Reading Exodus: The Ten Plagues

But the LORD said to Moses, “Now you shall see what I will do to Pharaoh…”        (Ex 6:1a)

After narrating how the LORD God, having seen the hardship and suffering of the Israelites, met with Moses and sent him—with His name—to Pharaoh to demand that Israel be released from Egypt to serve Him on His mountain, the author of Exodus follows up with a long and extended unfolding of Pharaoh’s response to this demand of the LORD God delivered through Moses and Aaron.

Yet just as the LORD God had told Moses at the very beginning, Pharaoh repeatedly refused to let the Israelites go. And the land of Egypt is drawn into a series of calamities, each more severe than the last, until even the hard-hearted Pharaoh can no longer stand against it. He yields—not in repentance, but in defeat—and urges Israel to leave at once: “Take your flocks and your herds, as you have said, and be gone” (Exod 12:32b). 

When we consider these ten plagues—from the moment the LORD God turns the Nile into blood, making it foul, to the final blow when His destroyer strikes down all the firstborn of Egypt—we begin to see the weight of His judgment upon Pharaoh, proud and hard of heart. Through these acts, the LORD God brings about the deliverance of His people, freeing them from the bondage of Egypt so that they might worship Him.

 

Yet when we step back and consider the whole movement—from judgment poured out to redemption accomplished—this familiar account in Exodus invites us to see more. In the unfolding of the plagues, we are brought to know this God more clearly: the One who judges and saves in the same act.

As we revisit these ten plagues—so familiar to us—one feature invites closer attention: the way they are presented.

 

Beginning with the first plague, when the waters are turned to blood (7:14), the first nine plagues unfold in a pattern—three cycles of three: blood, frogs, gnats; flies, livestock disease, boils; hail, locusts, darkness. In each cycle, the first plague (blood, flies, hail) begins with the LORD instructing Moses, “Rise up early in the morning and go to Pharaoh…,” issuing a warning to him. Yet the third plague in each cycle (gnats, boils, darkness) comes without warning, as Moses or Aaron stretches out the staff or lifts his hand toward heaven, and the plague is set in motion. 

And then, after these three cycles, comes the final blow—the most severe and devastating of all: the death of the firstborn.

In this pattern, we begin to see something more. The LORD who brings these plagues is not like the gods of the Ancient Near East, who strike or bless according to their passing moods. Under His sovereign hand, the plagues unfold with an inner order. They are not chaotic, nor without design.

 

Yet there is something else we must notice—something even more significant: the progression of these plagues, and the scope of what they confront.

At first, the turning of the Nile into blood, and the frogs that follow, bring inconvenience upon the land—an irritation that cannot be ignored. One can hardly imagine it: frogs everywhere—inside the houses, filling the streets, pressing into every corner.

But then come the gnats, the flies, the pestilence, and the festering boils. What was once inconvenience now gives way to disruption and destruction. Of the flies, we are told: “the land was ruined by the swarms of flies” (Exod 8:24). Livestock fall to disease; the bodies of men break out in sores. The damage deepens. The disruption spreads.

John Martin, The Seventh Plague, 1823

And still the plagues continue. Hail, locusts, and a darkness that can be felt push what has already been damaged toward total devastation. The hail, falling with fire, strikes down man and beast and destroys every plant of the field. What the hail leaves behind, the locusts devour—“not a green thing remained” in all the land of Egypt (10:15b).

Then comes the darkness—thick, unrelenting, lasting three days. Here, what collapses is no longer merely the visible world, but something deeper. The Egyptians, who had long worshipped the sun god Ra, now stand engulfed in a darkness they cannot overcome. Before the God of Israel, even their greatest deity is shown to be powerless.

And in the midst of this dread, the LORD brings the final and most grievous blow—the death of the firstborn, among both man and beast.

From minor irritation and passing disruption, to mounting destruction—material, and then something deeper still—until life itself is brought to an end, we begin to see that the severity of these plagues is no accident. They are intentionally intensified, step by step.

 

And so we are led to recognise this as well: from beginning to end, these acts are neither reckless nor uncontrolled. They are restrained, measured, and purposeful. For behind them stands the LORD Himself. From the dust of the earth to the darkness no man can grasp, all things obey His sovereign command—carrying out judgment according to His will, and within the bounds He has set.

The scope of these ten plagues, too, presses inward—step by step—toward the very core of the Egyptian kingdom.

At first, the plagues fall upon the conditions of daily life: the Nile on which Egypt depends, the land, and the livestock. Then, from the swarms of flies to the devastation of the locusts, they begin to touch the people themselves—their bodies, their health, and the stability of their economic life. In this way, the first eight plagues may be seen as striking, directly and indirectly, at the social, cultural, and economic fabric of Egypt.

But the ninth plague reaches further still. It strikes at what they worship. In the darkness that covers the land for three days, the Egyptians are confronted with the impotence of their most revered deity—the sun god Ra. Before the God of Israel, even this greatest of gods is unable to respond.

And yet, even this is not the most decisive moment.

For when Pharaoh’s own firstborn—together with the firstborn of all Egypt, both man and beast—is taken, something deeper is revealed. This is not merely a political defeat, nor simply the collapse of royal power. Not only did Pharaoh has no heir, but he has proven unable to protect his land, his people, or even life itself.

In the Egyptian worldview, Pharaoh is regarded as the son of Ra, the sun god—the divine son who sustains the order and stability of Egypt, even of the cosmos itself. And now, he cannot preserve even his own son. With the death of his firstborn, there is no successor to carry on this sacred line. And so, what collapses here is not only a kingdom, but a world.

 

The final plague signals nothing less than the complete unravelling of Egypt’s rule—and of the very order by which it understood the universe.

J.W.M. Turner, The Tenth Plague of Egypt, 1816

At first glance, these ten plagues seem like a succession of overwhelming disasters, one after another, throwing Pharaoh and all Egypt into confusion. And yet, these are not chaotic acts of judgment. Rather, they are the means by which the LORD systematically dismantles the entire religious and cosmic order of Egypt. 

Through them, He renders His verdict upon Pharaoh and upon the land: the gods of Egypt are powerless and no gods at all; and Pharaoh is no divine son. At the same time, He makes this known: that the LORD alone is the true sovereign of the universe—the source of creation and of life itself, the One who holds absolute authority over both.

 

As we read again this familiar account of judgment and deliverance, let’s take comfort, and be strengthened. Life often overtakes us without warning; at times, it leaves us wounded. Yet such unpredictability is not the master of our lives, nor does it have the final word over them.

The God who judges and saves—the One who would, in time, bear judgment Himself upon the cross in order to accomplish salvation—He alone is the true Lord. And it is He who holds absolute authority over our lives.