Faith Among The Faithless: 10-Day Reading PlanExemplo

There’s a kind of cynicism that keeps the world at arm’s length and insulates us from the pain of disappointment and the frustration of failure. Being cynical is kind of a cure-all for disappointment: Of course things didn’t turn out well; we never expected anything different.

In this part of our story, Esther herself flirted with cynicism, and Mordecai frightened her away from it.

It began with the rending of Mordecai’s robes. This was a violent and passionate image: threads bursting, knuckles white against fabric, body exposed. Tearing garments was a common expression of mourning, and in some circles of Jewish life today, it’s still practiced. It’s called kriah, and it’s done more subtly now. A mourner tears a black ribbon in the presence of a deceased person, and wears the torn ribbon for a period of time, as long as thirty days. It is an image of brokenness, of irreparability, and of poverty. Clothes—especially for someone of influence, like Mordecai—were expensive, and tearing them ruined them.

So, upon hearing the order of death to the Jews, Mordecai tore his clothes like a mourner at a funeral, exposed his body, and then clothed himself with ashes and sackcloth—the clothes of the very poorest. He was the embodiment of death.

Not only was Mordecai exposed as a Jew; he was exposed as one marked for death. And he exposed his own sorrow. He poured his heart out, and he did so without the promise of someone coming along and celebrating him for his bravery and vulnerability. He would, instead, be ostracized, banned from the King’s Gate, and would embarrass those like Esther, who knew him. No one would say, “How brave of you! Thanks for sharing.” There was nothing to be gained. His was a display that weakened him—embracing the real risk of vulnerability—rather than strengthened him.

This kind of weakness takes courage. One wonders if we have courage enough to be passionate before the world today. Are we courageous enough to weep with those who weep? To laugh with those who laugh? Are we willing to feel something in a world that rewards being distracted and unfeeling?