The midwives said to Pharaoh, "the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women," for they give birth before the midwife arrives (a paraphrase of Exodus 1:19).

I used to think the Hebrew midwives were sinning against God by lying to Pharaoh about the Hebrew women giving birth. Yet there is no indication in the context that they did anything sinful. On the contrary, God dealt well with them and blessed them: "So God dealt well with the midwives," and the people multiplied and grew strong; and because the midwives feared God, He gave them families (cf. Exodus 1:20–21).

Some may argue that they were blessed not for their deception but because they "feared God." The midwives could certainly have told Pharaoh the truth, been killed, and been replaced by other midwives who would do Pharaoh's bidding. Yet I contend that they achieved a better result through their clever answer.

Rather than thinking the midwives did evil, I think it is better to understand that they chose the greater good. Telling the truth is a good, but it is not the only good. Saving life, in this case, was the greater good.

Similarly, when Nazi officers questioned Corrie ten Boom's family about Jews in their house, they concealed the truth. They chose the greater good: saving the lives of the Jews hidden in their home.

Some insist that they ought to have told the truth and trusted God to protect them. Perhaps God would have intervened, and perhaps not — but is this not presuming on God?

Many years later, Joshua sent spies into Jericho to prepare to take the land. These spies were hidden by a woman named Rahab. She too feared God and misled the king about the spies' whereabouts. Again, God blessed Rahab (cf. James 2:25) — not only with her life, but she became part of the lineage of the Lord Jesus Christ (cf. Matthew 1:5).

Because contemporary theologians react against the popular philosophy of "situational ethics," I think they sometimes overreact by going beyond what Scripture asserts. For example, I do not believe there is a Scripture that asserts that the Law of Moses, even the Ten Commandments, is absolute, eternally binding, or equally binding on all. If it were, God would have been found to violate the command against murder when He commanded the judgment of the Amalekites. If it were, Christians would still be observing the Sabbath command today. If it were, there would be no occasion for any distinction between intentional and unintentional sins.

Friends, as Paul wrote, we should "not go beyond what is written" (1 Corinthians 4:6). Let us not straitjacket the Scriptures with our own moral absolutes. God's principles are certainly not subject to anyone's whims; but to argue that God's laws are not arbitrary is very different from asserting that it is always wrong to speak falsely, or always wrong to take life, or always wrong to disobey one's parents in every circumstance. There is such a thing as a greater good, and even a lesser evil (cf. John 19:11).

AI-Expanded Reflection

Exodus 1:15–21 raises a genuine ethical question that Christians have debated for centuries, and the comment represents one well-established view — sometimes called "graded absolutism," associated with theologians such as Norman Geisler — that when moral duties genuinely conflict, one is obligated to the higher duty and is not guilty for the lower. Others hold that the midwives were blessed for their fear of God and for preserving life, while their deception itself was a lapse that God graciously overlooked. Still others argue that deceiving an enemy engaged in murder is not a violation of the ninth commandment at all, since that commandment concerns bearing false witness against a neighbor — an act of injustice — rather than withholding truth from those who would use it to kill.

What the text emphasizes is that "the midwives feared God and did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them" (1:17). Their fear of God outweighed their fear of Pharaoh, and Scripture honors them by name — Shiphrah and Puah — while the most powerful man on earth goes unnamed. Hebrews 11:23 similarly commends Moses' parents, who hid him "and were not afraid of the king's edict." Whatever position one takes on the ethics of their words, the courage of their conviction is the point Scripture commends.

"Now there arose a new king over Egypt, who did not know Joseph" (Exodus 1:8).

How fortunes can change suddenly! As long as Pharaoh knew of Joseph and the good he had done for Egypt, all was well for Israel. But the first king who, upon taking the throne, did not "get the memo" turned against them. Israel's fortunes changed within a generation. For many decades afterward Israel suffered under Egyptian oppression. Yet throughout this time Israel kept growing in number, so that the seventy who entered Egypt multiplied many thousands of times over. Whatever the conditions, whether free or enslaved, God's purposes and promises were not thwarted in the least.

Friends, this is a good reminder for those of us who hope in the Lord. His promises to us are sure. They will not be thwarted by the passage of time, the political upheavals of nations, or unpredictable twists of fortune. God is above these things, and His promises rise above them. Praise the Lord!

