Or something else? Something that remained only between them? The text says one thing. The king saw Esther standing in the courtyard, and Esther found favor in his eyes. Ahasuerus raised the golden scepter. She walked up and touched the end of it. Alive. She was alive. The law that killed everyone without exception had no power over her at that moment. Not because the Tsar loved her, though perhaps that was true, but because during three days of fasting and silence, something had happened in the invisible. Something that defied all logic, yet could be felt in every detail. A hand that wasn't in the text, yet could be felt behind every word. Ahasuerus asked, What do you need, Queen Esther? Ask, and I will give you up to half the kingdom. This question was a formula for generosity, the kind Persian kings uttered when they wanted to show their favor. But behind these words lay permission to speak. Permission she had won at the cost of three days of fear and three days of silence. And here she did something no one expected of her. Not Mordecai, not the reader, not perhaps the king himself. She didn't ask for what she came for. She invited him to the feast. Him and Haman. Why? This is one of the most pressing questions of the entire book. Why not immediately? Why not reveal herself right now, while it was still in place, while the scepter was still warm from her hand? We don't know for sure. Perhaps she sensed the moment wasn't yet ripe. Perhaps she needed to see Haman up close, to understand the balance of power. Perhaps it was part of a strategy to draw the enemy closer before striking. Or perhaps it was something very simple. She wasn't ready yet. The fear hadn't yet fully subsided. And she asked for a little more time. From the king, from herself, from God. The feast took place. Haman arrived. He was smiling. He carried himself with that special confidence of a man who considers himself the only close confidant the queen has honored with a personal invitation. He suspected nothing. At the table, the king asked Esther again, what do you want? And again she didn't say. She asked, come tomorrow, there's another feast, then I'll tell you. Haman left the palace that evening full of himself. And it's here that the text takes a sharp turn. The camera moves away from Esther, and follows Haman. Because what happens to him that evening will be the key to everything that comes next. He walked home through the palace gates, and there, sitting at the gate, was Mordecai. And again, as always, Mordecai didn't stand, didn't bow, didn't flinch, just looked. Or maybe he didn't look at all. He just was. Haman choked with rage. But he restrained himself. He passed by. He made his way home. He called his wife, called his friends, and began telling them how great his wealth was, how many children he had, how the king himself had elevated him, how the queen had invited him to a feast, him alone, of all people. He listed it all like a man who needed to convince himself he was happy. And finally, he added, but all this is worthless as long as I see that Jew Mordecai sitting at the gate. His wife and friends said, build a gallows, fifty cubits high. Tomorrow morning, ask the king's permission and hang him. Then go to the feast with a light heart. This consoled Haman. He ordered a gallows to be built. That night, no one in this house slept poorly. Except, perhaps, Haman himself. For hatred haunts even when it seems so close to being sated. He lay and thought about tomorrow, about how Mordecai would die, about how he would go to the queen's feast again, and this time with a clear conscience. But that same night, that very same night, in another place in the palace, something was happening quite differently. Three days have passed. Three days of fasting, silence, and prayer. Three days when the Jewish people in Susa neither ate nor drank. When Esther and her maidens distanced themselves from all worldly things and turned to the One who alone could change the immutable. A three-day fast is not a diet or a symbolic gesture. In the ancient world, it was a sign of extreme need, the point beyond which the body begins to weaken and the soul is exposed to God. Esther knew that what she was about to do could not be withstood by any courtly maneuver, any cunning, or any human strategy. God had to do it, or it would not happen at all. On the third day, she got up. She dressed in royal robes, not because she wanted to impress, but because she intended to appear before the king as a queen, not as a supplicant. It's a subtle but important distinction. She didn't come to beg, she came to act. The royal palace courtyard lay open before her. She stood on its threshold and looked inside, to where Ahasuerus, the greatest ruler of the earth, sat on a throne of gold and ivory. The scepter lay in his hand. The law was clear. No one came before the king without a summons. Death was automatic unless the king offered the