In 2 Chronicles 36, we come to the final chapter of a long and often difficult history, and as we read it, there’s a weight that settles over us. The page turns slowly, heavy with regret and sorrow. This chapter, brief yet profound, walks us through the last years of the kingdom of Judah. We see the rapid turnover of kings, the failure of leadership, and ultimately, the fall of Jerusalem. What began with such promise, so many generations ago, ends here in devastation. Yet even in the ruins, there is a glimmer of hope—something that reminds us God’s story never ends with exile alone.
The chapter opens with Jehoahaz, the son of Josiah. After Josiah’s tragic death, the people of the land make Jehoahaz king. He reigns for only three months in Jerusalem, and sadly, his rule is already marked by doing what is evil in God’s eyes. Pharaoh Neco, the very one who Josiah had confronted and died trying to stop, returns and removes Jehoahaz. He takes him to Egypt, and there he dies. It’s a sobering shift from the days of Josiah’s passionate reforms and covenant renewal. In Jehoahaz, we already sense a fading devotion, a loosening of grip on what once anchored the nation.
Pharaoh then installs Eliakim, Jehoahaz’s brother, as king, renaming him Jehoiakim. This name change, though it may seem small, speaks volumes. Judah is no longer truly sovereign. Even its kings are renamed by foreign powers. Jehoiakim rules for eleven years, and like his brother, he does what is evil before the Lord. We’re told that Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, comes against him. The shift in world power is underway. Babylon now rises as Egypt fades. Jehoiakim is bound in bronze and taken to Babylon, and precious treasures from the house of God are carried off as well. It’s the beginning of a stripping away, not just of political independence, but of spiritual identity. The temple, once filled with praise and sacrifice, now stands raided and desolate.
After Jehoiakim comes his son, Jehoiachin. His reign is even shorter—just three months and ten days—and again, evil marks his rule. Nebuchadnezzar comes once more and carries him off to Babylon, along with more treasures from the temple and more people. The leaders, the craftsmen, the best and brightest—gone. It’s not just a physical exile. It’s a bleeding out of the nation’s strength and hope.
Then Zedekiah, Jehoiakim’s brother, becomes king. He rules for eleven years, but his time is filled with rebellion. He does what is evil before the Lord, and he refuses to humble himself before Jeremiah, the prophet sent to call him back. There’s a stubbornness here, not just in Zedekiah, but in the nation itself. The people and the leaders alike harden their hearts. They mock God’s messengers, despise His words, and scoff at His prophets. The Lord, we are told, sent His messengers again and again, because He had compassion on His people and on His dwelling place. But they wouldn’t listen. They had every chance. Every warning. And still, they turned away.
It’s hard to read. Hard to watch. Because we want things to turn out differently. We want repentance. We want the tide to shift. But the people will not turn, and so the judgment they have brought on themselves finally comes. God allows the Chaldeans, the Babylonians, to break through. Jerusalem falls. The temple is burned. The walls are torn down. The palaces are consumed with fire. Everything that once stood as a symbol of God’s presence and favor is reduced to rubble. And the survivors—those not killed by the sword—are taken into exile. There, they serve the king of Babylon until the land has enjoyed its sabbaths. For seventy years, it will lie desolate, giving rest because the people never gave it rest when they had the chance.
And yet, even in the ashes, there’s a seed of hope. The final verses shift us from despair to promise. Many years later, God stirs up the spirit of Cyrus, king of Persia. Babylon has fallen, and now a new empire rises. But more importantly, God’s plan moves forward again. Cyrus makes a proclamation that echoes like a fresh breeze after a long, choking storm: the Lord, the God of heaven, has given him all the kingdoms of the earth, and He has charged him to build a house in Jerusalem. He invites God’s people to return. To go up and rebuild.
So, even here at the end of 2 Chronicles 36, where so much has been lost, we see that God has not forgotten His people. He allowed the discipline, but He never abandoned the promise. We’re reminded that exile is not the final word. Restoration is coming. The story continues.
As we sit with the chapter, we can’t help but reflect on our own hearts. How often do we, too, harden ourselves to the gentle warnings of God? How easily we drift from passion to apathy, from worship to indifference. And yet, God remains patient. He sends voices to call us back. He waits with compassion. But there comes a time when the consequences arrive—not as punishment from a harsh ruler, but as the natural outcome of persistent rebellion. Still, mercy is always near. Even in the darkest places, God is at work, preparing a way back, stirring up a Cyrus, opening a door for return.
2 Chronicles 36 closes not only a book but a chapter in the history of God’s people. It reminds us of the cost of forsaking God, but also of His faithfulness to restore. The land had rest, and the people had time to remember. And God, in His great mercy, was not finished with them yet. Nor is He finished with us.