AI-Expanded Reflection

Exodus 1 opens by deliberately echoing Genesis. The Israelites were fruitful and multiplied greatly, "so that the land was filled with them" (1:7) — the language of God's creation blessing in Genesis 1:28 and His promise to Abraham (Genesis 22:17). Pharaoh's fear of that growth sets him against God's own purposes from the start, and every measure he takes backfires: "the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied" (1:12).

The chapter's quiet heroes are two midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, who "feared God" and disobeyed the king's command, letting the male children live (1:17). Pharaoh, the most powerful man in the world, is never named in Exodus; these two women are. It is a striking reminder that God's purposes often advance through the courage of ordinary people who fear Him more than they fear the powers of the day — which is exactly the confidence the comment calls believers to.

Exodus 1

I suppose that the Israelites were a force in Egypt that was something like a nation inside a nation. A nation with army-like capabilities:

7 But the people of Israel were fruitful and increased greatly; they multiplied and grew exceedingly strong, so that the land was filled with them. 9 And he said to his people, "Behold, the people of Israel are too many and too mighty for us. 10 Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, lest they multiply, and, if war breaks out, they join our enemies and fight against us and escape from the land."

Unlike the image I have had as a child that these people were weakling slaves under a Pharaoh, these were a people capable of a great upheaval, perhaps not enough to defeat Pharaoh, but enough that they could join any invading force and defeat Pharaoh's army.

In Exodus 12, after God had rained down his wrath, the Israelites simply asked for their plunder:

35 The people of Israel had also done as Moses told them, for they had asked the Egyptians for silver and gold jewelry and for clothing. 36 And the Lord had given the people favor in the sight of the Egyptians, so that they let them have what they asked. Thus they plundered the Egyptians.

Knowing God had a watchful eye over the Israelites, I am sure any appeasement would be given them.

Furthermore, you see Israel's organization referred to in military terms

Exodus 12:51

And on that very day the Lord brought the people of Israel out of the land of Egypt by their hosts

AI-Expanded Reflection

Exodus 1 describes Israel's remarkable growth in language that recalls the blessing of fruitfulness in Genesis. What fulfills the promise of life to one community becomes, in Pharaoh's interpretation, a political threat. He imagines a future alliance with enemies and uses that possibility to justify forced labor. The narrative shows how fear can turn neighbors into a problem to be controlled before they have committed the offense imagined against them.

The original usefully resists a childhood picture in which the Israelites had always been a small, passive group of slaves. Their condition has a history. They entered Egypt as a family under Joseph's protection and multiplied over generations before the new king's policy. Yet numerical strength should not be equated with an established military organization. Pharaoh's statement about what they might do in a war expresses his fear and political argument, not a report of an existing Israelite army.

The language of “hosts” in Exodus 12:51 can describe the organized divisions or companies of the people brought out by the Lord. It contributes to the image of an ordered departure, but it does not independently establish their prior weapons, training, or battlefield capability. The exodus repeatedly locates deliverance in God's action rather than in an uprising whose military advantage merely needed recognition. Israel's later fear at the sea further complicates the picture of an army already prepared to defeat Egypt.

The gifts of silver, gold, and clothing in Exodus 12:35–36 also are explicitly attributed to favor given by the Lord. The narrative calls the result plundering, reversing the usual image of a conquering army taking wealth by force. Those who had been exploited leave with resources, while the power that held them is unable to prevent their departure. The original's suggestion about appeasement may describe one possible human motive, but the text's own emphasis is divine favor and the fulfillment of God's word.

Theologically, this passage helps distinguish God's promise from the circumstances through which it unfolds. Fruitfulness does not prevent oppression, and oppression does not cancel the promise. The Lord's concern is shown through the whole movement toward liberation. The people are neither saved by being naturally superior nor abandoned because a ruler succeeds in harming them for a time.

A contemporary application should be cautious about adopting Pharaoh's reasoning toward growing minority communities. Population, distinct customs, or imagined future loyalties do not establish guilt. The narrative invites concern for people whose vulnerability is concealed beneath rhetoric about their supposed power. It also encourages believers not to measure God's faithfulness solely by political freedom at a given moment. The Lord sees the people, hears their distress, and acts according to his purpose. Our response can include trust, truthful attention to their circumstances, and refusal to justify coercion through fear of what a group might someday do.

God heard their groaning, and God remembered His covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Exodus 2:24). I want to take a moment today to praise God's remembrance of His promises to His people.

