JESUS IN 2 KINGS
2 Kings can feel like a long, winding road—kings coming and going, prophets stepping in and out, moments of hope tucked right beside moments that make you shake your head. But if you slow down just a little, you start to notice Jesus showing up in the margins, almost like He’s been walking alongside the story the whole time, even when the people couldn’t see Him (2 Kings 2:11-14).
When Elijah was taken up in that chariot of fire, Elisha tore his clothes, not out of drama, but out of a real, aching loss. Yet right there, in all that grief, God handed him a double portion of Elijah’s spirit. It reminds me of Christ—how He ascended, not with fire but with glory, and left His followers not empty, but filled, strengthened, steadied for what was ahead (Acts 1:9). Jesus leaves—but He never leaves us alone.
Then there’s that quiet, strange scene with the Shunammite’s child. A small body lying still. A mother who had run herself ragged with worry. And Elisha, stretching himself out over the boy—eye to eye, hand to hand—until warmth came back into him (2 Kings 4:34–35). It’s a picture of Jesus if there ever was one. Not rushing past us, not handing us off to someone else, but coming close—closer than we deserve—laying Himself upon our cold places, and giving us life again. He doesn’t heal from across the room; He heals right up close.
And old Naaman—he wasn’t too proud to fight battles, but he was too proud to dip in a muddy river. Yet he went in anyway, and came up clean, like a child (2 Kings 5:14). Christ still works that way. He calls us into simple obedience, into waters that don’t look impressive, into moments that test our pride. And somehow, in those small obediences, His grace remakes us.
Even at the end of the book, when things seem to fall apart and the kingdom is gone, there’s this tiny spark: Jehoiachin, sitting in prison for years, suddenly gets lifted up and invited to the king’s table (2 Kings 25:27-30). No fanfare. No long explanation. Just a quiet mercy in a dark chapter. And that’s Jesus, too—showing up with hope when you least expect it, pulling you out of a place you thought would last forever, and sitting you down in a place of grace.
Even though 2 Kings doesn’t give us those clear, chapter-and-verse Messianic prophecies like Isaiah or Micah, the whole book keeps leaning toward Someone greater.
Every time God preserves the line of David—sometimes by a hair’s breadth—it’s a quiet prophecy of its own, a reminder that the promised Son of David is still coming (2 Kings 8:19).
Every moment God keeps His covenant alive in the middle of faithless kings is a whisper that the true King will one day rise and reign in righteousness.
And every rescue, every healing, every impossible mercy scattered through these pages is its own pointer toward Jesus—small prophecies folded into the story, promising that God was not finished, and that the Messiah would come right through this fragile, stumbling line to redeem the world.
2 Kings is messy, but it’s honest. And right in the middle of all that human stumbling, Jesus keeps slipping into view—steady, gentle, faithful as ever.
BDD
