But the people [of Judah] did not listen [to God]. Manasseh led them astray, so that they did more evil than the nations the Lord had destroyed before the Israelites.
2 Kings 21:9 (NIV)

There’s a divorce decree in the filing cabinet next to my desk. I could write a book about how a seventeen-year marriage starts, struggles, fails, and ends. The book would have chapters filled with the mistakes I made, lists of things I should have done differently, and a separate list of things I failed to do. The book could also chronicle the pain of the divorce process. Then, of course, there’s plenty of content left for unpacking the challenges the divorce placed on my daughters, who were the innocent victims of our shattered family system.

You would read that book, and rightfully conclude that I failed as a husband and a father in building a healthy marriage and maintaining it for the long haul.

You would, however, have an incomplete story.

Today’s chapter tells the story of King Manasseh, the son of Hezekiah. What’s fascinating is that in yesterday’s chapter, God grants Hezekiah fifteen extra years of life. Manasseh is twelve when he ascends the throne, meaning he was born during those fifteen years. Yesterday’s chapter also revealed that Hezekiah was more concerned with living out his years in peace than in what would become of his descendants and the future generations of his family and people. Today’s chapter reveals that the consequences begin immediately.

Manasseh reigned as King of Judah longer than anyone else. He was on the throne for 55 years. Being the longest reigning king does not equate, however, with being the best or most faithful king. Manasseh was the most evil and the most violent. The author of Kings quickly gives us the litany of Manasseh’s failures:

He worshipped a plethora of gods – some with depraved acts of worship.
He committed child sacrifice to one of those gods with his own son.
He filled Solomon’s temple with all of those gods and their altars.
He institutionalized the worship of those gods in the nation and its culture.
He held power with violence and intimidation, the author stating that he killed so many people that Jerusalem was filled with innocent blood from end to end.

This is, however, an incomplete story.

The book of 2 Chronicles is a different retelling of this same history. It was written at a different time by a different author. In that retelling, we learn that Manasseh was captured by the Assyrians and led into exile. While there, he repented of his sins, returned to Jerusalem, and desperately attempted reforms – undoing the damage he had created over his lifetime.

Manasseh inherited a kingdom from a father who had spent years tearing down idols. Hezekiah had worked to restore the temple, purify worship, and call the people back to God. In one generation, much of that work was undone.

And yet, Chronicles does tell me that there’s more to the story than what I’m left with in today’s chapter. Manasseh eventually changed his heart, his mind, and his behavior. He couldn’t, however, simply change the hearts of the people he’d spent decades leading astray. His repentance couldn’t automatically undo the habits, assumptions, loyalties, and institutions he’d helped create.

The spiritual tension of Manasseh’s story is that God’s grace can redeem the past without erasing the past’s consequences. That’s neither a denial of grace nor a limitation of God’s power. It’s a reminder that my life is interconnected with others, that my choices matter in very real ways, and that the influence I exert on others will outlive me.

So, why did the author of Kings leave this important piece of information out? It’s really about the intentions of the different authors in their writing of the story. The author of Kings is focused on answering the question “How did we end up in exile?” while the author of Chronicles is asking “Is there any hope for us beyond exile?”

This past New Year’s Eve, Wendy and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary. We have a great marriage that God has used to transform us both into better individuals. We have a great family. This past July, Wendy and I gathered with our daughters and grandchildren and spent five days of love, fun, and family on the beaches of Lake Michigan. Life is good.

So yes, I could write a book about the failure of marriage and the pain of divorce. I could also write a book about God’s grace, redemption, and goodness beyond the filing of a divorce decree at the county courthouse.

The redemption doesn’t change the pain of divorce, nor the scars that will remain from those years. Still, I’ve learned along my journey that the road to spiritual progress always leads through pain. If I’m wise, scars become reminders of spiritual lessons and God’s redemptive grace.

Even Jesus has scars.

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