Do you know that in nearly every place in the Old Testament where we read of God's love, His lovingkindness, and His faithfulness, all of these render the same Hebrew word — hesed? Studying the word, you discover it is consistently used in connection with God's faithfulness to keep His covenant promises. That is why some literal translations render it "loyal love."

This matters, because it keeps us from thinking of God's love as sentimental affection directed toward a people who are somehow lovely. Quite the contrary: Israel was stubborn and rebellious. What changed was God's choice to make a covenant with them — a unilateral covenant that did not ultimately depend on their faithfulness but on His. It was a covenant that would make them His chosen people, a kingdom of priests to display His name. The hope of Israel was God's faithfulness to His own promises, and when they thought of His love, they thought of that faithfulness.

AI-Expanded Reflection

The lexical point is well made and genuinely reorients the passage. Hesed resists single-word translation precisely because it fuses affection with obligation — it is love that has committed itself and is therefore answerable, which is why translators reach for compounds like "steadfast love" or "loyal love." The implication this comment draws is right: the reliability of God's love in the Old Testament rests on the covenant rather than on any assessment of the beloved, which is exactly what makes it dependable for a people whose track record was what Exodus is about to describe.

Being in the medical profession, the story of the midwives stuck out to me — they feared God rather than the king of Egypt, and quietly refused to carry out his order, letting the baby boys live (a paraphrase of Exodus 1:17).

A personal, and somewhat long, testimony: in medical school, I decided I wanted to become an OB-GYN. Thinking about medical missions work, I thought this field would be ideal — providing women's health care to the underserved and helping deliver babies. Great, right? I thought so too, but God had other plans.

During my fourth year, I spent two months interning at an OB-GYN office in Korea and was genuinely shocked by what I learned — for every one baby delivered, four or five pregnancies were being ended by married Korean women using the procedure as a form of birth control or for sex selection, not by promiscuous teenagers or assault survivors. My naive assumption that this field was simply about delivering babies came to an abrupt halt. Most American women aren't ending pregnancies for those same reasons, though the practice remains common in the U.S. too — American Christians tend to focus on elective procedures specifically, but many others are classified as medically indicated following prenatal testing that detects a condition. I also witnessed other difficult situations during that time, including an eleven-year-old patient who was pregnant — deeply disturbing.

Even with these experiences in mind, I still pursued my original plan, reasoning I could be a distinctly "Christian" OB-GYN, declining to perform anything I found morally objectionable, and applied to residency programs. With strong grades and recommendations, I was confident, maybe a little arrogant, that I'd get into any program I wanted. Since my husband was attending dental school in Maryland, I applied to every residency position in that area — and didn't get into a single one, even programs I was clearly overqualified for. I was devastated. How could God let this happen, when I was doing this for Him... or was I?

Looking back now, I genuinely thank God for closing that door. I believe He understood something about me I didn't fully understand about myself — had I entered that field, I likely would have made compromises, found ways to justify decisions I wasn't fully at peace with. In my current field, I regularly work with patients facing end-of-life issues, where I can offer both medical guidance and spiritual support — the most rewarding part of my work, and one where I never have to compromise my own convictions to do my job. This experience taught me that God closes doors for reasons we don't always understand, sometimes never fully understand, but we still need to trust Him when it happens.

When I was pregnant with each of my three children, I declined standard prenatal screening for certain birth conditions. My own OB thought this was unusual, especially given my medical background — "it's just a blood test, there's no harm in it" — but I disagreed. A negative result would be reassuring, but what would a positive one lead to? I told my doctor I wouldn't end any pregnancy under any circumstance, so testing wasn't necessary, and a positive result would only create anxiety I didn't need to carry. I'd accept whatever child the Lord gave me, with or without a disability.

We recently watched a video at church featuring Nick Vujicic, born without arms or legs, who had an extraordinarily difficult childhood but is now used remarkably by God to share the gospel worldwide. I can't help wondering whether he'd even be here today if prenatal imaging had been available and doctors had recommended ending the pregnancy, as the overwhelming majority of parents in that situation are advised, and typically choose, to do.

I also think about being pregnant with my third child, when the ultrasound indicated a girl — and how many pregnancies are ended in Korea and China specifically because parents wanted a son instead. My husband and I were genuinely surprised to have another son once our expected "daughter" was born.