golden scepter as a sign of mercy. Esther took a step forward. None of the courtiers knew what to expect. The king saw her, and something changed in his face. The book's text states simply and precisely, she found favor in his eyes. He extended his golden scepter to her. Esther came forward and touched the end of the scepter. It was a sign. Life was granted. We could speak. The king asked, what do you need, Queen Esther? Ask for up to half the kingdom, and it will be given to you. A standard phrase of an eastern monarch, meaning, I am in good spirits. Ask for anything. And here, Esther does something unexpected. She doesn't mention Hermann. She doesn't reveal the secret. She doesn't name the threat. Instead, she invites the king and Hermann to a feast. Just a feast. Today. Why? Why not now, not directly? Some read this as a deliberate strategy. She wanted to see Hermann in person, wanted to speak at the right moment, in the right place, when the king was relaxed and one nobleman already felt safe. Others see something deeper here. She didn't yet sense the time was right. There's a moment when words should be held back, when God hasn't yet given a sign. They came to the feast. Wine was served. The king asked again, what do you need, Esther? She postponed again. She invited them to a second feast. Tomorrow. Then I will tell you. Hermann left the palace that evening, happy. The queen herself had called him. The king himself had honored him. The world lay at his feet. But on the way home, he saw Mordecai at the gate. And again, Mordecai didn't stand up. He didn't bow. He didn't move. All of Haman's joy collapsed into a single point of hatred. He came home, called his wife and friends together, and began listing all his wealth, his sons, his power, his place at the king's side, his invitation to the queen. And then he said, underscore, underscore, quote, underscore, five, underscore, underscore. His wife and advisors gave him immediate and harsh advice. Order a gallows built 50 cubits high. That's about 25 meters. Something demonstrative, visible to the entire city. And in the morning, ask the king's permission to hang Mordecai on it. Then you'll go to the feast in peace. Haman agreed. The gallows was built that same night. That same night, the king could not sleep. It's a small detail, easy to miss. But it's here that history takes a turn that changes everything. Ahasuerus, unable to sleep, ordered the chronicle of the memorable events of his reign brought and read to him. And lo and behold, among other entries, an episode was read about how a certain Mordecai uncovered a plot by two eunuchs to assassinate the king. The king asked, what was done for this man as a reward? Answer, nothing. Ahasuerus never forgot his debts. In the morning, he asked, who is in the courtyard now? Haman arrived early, precisely to ask permission to hang Mordecai. The king called him first, and he asked a question that overturned everything. How should one deal with a man whom the king wants to honor? Haman assumed they were talking about him. Who else? He was the closest, the most influential, and he responded with flourish. Let them dress him in royal robes, mount him on the royal horse, and let the most distinguished nobleman lead him through the city square, proclaiming, this is what is done to the man whom the king wishes to honor. The king said, good, do just that to Mordecai the Jew, who sits at the gate. Do not omit anything you have said. The text doesn't describe Haman's face at this moment, but the imagination fills in the blanks. Haman led Mordecai across the square. He recited the words of honor, himself, with his own lips. Then he went home and told his wife and friends, and they told him what they hadn't said before. If Mordecai is from the Jewish tribe, then you won't defeat him. You will certainly fall. But there was no time to think. The king's servants arrived and led Haman to Esther's second banquet. And now the moment has come. The wine was served. The king asked for the third time, what do you need, Queen Esther? What do you wish to ask for? Up to half the kingdom, it will be given. Esther spoke, if I have found favor in your sight, O king, and if it pleased the king, give me my life at my request, and my people at my request. For they have sold me and my people to be destroyed, to be killed, to be annihilated. The king didn't understand at first. Who did this? Where is this man? Esther said, the enemy and the adversary is this wicked Haman. The hall became quiet. Haman looked at the queen in horror. Ahasuerus stood up and went out into the garden. He needed a moment to process what had happened. His prime minister, his trusted nobleman, his decree, and his wife, a Jewess, whom he had unknowingly elevated to the throne, now stood before him with a verdict. Haman rushed to Esther's bedside to beg for her life. It was at this moment that the king returned. He saw Haman crouched