Catholic Commentary
Haman Arrives — The Unwitting Instrument Enters the Court
4The king said, “Who is in the court?” Now Haman had come into the outer court of the king’s house, to speak to the king about hanging Mordecai on the gallows that he had prepared for him.5The king’s servants said to him, “Behold, Haman stands in the court.” The king said, “Let him come in.”
Esther 6:4–5 describes the dramatic moment when King Ahasuerus inquires about Mordecai's overlooked loyalty while Haman simultaneously arrives at court, unaware that his death plan will be reversed. The passage presents a providential collision of opposites: the king is about to honor the man Haman came to condemn, setting the stage for Haman's own destruction on the gallows he prepared.
In the instant Haman strides into court to demand a death sentence, the king is asking about the one man whose loyalty he owes Haman his ruin — providence arrives wearing the face of coincidence.
The Typological Sense
Patristic and medieval interpreters read Mordecai as a type (typos) of Christ: the faithful servant, ethnically despised, condemned to death by the powerful, whose unrewarded fidelity is vindicated in a stunning reversal. Haman correspondingly figures the Enemy — the adversary who rushes in to destroy the innocent precisely at the moment God is preparing their vindication. The gallows Haman built for Mordecai, on which Haman himself will die, prefigures the Cross: the instrument of destruction becomes the instrument of salvation, and the one who engineered death is undone by his own designs.
Catholic tradition reads the Book of Esther through the lens of divine providence — what the Catechism of the Catholic Church calls God's governance of creation "with wisdom and love" toward its ultimate end (CCC §302). These two verses are a masterclass in what Augustine called ordo providentiae: the hidden ordering of events by which God brings good out of human malice without violating human freedom. Haman freely chooses to come early; the king freely chooses to investigate his records; and yet their convergence is anything but accidental.
St. John Chrysostom, commenting on analogous reversals in the Psalms, notes that God routinely "uses the very weapons of the wicked against themselves" — a principle perfectly embodied here. Haman's murderous eagerness becomes the mechanism of his own destruction and Mordecai's exaltation.
The Church Fathers also saw in Mordecai's vindication a foreshadowing of the Resurrection. Just as Christ's fidelity appeared forgotten and unrewarded in the darkness of Holy Saturday, so Mordecai's loyalty sat unacknowledged in royal records until the appointed hour. The Catechism teaches that "God permits evil in order to draw a greater good from it" (CCC §412), and the Book of Esther dramatizes this truth with particular vividness.
St. Thomas Aquinas, in the Summa Theologiae (I, q. 22, a. 2), affirms that divine providence extends even to singular contingent events — the insomnia of a king, the timing of a courtier's arrival. These verses are a narrative icon of precisely that teaching: no moment, however mundane, falls outside the reach of God's providential care for His people.
Contemporary Catholics often struggle to trust God's providence in situations where injustice seems entrenched — when the wicked appear to advance unopposed while faithful service goes unnoticed. Esther 6:4–5 offers a concrete rebuke to that despair. The very night Haman's gallows stood ready, God was already working through something as ordinary as a king's insomnia and a bureaucrat's archive.
The spiritual application is precise: do not mistake God's silence for absence, or His delay for indifference. The moment you feel most overlooked — when your fidelity seems recorded nowhere except in the books no one reads — may be the very moment God is preparing your vindication and your adversary's undoing.
Practically, these verses invite a daily act of surrender: to bring our "unrewarded Mordecais" — the good we have done that no one has noticed, the injustices we have endured without redress — before God in prayer, trusting that He is already in the court, asking questions, summoning precisely the right person at precisely the right moment. The Liturgy of the Hours, with its daily recitation of the Psalms, is the Church's own rhythm of maintaining this posture of expectant trust.
Commentary
Esther 6:4 — Two Purposes Collide in One Doorway
The king's question — "Who is in the court?" — is deceptively simple, yet it is the pivot on which the entire Book of Esther turns. The narrative structure is deliberate: the author presents the king's inquiry about Mordecai and Haman's arrival in the same breath, with the Hebrew particle wehinneh ("and behold") signaling sudden, surprising simultaneity. This is not coincidence narrated casually; it is providence narrated dramatically. The reader already knows what neither Haman nor the king knows: Haman has built a fifty-cubit gallows specifically for Mordecai (Esther 5:14), and he has come at this precise pre-dawn hour, before the court has assembled, to make his request before any rival counsel could intervene.
The phrase "while the king was enquiring about the kindness (hesed) of Mordecai" is theologically loaded. In the Septuagint and Vulgate traditions, the word rendered "kindness" carries the weight of covenant fidelity — the same hesed that characterizes God's own loyalty to Israel. Mordecai's act of reporting the assassination plot (Esther 2:21–23) was an act of faithful service that went unrewarded in human reckoning, yet it is precisely this overlooked fidelity that now becomes the fulcrum of salvation. The narrative insists that no act of righteous loyalty, however forgotten by earthly kings, is ever forgotten in the divine economy.
Haman's interior motive is explicitly stated: he "had come in to speak to the king about hanging Mordecai on the gallows which he had prepared." The author's aside is bitterly ironic — Haman is about to be asked by the king to design an honor ceremony, and he will do so while harboring a death warrant in his heart. He enters the court as a man with total confidence in his plan; he will exit as the herald of his enemy's glory. The very eagerness that drives him to arrive early — the urgency of murder — is the same eagerness that delivers him into the king's ready hand.
Esther 6:5 — The Servant's Report as Narrative Fulcrum
The servants' flat announcement — "Behold, Haman stands in the court" — is among the most quietly devastating sentences in the Hebrew Bible. In Hebrew storytelling, the repetition of hinneh ("behold") bookends the two verses, creating a bracket of dramatic tension. The servants simply report what they see. They are entirely unaware that they are announcing the arrival of a man whose plan will be spectacularly reversed.
The word "stands" ('omed) is worth pausing over. Haman stands — erect, confident, powerful, the second man in the empire. Yet within hours he will prostrate himself on Esther's couch in terror (Esther 7:8), and within days he will hang on the gallows he himself erected. The posture of worldly pride — standing tall in the court of the powerful — is here at its zenith, just before its catastrophic fall.