The Hebrew midwives had the right priorities — doing what's right before the Lord comes before everything else. Sometimes doing right carries a tremendous cost, not always financial, and each of us has to ask how much we're actually willing to pay. I'll admit I haven't always made the right decision myself — often doing what seems right in my own eyes rather than what's right before God. Following the midwives' example, it seems doing right is rewarded — though not always with earthly rewards, and sometimes with personal sacrifice, suffering, or persecution instead. That's the real dilemma we all face: we tend to fear the present moment more than the eternal judgment still to come.

Lord, help me be bold and courageous, to do what's right in Your eyes.

AI-Expanded Reflection

Given how personal and morally weighty this reflection is, I'll keep this addition narrowly focused on the actual biblical passage it opens with — the Hebrew midwives. What's easy to miss reading quickly is how much genuine risk their specific act of civil disobedience carried: they were defying a direct order from the most powerful ruler in the region, with their own lives plausibly on the line if discovered. Scripture records that God specifically blessed them for it, giving them families of their own (Exodus 1:20–21) — one of the Bible's clearest examples of civil disobedience being not just tolerated but explicitly rewarded, when human law demanded something contrary to God's own value for human life. Their example set the pattern this whole comment is ultimately wrestling with: doing right sometimes means direct conflict with prevailing authority and convention, at real personal cost, trusting God with the outcome rather than the immediate safety of compliance.

Friends, as we begin Exodus, remember this site offers introductions for each Bible book under Resources. I'd encourage reading these as you reach each new book, for helpful background in understanding and interpreting it.

For today's reading — isn't it interesting that God reveals His name to Moses in Exodus 3:14, when He didn't do the same for Jacob when Jacob asked the identical question in Genesis 32:29? Setting that question aside for now, much has been written about God's name here, particularly "I AM WHO I AM," the source of Yahweh ("LORD" in English translation). This could also be understood as "I was who I was" or "I will be who I will be," since no particular tense is fixed to it in ancient Hebrew's unpointed vowels. While this can suggest God's eternality in meaningful ways, such abstract discussions sometimes overshadow the name's actual relevance to the enslaved Hebrews in Egypt at the time.

Remember, right after the famous "I am who I am," God explains it further with a longer form of His name — telling Moses to say to Israel that the LORD, the God of their fathers, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, had sent him — that this would be His name forever, His memorial through every generation (a paraphrase of Exodus 3:15). We sometimes get so caught up in the philosophical possibilities of "I AM WHO I AM" that we overlook God's own explanation of His own name.

By this point, Israel had suffered roughly eighty years (cf. dating discussions available through Answers in Genesis) of Egyptian bondage (cf. Exodus 12:40–41) — long enough to make anyone begin questioning God's faithfulness to His promises. And who knows whether Abraham had even shared with his descendants the earlier prophecy in Genesis 15:13–14, where God had foretold this very bondage?

The people needed reminding that the God who'd made promises to their forefathers — Abraham, Isaac, Jacob — was the very same God who'd now deliver them from bondage in Egypt. He'd not only deliver them, but fulfill every promise to make them a great nation and give them the rich land of Canaan. His name told them that just as He'd been faithful in the past, He'd be faithful now, and would remain faithful into the future. These suffering Hebrews needed to know God hadn't forgotten them, that He remained their God and always would — that the same God who initiated His covenant with Abraham, confirmed to Isaac and Jacob, was the very God who'd fulfill His promises to them.

Let's take Israel's experience to heart, since we too have waited many centuries, even millennia, for the full realization of all God's promises to us in Christ. Despite this long passage of time, and despite radical changes across nations and cultures, our God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, remains exactly the same. Just as He was faithful in the past, He remains faithful now, in this present interim age — and He'll be faithful still to fulfill every remaining promise on that future day when Christ returns.

AI-Expanded Reflection

The Jacob comparison this comment opens with deserves a direct answer, since it's a genuinely interesting contrast — when Jacob asks the divine wrestler's name in Genesis 32:29, he's told only "why do you ask my name," with no name given at all. Centuries later, at the burning bush, Moses receives the fullest self-revelation of God's name in the entire Old Testament. The difference may lie in what each moment actually called for: Jacob's request comes in a private, personal struggle needing humbling more than information, while Moses's request comes attached to a specific, urgent mission requiring real authority to back it — leading an entire enslaved nation demanded a name Moses could actually invoke before both Israel and Pharaoh. God's self-revelation, in both cases, seems calibrated to what the moment genuinely required, not simply the sincerity of the question being asked.