In 2 Chronicles 32 we return to Jerusalem’s walls as they ring with both the footsteps of fear and the echoes of faith. Hezekiah has already proven himself a reformer and restorer—opening doors, repairing gates, and leading the people back to the worship of the Lord. Now he faces a new test: the roaring might of the Assyrian empire, led by Sennacherib, who sweeps through the fortified cities of Judah, mocking their confidence and demanding surrender.
We can almost hear the groan of siege engines against Ramah and Lachish, the torchlight on Moab’s plain as Judah’s border towns fall. Jerusalem stands next in line, and word comes by courier: Sennacherib’s army outnumbers Judah like locusts darken the sky. To add insult to threat, the Assyrian king dispatches his envoys—a haughty band bearing letters written in Hebrew—urging any who listen to abandon Hezekiah and his God. They stand on the wall, shouting across the valley that no god of any nation has ever saved its people from such a conqueror, so why trust in a crumbling fortress and a foreign deity?
The courtiers within Jerusalem’s walls tremble at the taunts: “Do not let Hezekiah deceive you with his promise of deliverance. Tell him, ‘Your God is a hollow voice. Make peace with us and eat from your own vine and fig tree. Why trust in a broken reed that will pierce your hand?’” It must have felt impossible to reply against such scorn, yet Hezekiah rises to the challenge. He takes the king’s letters to the temple and spreads them before the Lord. Then, in a moment that defines his reign, he prays with a raw honesty: “O Lord of hosts, God of Israel, who dwells between the cherubim, You alone are God of all the kingdoms of the earth. You made heaven and earth. Incline Your ear and hear; open Your eyes and see; listen to the words of Sennacherib, who has sent them to mock the living God.”
As Hezekiah brings both his fear and his faith into the temple, we feel the tension between might and mercy. God answers not with thunder but through Isaiah the prophet. He brings a word of assurance: that the king of Assyria will not enter Jerusalem, that his arrows will not strike, and that he will go home by the way he came. That promise, we realize, stands against the very course of history, for empires are rarely turned back without a fight.
On the next morning, Sennacherib’s forces once again blare their trumpets as they advance. But as they set foot near Jerusalem’s walls, the ground shudders with a different sound: the cry of panic rising among the warriors. Scripture tells us that the angel of the Lord went out and struck down 185,000 soldiers in the Assyrian camp overnight. The survivors flee in terror, and Sennacherib returns to Nineveh, never to threaten Judah again. In that silence of death, we hear the whisper of divine power—a reminder that the Lord indeed fights for us when we call upon His name.
In the aftermath, Hezekiah and his people stand on the ramparts, their gazes tracing the empty camps below. Instead of the banners of Assyria, they see the Lord’s mercy raised like a shield. In gratitude, they gather the plunder—horses, chariots, silver, gold—and set them aside as offerings in the temple. The instruments of war become tokens of peace, trophies not of national pride but of the Lord’s steadfast love.
Yet the chapter does not end with unbroken triumph. Hezekiah, having witnessed such an extraordinary deliverance, grows proud of his achievements. His heart soars like an eagle knowing no rival, but Scripture warns that pride invites a fall. Soon after these events, envoys from Babylon arrive to congratulate the king on his recovery from illness. Hezekiah, in a moment of vanity, shows them all his treasures—his storehouses of spices, his armory, the silver and gold gathered from the Assyrians. He opens every room, proud of his wealth and his walls.
It is a fleeting moment, yet in it we see how easily gratitude can slip into arrogance, how a heart so grateful for divine victory can forget the God who gave it. Isaiah, again, brings a prophetic word: because Hezekiah has shown his treasures to Babylon’s envoys, days will come when all these things will be carried off to a foreign land. We feel that tension once more—the thin line between thankfulness and boastfulness, between worship and self-exaltation.
In his final days, Hezekiah humbles himself again at the word of the Lord. He allows mercy to temper the judgment, and though his city will one day suffer under Babylon’s hand, his own life is spared from the immediate calamity. He dies peacefully at the age of fifty‐five, leaving behind a legacy of faith and a cautionary tale of unchecked pride.
Reading 2 Chronicles 32 invites us to stand in the shadow of Jerusalem’s walls, hearing both the clash of empires and the still, small voice of God. We learn that true security rests not in walls of stone or armies of men, but in the One who made heaven and earth. We see how prayer can turn the tide, how courage in the face of scorn can call down divine intervention, and how quickly triumph can turn into vanity if gratitude does not remain tethered to humility. In our own lives, when we face threats too large for our strength, we can follow Hezekiah’s example: to bring our fears into the temple, to pray with honesty, to trust in deliverance beyond our own schemes, and to guard our hearts against the temptation to boast. When we do, even the impossible becomes evidence of a God who fights for His people.