To the Followers of God,
I, Evil-Merodach, son of Nebuchadnezzar, once king of great Babylon, write to you from the annals of time, my words bridging centuries to reach your ears. I ruled from 562 to 560 BC, and my name has been etched in the echoes of history often shrouded in infamy — "Evil" they prefix, a moniker I carry as a shadow of my father’s grandeur and my own missteps.
My rule followed the death of my father, Nebuchadnezzar, a name you undoubtedly recognize. He who brought Jerusalem to its knees exiled the chosen people of Yahweh and saw the grandeur of his own empire as the ultimate truth until humility was thrust upon him by the Divine (Daniel 4:28-37). Unlike him, I did not witness a transformation of the heart; my legacy is less luminous, tainted by the follies of a man who grappled with power's seduction and often failed to conquer his own demons.
It is written, "Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows" (Galatians 6:7). A truth I saw unfold as I sought to carve my own path in the shadow of my father’s legacy. I endeavored to show clemency where he had been harsh; I released Jehoiachin, king of Judah, from prison and dined him at my table (2 Kings 25:27-30). In this act, was there redemption or mere politics? The heart knows its motives, a maze of intentions even the bearer can scarcely navigate.
My name, Amel-Marduk, translates to 'man of Marduk,' a deity of our pantheon, yet 'Evil' they remember. For my reign was cut short, just two years before I was overthrown and assassinated by my brother-in-law, Neriglissar. Perhaps the God of Israel whom my father eventually acknowledged, and whose people I attempted to appease, had His hand in my fate. For "the Most High is sovereign over all kingdoms on earth and gives them to anyone he wishes" (Daniel 4:25).
You who follow the God of Israel, I understand that you view history through the prism of His will, seeing the rise and fall of kings as divine judgment and mercy. My name may be a byword for usurpation and a symbol of human frailty, but it also serves as a cautionary tale of the emptiness that power brings without understanding and wisdom. Solomon, a king of wisdom in Israel, rightly said, "Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom" (Proverbs 9:10). A fear, a reverence, I never fully grasped.
As you reflect upon my story, see it not as a solitary journey of a misguided king but as a fragment of humanity's relentless pursuit of meaning in the shadow of the eternal. For every tower we build to the heavens with our ambitions and pride, there stands a greater power that watches and judges (Genesis 11:1-9). And so, my life, brief and turbulent, was another testament to the scripture that says, "He changes times and seasons; he deposes kings and raises up others" (Daniel 2:21).
My legacy may not be celebrated; it may be mired in shadows and whispers of evil, yet it was part of a grander narrative. One where every king, every kingdom, serves a purpose in the divine mosaic. You who believe in the God of Israel, let my life be a mirror in which you discern the transient nature of earthly thrones and the enduring truth of divine sovereignty.
In the solitude of history’s embrace,
Evil-Merodach (Amel-Marduk),
Former King of Babylon