February 28, 2026
We are living in hours that history will remember.
Sirens sound. Missiles cross the sky. Families in Israel run to shelters. Parents hold children in reinforced rooms, listening for the impact and then for the silence. Soldiers stand watch through the night. Leaders make decisions in the early hours that will shape nations. Across America and beyond, people watch, pray, and wait.
These are not ordinary days.
Fear is real. But fear cannot govern us. Truth must.
The Chief of the General Staff of the IDF has described this as a decisive operation aimed at dismantling capabilities that pose an existential threat to Israel. He has spoken openly about the reality that no defense system is perfect and that difficult days may lie ahead. At the same time, he has emphasized resilience, unity, and the moral clarity of defending a nation’s right to exist.
President Trump has stated clearly that Iran will not be permitted to obtain a nuclear weapon and has framed this confrontation as protection of American citizens and allies. The language is firm because the danger is real.
And all of this unfolds as Purim approaches.
Purim remembers a night when a decree was sealed in Persia — a decree calling for the destruction of the Jewish people. Esther 3 tells us that letters were sent to every province, sealed with the king’s signet ring, commanding that the Jews be destroyed, killed, and annihilated in a single day.
It was not rumor. It was law.
The Jewish people were scattered and vulnerable. They had no army to summon, no political power to appeal to. The decree carried the authority of the empire. It appeared final.
Then came the words that echo across generations:
“Who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14)
Mordechai was not speaking in poetry. He was placing responsibility before Esther.
She understood the danger. To approach the king without being summoned could mean death. Yet before she moved toward the throne, she called for fasting. Esther 4:16 records her plea: “Go, gather all the Jews who are present in Shushan, and fast for me; neither eat nor drink for three days, night or day… and if I perish, I perish.”
Three days without food. Three days without water. Three days of complete dependence on God.
Before confrontation, there was consecration. Before strategy, there was surrender.
She entered the court prepared. She did not accuse immediately. She invited the king to a banquet, and then to another. She moved with patience and discernment.
Meanwhile, Haman built gallows, confident that power was secure and the decree would stand.
Then Scripture records something almost quiet in its simplicity: the king could not sleep (Esther 6). The royal chronicles were read. A forgotten act of loyalty was remembered. The man marked for death was honored instead. What had been prepared for destruction became the instrument of reversal.
The decree was not erased. Persian law did not allow that. Instead, a new decree was issued empowering the Jewish people to stand and defend themselves (Esther 8). In Esther 9, the day meant for annihilation became a day of deliverance.
Purim is not fantasy. It is memory of a reversal that came after fasting, after courage, after obedience in the face of law-backed threat.
This pattern matters now.
We are again watching threats against Israel emerge from the region once known as Persia. Since 1979, the Islamic Republic established by revolution has shaped Iran’s direction through an ideology that includes declared hostility toward Israel and the export of that hostility through proxies and military development.
Yet Scripture does not confuse a regime with a people.
In Jeremiah 49, the Lord speaks concerning Elam, part of ancient Persia:
“Behold, I will break the bow of Elam, the foremost of their might.
I will set My throne in Elam and destroy her king and officials.
But in the latter days I will restore the fortunes of Elam.”
The bow represented military strength, long-range reach, the capacity to threaten. To break the bow is to dismantle destructive power.
To set His throne in Elam is to assert sovereignty over rulers.
And the promise of restoration declares that the future of a people is not cancelled by the fall of a regime.
Since 1979, a revolutionary system has governed Iran. But no system has the authority to define a nation’s destiny before God.
Acts 2 tells us that Elamites were present in Jerusalem at Pentecost. From the birth of the Church, Persia was represented. The gospel has already taken root in that soil.
In recent decades, credible reports have documented the growth of an underground Church inside Iran. Men and women who have lived under ideological pressure have encountered Christ. Faith has spread quietly and at great cost.
If there is shaking in our time, we bring it before the Lord. We ask that destructive strength be restrained. We ask that aggression be halted. We ask that leaders who pursue violence be confronted by the justice of God. We ask that families be protected. We ask that believers be strengthened.
Last week, on the way to the airport, I met a driver from Iran.
He was not simply a driver. He had been a lawyer, highly educated, respected, with a life of accomplishment. He showed us photographs of his home, of his family, of his horses. There was dignity in those images. There was history.
And then, quietly, he said, “Now I am only a driver.”
There was no bitterness in his voice. There was something heavier than that. Displacement. Loss. A country that had shifted under his feet.
He offered us tea and dates. In his culture, that is not small talk. That is honor. That is welcome. That is an invitation into something human beyond politics.
We spoke. And then we prayed.
The prayer was not formal. It was not structured. It was raw. As we prayed, his voice broke. Ours did too. We cried together — not over geopolitics, not over headlines — but over a nation, over history, over longing.
When he confessed Christ, it was not dramatic. It was sacred.
In that moment, Persia was not an adversary. Persia was a man with tears in his eyes asking for hope.
Jeremiah speaks of Elam. Of bows broken. Of rulers removed. Of restoration in the latter days.
That restoration has a face.
It looks like a man far from home, holding on to dignity, reaching for faith.
It looks like hearts awakening under pressure.
It looks like a future that is not defined by a regime, but by redemption.
As Purim approaches, we remember that three days of fasting preceded deliverance. We remember that a sealed decree was not the final word. We remember that God moved through sleepless nights, remembered records, and unexpected reversals.
History does not move only by visible strength. It moves under the sovereignty of God.
We stand in prayer, led by the Holy Spirit. We ask for protection over Israel. We ask for wisdom for leaders. We ask that destructive ambitions be restrained. We ask that the Church in Iran be strengthened. We ask that any shaking lead to justice and to restoration.
The Lion of the tribe of Judah reigns.
For such a time as this.