beside the queen, and interpreted this as the final insult. Immediately, he was ordered to cover his face. One of the eunuchs reported, there is a gallows that Haman prepared for Mordecai. It is 50 cubits high. It stands near his house. The king said, hang him on it. So Haman was hanged on the very gallows he had built for another. But the story wasn't over yet. The decree ordering the destruction of the Jewish people still existed. It was sealed with the royal seal. According to the laws of the Medes and Persians, no royal decree could be revoked, not even by the king himself. Death was postponed, but not cancelled. The people were still under threat. The feast had already lasted for the second day. The table was set in Esther's chambers, twice as she had requested. Ahasuerus sat opposite and Haman next to him. He must have felt special. The only man in the kingdom the queen had invited twice. The only one she wanted to see at the king's side. He didn't know it was a trap. Esther filled the cup. She set it down. She was silent. And then she spoke, calmly, without trembling, like a man who has already made a decision and there is no turning back. If I have found favor in your eyes, O king, and if it pleases the king, let my life be given to me at my request and my people at my request. For we have been sold, I and my people, to be destroyed, to be slain, and to be destroyed. The hall became quiet. Ahasuerus looked at her. Something changed in his face. Not anger, not confusion. Something else. Something like awakening. Who is this? He asked. Where is the one who dared to plan this? Esther did not look away. This evil man is Haman. Haman stood up, then sat down, then stood up again. His face turned gray, like a man who just realized his entire world was being turned upside down right now, this very second, and he couldn't stop it. The king went out into the garden. He needed air. He needed time to think. And Haman. Haman, who only an hour ago sat in the place of honor at the king's table. Haman, who built the gallows for Mordecai. Haman, who saw himself as second only to the king in the entire empire. This Haman rushed to Esther's bed. He fell before her. He began to beg for his life. Not because he repented, but because he was afraid. When the king returned, he saw Haman bending over the queen. That was enough. One of the servants said quietly, almost in a whisper. Behold, the gallows that Haman prepared for Mordecai stands outside his house. It is 50 cubits high. Ahasuerus said briefly, quote 12. That same night, Haman died. On the very gallows he had built for Mordecai. There's something almost supernatural about this It's as if every plot against Mordecai, slowly, calmly, without fuss, had turned against Haman himself. The lot, cast in the first month, postponed the day of extermination until the 12th. This time proved to be exactly the right amount of time. No more, no less. But the story is not over yet. The decree to exterminate the Jews still existed. In the Persian empire, laws sealed with the royal seal could not be repealed. Even the king couldn't simply say, forget it. Haman was dead, but his decree lived on. Esther went to Ahasuerus again, again uninvited, again at risk. She fell at his feet and wept. She begged, not for herself, but for the people. And Ahasuerus handed her the golden scepter. He couldn't repeal the first decree, but he did allow a second one to be written. And this second decree gave the Jews the right to rise up and defend themselves. The right to gather, to arm themselves, to stand against those who would come to kill them. Mordecai emerged from the palace in royal attire, blue and white, with a golden crown, fine linen, and purple. The very man who had sat at the gate in rags and ashes now emerged as the king's messenger. And throughout the empire, from India to Ethiopia, throughout all 127 provinces, messengers rushed. On the 13th of Adar, the enemies arrived. They thought the Jews would be unarmed, that the law was on their side, that those already overcome by doom would be unable to fight. They were wrong. Something happened that day that no one foresaw. The people who had been sentenced survived. Not because circumstances conspired to favor them, not because an influential patron was found, but because one young woman spoke out when silence was easiest. The following year, Mordecai and Esther established a holiday. It was called Purim, from the word pur, meaning lots. The same lot Haman cast to choose the day of extermination. But the lot turned out differently. The date he chose for destruction became the date of salvation. The holiday, which Jews observe to this day, is named after that very lot, as a reminder that no lot cast against you is the final word. And this is where it is worth stopping. Because in this entire story, not once, not in a single line, is God's name mentioned. Not a prayer addressed to him out loud. Not a