The Jerusalem Experiment

Last week I had the opportunity to celebrate my first Jewish Holy Day–Purim. Purim commemorates God’s deliverance of  Jews scattered across the Persian Empire in the 5th century B.C. On the Sunday evening of Purim weekend in synagogues all over the world, the entire book of Esther is chanted (in Hebrew, of course). At each point where the text reads the name “Haman” the synagogue erupts with a chorus of boos, screams, and other various vocalizations of disapproval. Granted, Haman was a bad dude, but a quick skim of the narrative of scripture brings to mind a myriad of folks who deserve a boo or two: Cain, Goliath, Sennacherib, Manasseh (Hezekiah’s son), and Nebuchadnezzar, for example. What was so especially vile about Haman that warrants a legacy of annual scoffing? After all, I’ve always understood the book of Esther to be a rather obscure book of the Bible. God is never explicitly mentioned, there is no Temple to be spoken of, in fact the entire story takes place in modern day Southwestern Iran. Why give so much weight to the book of Esther and the annual mocking of Haman?

In January I did something rather stupid. I agreed to run a half marathon on March 18th. This is the sort of thing that is easy to say yes to, but very difficult to follow through with. Training is involved. I started jogging around the Old City: about three miles (granted this route takes you up and down massive limestone hills). Later I journeyed with my friend Paul to Bethlehem: 7.2 miles. I was rather proud of myself after completing what amounted to the longest distance I’d ever run before. My pride disintegrated, however, when I did the math and realized in order to actually complete the half marathon I’d have to virtually double my distance. I cringed. Today I ran ten miles. Slowly (very slowly) I’m starting to believe that I might actually be able to finish what I’ve agreed to do: run the Jerusalem Half Marathon. I’ve never been good at finishing what I start. Looking back over the past 29 years of my life I can see a long line of forgotten plans, unfinished projects, and broken relationships. When I was a little kid (my mom tells me) I was fascinated with new toys. I would play with them for hours and hours until, all of the sudden, I became disinterested and eager for the next thing.

The story of Esther actually begins in the book of Exodus (which is ironic given that fact that Exodus is a book about leaving exile and Esther is a book that takes place in exile). As the nation of Israel leaves the Egyptian chariots floating in the sea behind them, a new enemy approaches–the Amalekites. Joshua and an unspecified number of men engage Amalek in battle while Moses, Aaron, and Hur look on. Exodus 17 tells us that as long as Moses kept his hand held up, the people of Israel prevailed. Eventually the Amalekites are overwhelmed and Israel is victorious. Then the LORD says to Moses,

‘Write this as a memorial in a book and recite it in the ears of Joshua, that I will utterly blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven.’ And Moses built an altar and called the name of it, the LORD is My Banner, saying ‘A hand upon the throne of the LORD! The LORD will have war with Amalek from generation to generation’ (Ex. 17:14-16).

In a sense, what God is saying, “Wipe Amalek’s name out, but never forget it.” Hundreds of years pass. The Israelites beg for a king and God gives them Saul–a shiny king who though his faith is as thin as a sheet of formica, at least he looks the part. One of his biggest blunders Saul makes as king occurs in 1 Samuel 15,

And Samuel said to Saul, ‘The LORD sent me to anoint you king over his people Israel; now therefore listen to the words of the LORD. Thus says the LORD of hosts, ‘I have noted what Amalek did to Israel in opposing them on the way when they came up out of Egypt. Now go and strike Amalek and devote to destruction all that they have. Do not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey’ (vv. 1-3).

Saul fails when he fails to kill King Agag, the leader of the Amalekites. It’s important to note that Jewish spirituality is all about symbols. Nothing in Scripture is arbitrary, everything has significance. It’s just that sometimes we have to dig a bit deeper. For the Jews, Amalek is not a people group, but the personification of evil that has been nipping at the heals of the people of God since Eden. “Amalek” was used throughout first century B.C. in reference to Israel’s oppressors, and more recently in reference to Hitler and even Sadaam Hussein (when Scud missiles rained down on Tel Aviv during the first Gulf War).

About seven years ago my friend Tony preached a sermon entitled, “Finish Strong”. I’ve heard hundreds of sermons over the course of my twelve years as a Christian, but this one stuck. Because so often I finish poorly, or don’t finish at all. If we as the people of God are meant to embody character of God, we must be people who finish what we start. God always does.

Five hundred years after Saul, the Israelites find themselves in exile. Babylon destroyed the Temple, Persia conquered Babylon, and suddenly the Jews are face to face with Amalek once again. The two main characters in the book of Esther (in addition to Esther, of course) are Mordecai and Haman. Mordecai is a Jew who refuses to bow to anyone other than God. We are given his genealogy (which seems rather arbitrary at first glance),

Now there was a Jew in Susa the citadel whose name was Mordecai, the son of Jair, son of Shimei, son of Kish, a Benjaminite. (Esther 2:6).

Why not just, “There was a Jew name Mordecai”? Because every word of Scripture is important. Kish takes a back a few hundred years,

There was a man of Benjamin whose name was Kish…And he had a son whose name was Saul, a handsome young man. (1 Sam. 9:1-2).

Mordecai (the author of Esther wants us to know) was a direct descendant of Saul.

Haman is a power-hungry…Agagite. What does that mean? Well, it means that Haman is a descendant of King Agag. Remember? This was the king Saul was supposed to kill, but doesn’t. Agag the Amalekite has a son, grandson, great-grandsons, eventually a young Haman, a thousand miles away from where his ancestor Agag the Amalekite threw down with Saul, steps onto the scene. Mordecai and Haman are a personification of the ancient battle that God is waging against “Amalek”, the forces of evil. And just as the wilderness-dwelling Amalekites seek to wipe out the Jews in Exodus 17, and just as King Agag seeks to wipe out the newly monarchical Jewish community in 1 Samuel 15, Haman convinces the King of Persia to sign a degree authorizing the mass genocide of all Jews throughout the empire.

Thankfully God is poised to finish what He starts. God is constantly at war against the “Amaleks” in our midst.

Living in Jerusalem inevitably sobers one to the reality that this land is no more “holy” than, say, Chicago. People don’t glow, levitate or heal unsuspecting ailments while standing on street corners (as cool as that would be). Last Sunday, during Purim, a group of Orthodox Jews entered the Temple Mount (a place reserved for Muslims). They apparently caused a scene and attempted to stay overnight near the Dome of the Rock. Eventually people started throwing stones at them. Israeli police rushed in, shots were fired, people were hurt (possibly killed). Amalek is alive and well. God hasn’t finished what He started…but He will. There’s no chance He’ll fail to reach mile thirteen. And so my (attempt at) running the Jerusalem Half Marathon is a sort of prayer, a prayer that God would establish my heart in such a way that I would be the kind of man who is known for finishing what he starts, honoring his commitments, and therein reflecting the God who finishes everything He starts. But my running is also a prayer, a prayer that Christ, the Messiah, would come quickly and sweep down the Mount Olives, reestablishing justice and drive the final stake through the heart of Amalek.