Esther 4:14 For if you remain completely silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”
The Festival of Purim, which we celebrate on the 14th of Adar—the last month in the Biblical calendar—begins this Thursday evening and continues through Friday evening this year. Although Purim isn’t one of the moedim, or appointed feasts, named in the Torah, it arose in the 4th century BC and has been cherished ever since.
While the dramatic events leading to Purim are vividly detailed in the Book of Esther, the festival of Purim does not appear in the New Testament.
The Book of Esther is set in the ancient city of Susa (Shushan), now part of modern-day western Iran. The story unfolds sometime after the 70-year exile in Babylon, but likely before Ezra the priest and Nehemiah the governor returned to Israel.
In a remarkable series of divinely guided events, a young Jewish woman named Hadassah, better known as Esther, ascends to become queen of Persia. Despite her high status, Esther conceals her Jewish identity on the advice of Mordecai: “Esther had not made known her people or her kindred, for Mordecai had charged her not to make it known” (Esther 2:10, 20).
As the plot thickens, Haman, the king’s advisor, engineers a plan to annihilate all Jews. By casting lots (Esther 3:7; Esther 9:26), known in Hebrew as purim, the 13th of Adar is set for this horrific event (Esther 3:13). However, the narrative takes a turn when Esther, spurred by Mordecai, discloses her heritage to the king, leading to Haman’s death and the Jews’ miraculous deliverance.
While the Book of Esther does not explicitly mention God, His presence is intricately woven throughout the narrative, visible to all who immerse themselves in its pages.
One of the most profound lessons from Purim is that God’s rescue plan for the Jewish people would happen with or without Esther’s help. Mordecai even tells Esther that if she kept quiet, “relief and deliverance for the Jews would arise from another place.” This shows that God’s plans don’t rely on just one person, even though Esther was in the right place at the right time, “for such a time as this.” (Esther 4:14)
Likewise, we are alive now “for such a time as this.” God’s prophetic plan to redeem the world, as well as the Jewish people, will happen with or without us, however, God has placed us here for “such a time as this” to see God’s prophetic plan unfold fully, that we may see the “fulness of the Gentiles” (Romans 11:25) and then “all of Israel be saved” (Romans 11:26) for this Gospel must be preached to the ends of the earth, and then the end will come! (Matthew 24:14)
So, take hold of this moment, this special time in your life, and really get that God put you here “for such a time as this.” You’re meant to do incredible things and participate in His ultimate plan—bringing hope and redemption through His Son to the whole world. And guess what? You might just be the spark that ignites a revival right where you are!
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]These verses capture one of the most profound Messianic truths in all of Scripture. What man cast aside, God exalted. What the builders saw as flawed and unfit, God chose as the foundation of His eternal plan. Yeshua (Jesus), the rejected One, is the very cornerstone upon which salvation, identity, and destiny are built. This is more than a theological concept — it’s a divine reversal that reveals the heart of redemption. Rejection by man does not disqualify–it often qualifies you for God’s greatest purposes.
These verses are far more than ancient lyrics — they are a spiritual invitation. The psalmist doesn’t just admire the gate — he pleads for it to open. “Open to me the gates of righteousness…” This is the cry of a heart that longs for access to God, not by merit, but by mercy. In Hebrew thought, gates represent transition points — thresholds between the common and the holy, the outside and the inner court, the temporal and the eternal. These are not man-made doors — they are divine entrances into the presence and promises of the LORD.
As we continue our study in Psalm 118, I want to take a deep dive into verses 17-18, where the psalmist makes one of the boldest declarations in all of Scripture: “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the LORD.” This isn’t the voice of someone untouched by pain — it’s the cry of someone who has been through the fire and come out declaring God’s faithfulness. This statement is not a denial of suffering; it’s a defiance of death. It’s the resolve of a heart that’s been chastened, refined, and pressed, yet remains confident in the God who preserves life — not just for survival, but for purpose.
Over the past two devotionals, we heard the song of the redeemed and stood at the wells of salvation. We saw how strength, song, and salvation flow from Yeshua Himself — how the joy of drawing from His presence is not just a poetic promise but a lifeline for our day. Yet today, we stand at a prophetic threshold. Something has shifted. Something has broken open. We are not only being refreshed — we are being awakened and called.
Yesterday, we heard the anthem of the redeemed rise like a trumpet blast: “The LORD is my strength and song, and He has become my salvation.” We explored how this was more than personal — it was prophetic, Messianic, and generational. We saw Yeshua not only as our Deliverer but as the very embodiment of God’s strength, the melody of our praise, and the fulfillment of every promise. We stood in awe as tents of rejoicing rose in the midst of warfare, and households became sanctuaries of celebration. But today, we go deeper — we step to the well.
There’s a reason this verse resounds like a national anthem of the redeemed. It’s not just a personal declaration—it’s a generational cry that echoes back to Moses at the Red Sea (Exodus 15:2) and forward to the final deliverance of Israel. The Hebrew word for salvation—Yeshua—makes this verse unmistakably Messianic. It isn’t a vague deliverance. It is the revelation of Yeshua (Jesus), the Deliverer, who embodies strength, becomes our song, and stands as the fulfillment of God’s redemptive plan.
The cry that shattered the stillness of Golgotha—“My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Psalm 22:1; Matthew 27:46)—was not a random cry of despair, but the deliberate voice of Yeshua pointing to Scripture. As He hung on the tree, bearing the sin of the world, He invoked the ancient words of David—not only identifying Himself as the righteous sufferer, but signaling that Psalm 22 was unfolding before their very eyes. In that moment, heaven and earth bore witness to a divine mystery: the Holy One, seemingly abandoned, was fulfilling a prophecy written a millennium earlier. Yeshua did not merely suffer—He fulfilled every word, every shadow, every stroke of divine prophecy.