Exodus 1:16

Letters to the Faithful - Exodus 1:16

Berean Standard Bible

“When you help the Hebrew women give birth, observe them on the birthstools. If the child is a son, kill him; but if it is a daughter, let her live.”

King James Bible

And he said, When ye do the office of a midwife to the Hebrew women, and see them upon the stools; if it be a son, then ye shall kill him: but if it be a daughter, then she shall live.

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To the beloved people of God, scattered across nations, yet gathered in spirit by the blood of the covenant and the unbreakable bond of the Holy Spirit, grace and peace be multiplied to you in the name of Jesus Christ, our Deliverer, the One who breaks the yoke of oppression and leads His people into liberty. May your hearts be strengthened in truth and your minds established in the fear of the Lord as we turn our attention to a sobering passage, recorded in the sacred book of Exodus: “When you serve as midwife to the Hebrew women and see them on the birthstool, if it is a son, you shall kill him, but if it is a daughter, she shall live.”

This verse, spoken by Pharaoh to the Hebrew midwives, is not only a grim record of ancient cruelty, but a revelatory window into the spiritual dynamics of bondage, fear, and resistance. It contains within it the anatomy of oppression and the seeds of deliverance. It is here, in the hidden chamber of state-sponsored murder, that the devil’s age-old strategy is exposed: to eliminate the seed of promise, to choke out potential before it breathes, and to extinguish deliverance before it takes form.

Pharaoh’s command was not arbitrary. It was deliberate, precise, and targeted. He feared the growth of God’s people, and in his fear he chose to strike at the womb of Israel’s future. This is the logic of tyrants—when they cannot control a people, they seek to limit their multiplication. When they cannot stifle the present, they seek to abort the future. And so Pharaoh ordered death to the sons—the males, the inheritors, the warriors, the leaders, the carriers of covenant. But he allowed the daughters to live—not out of mercy, but because he presumed they posed no threat to his throne.

Such a command reveals to us the deep hatred that darkness has for anything born of God. The enemy has always feared the birth of deliverance. From Egypt to Bethlehem to Golgotha, hell has always stirred to oppose the emergence of God’s redemptive plan. Pharaoh did not know it, but the very strategy he devised to secure Egypt’s dominance became the soil for God’s intervention. For the more they afflicted Israel, the more they multiplied. The very womb Pharaoh tried to suppress became the gateway through which Moses would come, and through Moses, a nation would be delivered.

Beloved, let us not treat this merely as historical narrative. It is prophetic pattern. The spirit of Pharaoh still moves in this world. It seeks to kill identity at birth, to suppress sons and silence daughters, to rob generations of purpose by targeting them in infancy—before they speak, before they lead, before they worship. We see it in our day through spiritual abortion—dreams slain by discouragement, callings crushed by fear, holiness undermined in its formation. We see it in the culture of death that celebrates self above sacrifice and individualism above covenant. We see it in the systems that marginalize the vulnerable and mock the righteous. The enemy knows that if God’s people ever rise in the power of their identity, systems of bondage will crumble.

Yet take heart, for this is where the faithfulness of God begins to shine. When Pharaoh decreed death, God stirred courage in the midwives. Though the command came from a throne, the fear of the Lord ruled in their hearts. They refused to carry out the king’s word, choosing instead to preserve life. In secret defiance, they became protectors of destiny. Without sword or army, they waged war through obedience and reverence. They feared God more than man—and in doing so, they aligned themselves with heaven’s purpose.

Herein lies a lesson for all believers. Not all acts of faith are public. Not all battles are fought on stages. Sometimes the greatest spiritual victories occur in hidden spaces—where life is preserved, truth is honored, and obedience costs something. The Hebrew midwives did not merely resist Pharaoh—they submitted to God. And that submission became the hinge on which history turned.

In our time, we too are called to such courage. We live in a world where evil often speaks with the voice of authority, cloaked in reason, legality, or cultural consensus. We are told to remain silent on moral absolutes, to conform our values to popular trends, to discard truth in favor of tolerance. But we must fear God more than man. We must refuse to participate in anything that diminishes the image of God in another. Whether in the realm of the unborn, the marginalized, the poor, the forgotten, or the spiritually dead, we are called to be preservers of life.

We must become modern midwives—those who guard the birthing of God’s purpose in others. Are you a parent? Then you are a midwife, called to protect the seed of faith in your child. Are you a teacher? Then you are a midwife, helping to nurture potential in a generation under assault. Are you a mentor, a friend, a servant in the house of God? You are a midwife, helping to bring forth that which the enemy would rather see extinguished.

And yet this call is not without cost. Defying Pharaoh comes with risk. The midwives placed themselves in jeopardy by disobeying his order. But the Scripture tells us that God dealt well with them, and He gave them households of their own. What the world could not reward, God did. This is the faithfulness of our King: He sees what is done in secret, and He honors those who honor Him.

Therefore, let us examine ourselves. Have we preserved what God is birthing, or have we, by fear or neglect, cooperated with the enemy’s attempts to kill it? Have we spoken life where death was spoken? Have we stood for righteousness when it was unpopular or costly? Have we defended the vulnerable, interceded for the wayward, nurtured the weak, or protected the promise in its fragile form?

