Andrea Wetherald is a writer, entrepreneur and improviser from Canton, Ohio who currently lives in Pittsburgh with her husband and their dog, Farley. She earned her a degree from Bluffton (Ohio) University in 2010. She currently performs on two different improv house teams at The Arcade Comedy Theater, and has produced several sketch shows with Sacrelicious, an all-female sketch troupe poking gentle, loving fun at their mainstream Christian roots. Her current venture is Improvising the Office, which aims to improve sales techniques, inter-office communication and group dynamic through safe, fun and highly interactive improv workshops. She attends Pittsburgh Mennonite Church. 

As a child, I viewed Esther as a brave, selfless, eloquent, superhero combination of Jesus and Batman and Joan of Arc. I imagined that if Trapper Keepers with bright, sparkly Girl Power stickers had existed in her day, she would have proudly carried one.

Had you asked 9 year-old me to recount Esther’s story, I would have said something like this: King whateverhisnameis (who cares about that guy) is bad. Esther becomes the Queen, but then some other guy (boys are dumb) tries to kill all of the Jews. Thankfully, Esther is extremely brave and saves everyone. All the bad guys are banished (probably to Jupiter to get more stupider) and everyone lived happily ever after.

But reading this story as an adult has me viewing Esther as a different kind of role model: the kind of role model who is really more of a fearful self-preservationist that stumbles into activism because of a situation that had spiraled out of control and a privileged role she did not choose.

If you asked 28 year-old me to recount the story, I’d say something like this: Brutal misogyny creates a royal vacancy by ousting Vashti and then fills the same vacancy with Esther. King Xerxes is tricked by Haman (his number one adviser) into issuing a decree to kill all of the Jews. When Esther hears the news of this impending genocide, her initial reactions are to 1) ask Mordecai (her cousin who raised her by himself when she was orphaned) to lessen his expression of grief (Esther 4:4), 2) decline his request that she intervene (4:1011), 3) distance herself from her position of privilege (4:1011), and 4) dance around the issue for days before working up the courage to ask Xerxes not to kill her people (5 and 7:14). Luckily, Mordecai convinced her to help, and gained some power of his own by protecting Xerxes from an assassination plot. Unluckily, Xerxes couldn’t erase his decree, so the Jewish people mobilized and killed nearly 76,000 men, women and children to prevent their own destruction. To add insult to unluck, the favored Persian method for capital punishment was impalement on a pole 50 cubits high. This happens to Haman, all 10 of Haman’s sons, a guy named Bigthana, a guy named Teresh, possibly Vashti in Chapter 1, nearly to Mordecai in Chapter 5 and probably to thousands of people during the Jewish mobilization at the end of the story. In the end, Mordecai gets lots of promotions and is recognized as the hero. The End.

As a Mennonite, this story has way more impaling than I’d like. As a feminist, this story has way more Moredcai being the hero than I’d like. So I’ll be honest: I’m a little disappointed. Esther seems far less like a superhero and far more…well, like me. But despite my initial disappointment, the bones of this story are notably analogous to our current state of affairs in terms of racial injustice, police brutality and cyclical violence in our country. Its honesty and attainability offer some fabulous opportunities to find ourselves in the text, and present some helpful jumping off points for affecting change in the age of Black Lives Matter.

First of all, imperfect people can be fantastic role models and viable activists. If we’re waiting for a perfect person with whom to partner in our work for change—someone who embodies all of the characteristics we find most noble–we’ll keep waiting forever and our opportunity to impact history will be missed.

Secondly, we don’t all have the same job in a crisis. We aren’t all experiencing the violence against the Black community the same way across racial lines and according to factors specific to our own lives and experiences. These differences motivate us to a variety of purposeful actions; some are motivated to make noise and raise awareness, some to create opportunities for healing and solidarity, and some to the slow, strategic work of changing the system.

After the king’s decree that all Jews be murdered, many Jews wore sackcloth and covered themselves in ashes. Sackcloth and ashes is what was right for the Jewish community. Sackcloth, ashes and petitioning a person he knew in a place of power were right steps for Mordecai. Orchestrating two separate banquets to work up the courage to intervene was right for Esther. We are experiencing this crisis differently based on our proximity to the violence and the tools we’ve been given to cope with it and we may have a different necessary response. That is okay.

Thirdly, it is possible for people experiencing a crisis differently to come together in support of one another’s efforts. When Esther rejects him the first time, Mordecai forgives her. He reminds her that they’re family. He allows her to see her position of power as a tool for affecting change instead of only the divisive factor that separated her from her people to begin with. He reframes the situation, not as an obligation to intervene, but as an invitation to take her place in history as someone who spoke up. Because of this gesture of grace, Esther is able to fast together with Mordecai and the Jewish community before she goes to the king.

The only way this kind of unity despite imperfection is possible is through grace. We will only buy another generation’s worth of racial segregation and turmoil if we can’t figure out how to be patient with each other when we aren’t seeing eye-to-eye, and support each other in our efforts to heal, make noise, make change and live in solidarity.

Lastly, this story invites us to think creatively about the tools and resources we already have for just such a time as this. Mordecai doesn’t tell Esther what she should do; he invites her to figure it out. Esther doesn’t sidestep her responsibility to determine the best strategy for action given the details of her circumstances, and in turn, Mordecai doesn’t criticize the plan she comes up with. They each do their part and they fast together in support of one another’s efforts.

In this day and age, it’s easy put on a badge of self-righteousness and troll our social circles (on and offline) for opportunities to establish the dominance of our point of view. Conversely, it’s easy to see that kind of trolling and decide to stay silent out of self-preservation. That would be easy, but that would be a gross underachievement on all of our parts. I think we can do better than that!

We have the opportunity to feel the fear and do it anyway; to feel a slight and extend grace anyway; to be uncertain and take a stand anyway. This story is an invitation; a biblical beckoning, to rise above our shortcomings, think creatively about our resources and attempt something dangerously wonderful. I think we can do it.