In 2 Chronicles 17 we see when Jehoshaphat succeeds his father Asa as king of Judah, he brings with him a calm determination shaped by his father’s reforms and by his own desire to walk in God’s ways. Early in his reign, Jehoshaphat turns his attention not to building walls or mounting armies, but to the heart of his people. He goes to the assembly in Jerusalem and there appoints judges in every fortified city across the hill country of Judah, in every city of the lowlands, and in the south where the desert meets the settled lands. He charges these judges with two simple yet weighty tasks: to govern wisely among his people and to make the fear of the Lord the foundation of every decision. We imagine him standing before those judges, earnest in his appeal, trusting that justice rooted in the reverence of God can secure a nation as surely as any battlement.
Knowing that knowledge without understanding can become empty ritual, Jehoshaphat does not leave the judges to their own devices. He calls for Levites, priests, and the heads of the ancestral houses—men versed in the law that Moses had written—to accompany these judges. Together, they travel through every town, teaching the people from morning until evening. We can almost hear the shuffling of sandals on dusty roads and the rustle of scrolls unfurled in village squares, as families set aside their work to gather and listen. Mothers and fathers, young and old, lean forward to catch each verse, each explanation of how God’s law shapes life at home and in the fields. In this unfolding scene, wisdom becomes a communal resource rather than a privilege of the few, and each household finds itself woven into a larger tapestry of covenant life.
As these teachers move through the land, something remarkable takes place: the fear of the Lord comes upon all the kingdoms surrounding Judah. We sense a hush falling over Moab and Ammon, over the Edomites in the south and the Philistines by the coast, as word spreads of Judah’s devotion. Rather than seeing this as a time to press advantage, Jehoshaphat finds that his enemies are content to leave him in peace, filling tribute chests rather than swords and chariots. We can imagine the envoys of the Philistines and Ethiopians crossing dusty horizons with gifts of silver and gold, fragrant spices and fine linens, offerings that acknowledge the Lord’s hand at work in Judah.
In that season of rest, Jehoshaphat does not become complacent. He builds a fleet of ships at Ezion-Geber on the Red Sea, intending to send them to Ophir for gold. He recruits sailors from his own coast and also from neighboring Tyre, blending his vision of commerce with the peace he has secured. Though the venture does not eventually sail as planned—God closes the opportunity—it testifies to a king who imagines prosperity not only in field and city but in far-flung trade and fellowship with other nations.
Beyond projects of trade, Jehoshaphat invests in the security of his borders. He builds Chinnereth, as we might call the villages ringing the Sea of Galilee, and forts in the mountains and southern deserts. In each place he sets commanders to oversee the garrisons and supplies, ensuring that when trouble arises, the walls and watchtowers will not stand empty. In his efforts we feel the blend of faith and prudence: he trusts in the Lord’s protection yet prepares for the day when watchmen must call out the danger.
In all that follows, Jehoshaphat’s reign becomes a portrait of balanced leadership. He does not rely solely on spiritual renewal or on military might, but holds both in dynamic tension. When he learns that Moab and Ammon are once again plotting rebellion—this time allied with Mount Seir—he does not panic. He gathers the people, prays at the temple, and issues a call to fast and to seek God’s direction. With the priest Jehoiada at his side, he stands before the altar and reminds his people of a covenant confidence: that God is greater than any foe and that victory comes not by chariots but by covenant fidelity.
The people respond with a chorus of affirmation and resolve, and as the enemy forces approach in the valley below, Jehoshaphat’s prayer once more becomes the turning point. The Lord’s answer comes not through the clash of swords but through a choir of Levites who march out ahead of Israel’s army, singing, “Give thanks to the Lord, for his steadfast love endures forever.” At the sound of praise, the armies of Moab and Ammon turn on each other in confusion, and Judah’s warriors move in to carry off the spoils without raising a hand in battle. In that moment we witness the culmination of all Jehoshaphat’s earlier labors: justice administered by godly judges, hearts formed by scripture, and a faith so rooted that singing becomes the most powerful weapon.
By the end of his reign, Jehoshaphat has overseen years of peace, growth, and spiritual vitality. His kingdom prospers not in spite of the world around it, but because he has chosen to align his heart and his policies with the Lord’s covenant. In passing the crown to his son Jehoram, Jehoshaphat leaves behind a legacy of balanced leadership—where worship and wisdom dance together, where walls and words uphold community, and where the truest security comes from a people who live under the shelter of divine faithfulness. In our own lives and in our communities, 2 Chronicles 17 invites us to appoint wise judges, to teach God’s word shared, and to sing our way through trials—trusting that when we “seek him, we will find him,” and that nothing compiled from human might can outlast a heart grounded in covenant love.