In 2 Chronicles 35, we find ourselves once again in the days of King Josiah, a man whose heart was wholly turned toward God. His reign, marked by zeal for the law and deep reverence for the Lord, continues in this chapter with a grand celebration of the Passover—perhaps the most profound one recorded since the days of the prophet Samuel. There’s a sense of joy and gravity mixed together in these verses, as the nation pauses to remember God's great deliverance from Egypt, not only through the reading of the law, as we saw in the chapter before, but now through obedience in worship and remembrance.
Josiah begins by organizing a Passover that is both richly ceremonial and deeply spiritual. He doesn’t merely delegate; he personally oversees the arrangements. He appoints the priests to their duties, encourages them in the service of the Lord, and commands them to put the sacred ark back into the temple, where it belongs, no longer to be carried from place to place. This small but significant detail speaks volumes. The ark—symbol of God’s presence—being restored to its resting place aligns with the king’s deep desire to restore worship to its rightful place in the life of Judah.
The Levites are then charged with preparing themselves according to their ancestral divisions and assisting the people in the preparation of the Passover lambs. Josiah gives generously—thirty thousand lambs and goats from his own herds and three thousand cattle. The leaders, too, follow his example of generosity, giving thousands more animals to be sacrificed. It’s a vision of shared responsibility and joyful unity. No one is left out. Everyone has a role, from the elders to the Levites, the gatekeepers to the common people, and all are drawn into this collective act of remembering.
As the Passover begins, the service unfolds with a remarkable sense of order. Each task is performed just as Moses had written and as David had instructed long ago. The singers, the sons of Asaph, are in their proper places. The gatekeepers are stationed at every entrance. The priests stand ready with their instruments and their basins, sacrificing the offerings and sprinkling the blood. It’s a sacred choreography—carefully followed not out of rigid formality, but out of reverence and love. We can almost hear the songs rising through the temple courts, see the flickering torches at twilight, and feel the anticipation and gratitude of a people remembering their God.
We’re told that nothing like this had been seen since the prophet Samuel’s time. The sheer scale of the celebration, the purity of its execution, and the wholehearted participation of the people marked it as extraordinary. In that moment, Judah stood still and looked back with reverence, while also being drawn forward with renewed hope. Josiah’s efforts bore the fruit of a people aligned with God, if only for a time. It’s a reminder to us, too, that true worship—whether in joy or solemnity—demands the whole heart, and when we give it, we meet the faithfulness of God anew.
But just as the chapter begins in celebration, it ends in sorrow. After all Josiah had done to turn the nation toward God, his life comes to a tragic and almost confusing close. When Pharaoh Neco, king of Egypt, begins a march toward Carchemish, Josiah decides to intervene, even though it’s not Judah’s battle to fight. Neco sends messengers to warn Josiah that this war isn’t meant for him and that he is following the direction of God—at least in the sense that God had allowed it. But Josiah doesn’t listen. He disguises himself and goes out to battle anyway. We might wonder why such a godly king would act this way, why he wouldn’t pause to inquire of the Lord first, as David often did. But for whatever reason, he presses forward.
The consequences are swift and tragic. At the battlefield of Megiddo, archers strike Josiah, and he is carried back to Jerusalem. There, he dies. The nation mourns deeply. Jeremiah, the prophet, leads the lamentations. All of Judah and Jerusalem grieve, and his memory is honored in the laments that were preserved and sung long after. His death marks the end of a bright chapter in Judah’s history—a period of reform, restoration, and remembrance.
What strikes us most in 2 Chronicles 35 is the contrast between the joy of the Passover and the grief of Josiah’s death. It’s a reminder of how fragile even the best of times can be. We see a king who gave everything to lead his people into faithfulness, who loved God’s law and upheld His worship. And yet even he was not immune to error or the sorrows that come with human misjudgment. Still, his legacy stands as a testament to the power of obedience and the beauty of wholehearted devotion.
When we look at Josiah’s story, particularly in this chapter, we’re reminded of our own calling—to take worship seriously, to participate fully in the life of faith, to cherish the gatherings of God’s people, and to remember what He has done. Like Josiah, we are stewards of memory and worship, entrusted to pass down reverence and truth. And while sorrow may meet us in unexpected ways, the life that honors God never passes without significance. The echo of Josiah’s voice, calling his people to the altar, still reminds us to come and remember, to give generously, to sing boldly, and to walk in the path that leads us home.