voice from heaven. Not an angel. Not a sign. Only people, their fear, their decisions, their fast, their silence, their words, spoken at the right moment. And yet, behind every twist and turn of this story, a presence is felt that cannot be called coincidence. Esther was in the palace at precisely that moment. Mordecai was at the gates precisely on the night the plot was uncovered. The king could not sleep precisely on the night when everything was being decided. The lot fell on a month, giving the people time. Coincidences don't work out so precisely. It wasn't an accident. It was providence, working in silence, through ordinary people, through their choices, through their willingness to stand up and say, quote, 15, the people survived. And in this survival, there is something that has not yet been said to the end. Because Esther's story isn't just a tale of the past. It's a story of how God never abandons his own. That when it seems the enemy has already won, and the decree has already been signed, the hand that works in silence hasn't yet spoken its last word. And it is here that this story begins to speak of something greater than one people, in one empire, in one century. Main scenario, stage six. The order was rescinded, but the enemies didn't disappear overnight. Across the empire, those who had already been preparing for a pogrom waited. And then the Tsar gave the Jews a right, the right to defend themselves. This was unprecedented. It was unheard of. In the entire history of the Persian Empire, no people had ever received such a royal word. On the 13th day of the month of Adar, the Jews took up arms. Not for revenge, but for survival. Those who thought the nation was already doomed now saw something entirely different. Mordecai stood at the palace gates, clad in royal robes, a golden crown, purple and fine linen. The very same man who just months earlier sat at those same gates in rags and ashes. Everything changed. Overnight, fear of the Jews gripped many, and many nations sided with them, for Mordecai's strength was evident to all. Haman was dead. His ten sons had also fallen. 500 enemies in Susa, 75,000 throughout the provinces. Not conquest, defense. God had preserved his people. Esther stood in her chambers when it all ended. She was the same girl from Susa, and yet a completely different person. She hadn't asked for this fate. She hadn't sought the throne. She had lost her parents as a child, grown up in a foreign land, hidden her identity, lived under a foreign crown. And she had found herself in the right place at the right time. Mordecai wrote it all down. He recorded every turn. He sent letters to every province, to Jews from India to Ethiopia, to all 127. He instituted a holiday. Two days, the 14th and 15th of Adar, days of feasting, joy, giving gifts, and helping the poor. Purim, from the word quote 16, meaning quote 17. Because Haman cast lots to choose the day of destruction. But it was precisely this lot that became the day of salvation. What was intended as death, God turned into a celebration of life. And this holiday is preserved to this day, not as a legend, not as a symbol, as a living memory. The Jewish people remember every year we stood at the edge and we survived. It was no accident. Esther didn't deliver a single great speech. She didn't prophesy. She didn't perform miracles with her hands. She simply entered. She entered where entry was barred. She stood before the throne knowing she might not emerge alive. And that step, that single step of faith through fear, changed the fate of an entire people. There's something about this story that haunts me. God doesn't utter a word here. No voice from heaven, no pillar of fire, no angel. Just ordinary people in ordinary circumstances making decisions that cost them everything. And behind this silence lies not the absence of God, a hidden presence, a providence that works quietly like a thread in a cloth. It's invisible, but remove it and the fabric unravels. Mordecai asked, who knows, maybe you were here for just such a time. This question hasn't faded into the past. It resonates at any time when a person faces an impossible choice and doesn't know if they have the strength. But Esther's story isn't the end of this theme. It's only a shadow. For later came the one who entered not an earthly throne room, but death itself. The one who didn't simply risk his life, the one who gave it up voluntarily for a people who couldn't save themselves. Esther begged the king to rescind the decree. Jesus himself became the one on whom the death sentence fell so that we wouldn't have to bear it. She was the mediator between the people and the throne. He became the mediator between man and God and the way through him is open to everyone without lottery, without chance, forever. Esther's story says you are here for a reason. The gospel says more. You are loved and for you there was a price that God himself paid.