The Great Distinction Text: Exodus 11:4-8
Introduction: The God Who Separates
We live in an age that despises distinctions. Our culture is laboring mightily, with a kind of frantic and sweaty desperation, to blur every line God ever drew. They want to erase the line between male and female, between good and evil, between truth and falsehood, and ultimately, between the creature and the Creator. This project is nothing less than an attempt to de-create the world, to return everything to the formless and void state, the tohu wa-bohu of Genesis 1. Why? Because to acknowledge a distinction is to acknowledge a Distinguisher. To see an orderly world is to presuppose a God of order. And that is the one thing the rebellious heart of man cannot tolerate.
But the God of the Bible is a God who makes distinctions. Creation itself is a magnificent series of divine separations. God separated light from darkness, the waters above from the waters below, and the land from the sea. And in the great drama of redemption, His central work is to make a distinction between His people and the world. He separates a people for His own possession. He separates the clean from the unclean, the holy from the profane. He separates the sheep from the goats.
Nowhere is this divine separation more stark, more terrifying, and more glorious than in the final plague poured out upon Egypt. After nine hammer blows that have shattered the economy, the ecology, and the theology of the world's greatest superpower, God announces the final, decisive judgment. This is not just another plague. This is the culmination of all the previous judgments. This is the stroke that will not just punish Egypt, but will break it. And in this ultimate act of judgment, God will draw a line so sharp and clear that no one, not in Pharaoh's court, not in the slave huts of Goshen, and not us here today, can possibly mistake it. He is going to show the world what it means when He says, "This one is mine, and that one is not."
This passage is deeply offensive to the modern therapeutic mindset, which wants a God who is a kindly, cosmic grandfather, a God who would never do anything so severe. But the God who is not holy enough to judge sin is not holy enough to forgive it, either. The cross of Jesus Christ is meaningless if the wrath of God is a fiction. Here, in the midnight darkness of Egypt, we see the terrible necessity of the cross, and the glorious reality of the salvation it provides.
The Text
So Moses said, "Thus says Yahweh, 'About midnight I am going out into the midst of Egypt, and all the firstborn in the land of Egypt shall die, from the firstborn of the Pharaoh who sits on his throne, even to the firstborn of the servant-girl who is behind the millstones; and all the firstborn of the cattle. Moreover, there shall be a great cry in all the land of Egypt, such as there has not been before and such as shall never be again. But for any of the sons of Israel a dog will not even bark, whether against man or beast, that you may know how Yahweh makes a distinction between Egypt and Israel.' Then all these your servants will come down to me and bow themselves before me, saying, 'Go out, you and all the people who follow you,' and after that I will go out." And he went out from Pharaoh in hot anger.
(Exodus 11:4-8 LSB)
The Sovereign Executioner (vv. 4-5)
The announcement of this final plague is delivered with chilling precision and absolute authority.
"So Moses said, 'Thus says Yahweh, 'About midnight I am going out into the midst of Egypt, and all the firstborn in the land of Egypt shall die, from the firstborn of the Pharaoh who sits on his throne, even to the firstborn of the servant-girl who is behind the millstones; and all the firstborn of the cattle.'" (Exodus 11:4-5)
First, notice the authority. Moses does not say, "I think God might," or "Pharaoh, you should be worried." He says, "Thus says Yahweh." Moses is the mouthpiece, the herald of the Great King. This is a formal declaration of war, and the terms of surrender are unconditional. Yahweh is not negotiating. He is announcing the sentence that has already been passed in the heavenly court.
Second, notice the agent and the time. "About midnight I am going out." Who is going out? Yahweh Himself. This is not delegated to an angel, though an angel will be the instrument. This is a personal visitation. The Lord of glory is going to walk through the land of Egypt as an executioner. The timing, "about midnight," is the deepest point of darkness, a fitting stage for the judgment of a kingdom that chose darkness over light. God owns the clock, and His judgments are always right on time.
Third, notice the scope of the judgment. "All the firstborn in the land of Egypt shall die." This is not random; it is meticulously targeted. Why the firstborn? Because God had already declared His terms to Pharaoh. "Thus says Yahweh, 'Israel is My son, My firstborn. So I say to you, let My son go that he may serve Me. But if you refuse to let him go, indeed I will kill your son, your firstborn'" (Exodus 4:22-23). This is the principle of measure for measure, the lex talionis. Pharaoh had sought to kill God's firstborn son, the nation of Israel, by throwing their infant sons into the Nile. Now God comes to claim the firstborn of Egypt. This is not divine petulance; it is perfect, covenantal justice.
The judgment is also radically egalitarian. It strikes "from the firstborn of the Pharaoh who sits on his throne, even to the firstborn of the servant-girl who is behind the millstones." God's judgment is no respecter of persons. The palace is no safer than the poorest hovel. It cuts through all of Egypt's social strata. And it extends to the "firstborn of the cattle," striking at the heart of their economy and their religion, as many of their gods were represented by bulls and other livestock. This is a total judgment on the entire life of the nation.
The Cry of the Judged (v. 6)
The result of this divine visitation will be a sorrow of unprecedented magnitude.
"Moreover, there shall be a great cry in all the land of Egypt, such as there has not been before and such as shall never be again." (Exodus 11:6)
There is a terrible and just irony here. The story of the Exodus began with a cry. "So the sons of Israel sighed because of the bondage, and they cried out; and their cry for help because of their bondage rose up to God" (Exodus 2:23). God heard the cry of the oppressed. Now, the oppressors will cry out. Their cry is not one of repentance, but of anguish and loss. It is the shriek of a nation that has defied the living God and is now reaping the bitter harvest.
This cry is unique in its intensity. It is a singular event in the history of sorrow. This is what happens when a nation collectively and stubbornly hardens its heart against the commands and warnings of God. After nine opportunities to repent, nine plagues that demonstrated Yahweh's power over every aspect of their lives, their pride remained unbroken. The tenth plague is what it takes to produce the great cry, the cry that finally breaks the will of Pharaoh.
The Silence of the Saved (v. 7)
In stunning contrast to the cacophony of grief in Egypt, there is a supernatural peace in the dwellings of Israel.
"But for any of the sons of Israel a dog will not even bark, whether against man or beast, that you may know how Yahweh makes a distinction between Egypt and Israel." (Exodus 11:7)
This is the central point of the entire narrative. While a great cry of death echoes through Egypt, in Goshen there is a profound and miraculous silence. Not even a dog will sharpen its tongue. The angel of death will pass through the land, and the dogs, who often sense such things, will be quieted. This is a picture of the perfect peace, the shalom, that God provides for His people in the midst of judgment.
And why does God do this? He tells us plainly: "that you may know how Yahweh makes a distinction." The word for distinction here is the same root used when God separates the light from the darkness. This is a foundational, creational act. God is revealing His character. He is the Lord who sovereignly chooses, who sets apart, who protects His own. The salvation of Israel was not because they were intrinsically better than the Egyptians. They were sinners, just as the Egyptians were. The distinction was not in them; it was in God's gracious, covenantal choice. The distinction was an act of pure grace.
The Humbling of the Proud (v. 8)
The final outcome of this great distinction is the complete humiliation of God's enemies and the vindication of His servant.
"Then all these your servants will come down to me and bow themselves before me, saying, 'Go out, you and all the people who follow you,' and after that I will go out.' And he went out from Pharaoh in hot anger." (Exodus 11:8)
Here is the great reversal. The proud courtiers of Pharaoh, who had mocked Moses and his God, will now come and bow down to him. They will not just permit Israel to leave; they will beg them to leave. The one who was a criminal in their eyes is now their only hope of deliverance from the wrath of Yahweh. God vindicates His prophets and humbles the proud.
And the scene ends with Moses. "And he went out from Pharaoh in hot anger." This is not the petty frustration of a man who lost his temper. This is righteous wrath. This is the anger of a covenant mediator who has faithfully delivered God's warnings and offered God's terms, only to see them spurned again and again. Moses' anger is a faint echo of the holy fury of God against sin and rebellion. He has seen the hardness of Pharaoh's heart, and he knows the terrible price that the people of Egypt are about to pay for it. He is angry at the sin that has made this horrific judgment necessary.
The Gospel of Distinction
It is impossible to read this account without seeing the shadow of a greater exodus. This entire event is a living parable of God's work of salvation in Jesus Christ.
Like the Egyptians, all of us are born under a sentence of death. "The wages of sin is death." A day of judgment is coming for the whole world, a day when there will be a great cry, a weeping and gnashing of teeth for all who have stood in rebellion against the King of Heaven. The wrath of God is not an outdated concept; it is the necessary response of a holy God to our cosmic treason.
But in the midst of this universal judgment, God makes a distinction. He provides a way of escape. For the Israelites, the distinction was not their own righteousness, but the blood of a lamb painted on their doorposts. When the angel of death saw the blood, he passed over. The blood was a sign that a substitute had already died there. A life for a life.
For us, the distinction is the blood of the Lamb of God, Jesus Christ. God's own firstborn Son went out into the darkness of Golgotha at the midnight hour of human history. He took the full force of the curse upon Himself. He endured the wrath we deserved. The great cry was His: "My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?" He died, the substitute, so that all who take refuge in Him might live.
The great question for every one of us is this: on what basis do you hope to be distinguished on the day of judgment? Are you trusting in your own goodness, like an Egyptian prince in his palace, unaware that the walls cannot protect you? Or are you sheltered under the blood of the Lamb? God still makes a distinction. He separates those who are in Christ from those who are in Adam. And for all who are in Christ, there is a supernatural peace, a promise that on the final day, when the judgment falls, not even a dog will bark. For our judgment has already fallen on another, and we have been brought out of the house of bondage and into the glorious liberty of the children of God.