Let us rise with renewed commitment. Let us be a people who understand the times, who perceive when the Pharaohs of this world whisper death in subtle forms, and who respond with holy resistance. Let us become spiritual midwives in our homes, our churches, our communities—champions of the unborn promise, protectors of the next generation, defenders of truth. Let us stand in reverence before God, even when it means defying the expectations of man.

And let us never forget: every Moses has a midwife. Every deliverance begins in obscurity. Every divine calling is fragile before it is strong. Let us not grow weary in protecting the promise. For in due time, the deliverance we help birth may bring liberty not only to a household, but to a nation.

To Him who sees in secret, who vindicates the faithful, who raises up deliverers in the face of oppression, and who preserves life in every generation—to Him be all glory, dominion, and praise, both now and forevermore.

Amen.

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O Mighty and Sovereign Lord, Eternal and Unchanging One, whose throne is established in righteousness and whose judgments are always true, we come before You today with hearts bowed in reverence, crying out for wisdom, mercy, and strength. You are the God who sees all injustice, who hears every silent cry, who remembers every covenant, and who moves to deliver with an outstretched arm and a heart of compassion. You were not blind to the suffering of Your people in ages past, and You are not silent now. You are the One who sits above every throne, every ruler, every decree of man—and Your purposes shall not be overthrown.

O Lord, we lift our voices in response to the ancient cruelty spoken by Pharaoh: a command aimed at the very heart of hope, a decree intended to destroy the rising generation before it could even take breath. With ruthless hatred, he ordered death at the moment of life, striking at the womb of promise, attempting to crush the seeds of deliverance before they could grow. And yet, You, O God, were present in the shadow of that oppression. You were watching the bloodstained commands of tyrants, and You were raising up midwives with courage in their souls. When man decreed death, You stirred defiance in the hearts of those who feared You more than they feared kings.

So now, Lord, we pray with trembling hearts and burning desire: make us such a people. Raise up within us the same spirit of holy fear that gripped the hearts of those faithful women who chose obedience to You over allegiance to evil. Let us, too, stand in the face of every ungodly command with courage rooted not in our own strength but in deep reverence for Your Word and Your ways. Teach us to discern the schemes of darkness that still seek to silence, to suppress, to abort the purposes of heaven before they are made visible in the earth.

We confess, O God, that our generation also contends with Pharaohs. The spirit that seeks to destroy before it births, that commands death over potential, still whispers in our time—sometimes boldly, sometimes subtly, but always with the same purpose: to diminish, to destroy, to deceive. We see it in the culture of death, in policies that devalue life, in pressures that discourage faith, in lies that call good evil and evil good. We see it in the spiritual warfare aimed at children, at families, at the identity and destiny of those marked by Your call. And we cry out to You, Deliverer of Israel, to come and deliver again.

Lord, we pray not only for deliverance, but for discernment. Give Your people eyes to see what is truly at stake. Awaken our spirits so we are not dulled by comfort or blinded by distraction. Let us recognize when the enemy’s decree is cloaked in false compassion or human logic. Let us know when we are being asked to compromise life for the sake of convenience or control. Let us be grieved by what grieves You. Let us not be silent when life is threatened, whether physically, spiritually, or emotionally.

Father, raise up spiritual midwives in this hour. Raise up those who will stand between the decree of death and the destiny of a generation. Raise up intercessors who will travail in prayer until what You have purposed comes forth. Raise up teachers and leaders, parents and pastors, artists and prophets, who will nurture what the enemy wants to kill. Let every son and daughter called by Your name be a preserver of life—not just in the natural sense, but in the spiritual realm, where dreams are born, where callings are conceived, and where destinies must be defended in the unseen place.

Help us, Lord, to guard the seed You plant. Help us to protect the weak, to shelter the vulnerable, to cover the emerging purposes that are not yet mature. Give us endurance to labor in quietness when no one sees, to speak truth when the crowd demands silence, and to act with compassion when convenience would urge us to look away. Let us not fear the cost, for You are our reward. Let us not fear man, for You are our refuge. Let us not fear loss, for You are our portion and our exceedingly great reward.

And now, O God, we plead for the rising generation—for the sons who carry strength and the daughters who carry song. Let them be spared from the hand of Pharaoh. Let them be hidden, like Moses, in the baskets of prayer, in the bulrushes of intercession, until the time of their revealing. Let their identities be shaped not by the lies of the world, but by the truth of heaven. Let their ears be tuned to Your voice even in the courts of Pharaoh. Let them rise up, fearless and faithful, full of wisdom and fire, to speak before kings and lead people out of bondage.

Lord, we also lift up every believer whose purpose has felt strangled by spiritual opposition. For every calling that has been resisted from the beginning, for every gift buried by fear, for every anointing that has been targeted since birth—we speak life now in the name of Jesus. We declare that what You have conceived shall not be aborted. What You have spoken shall not return void. Let every silenced voice be restored. Let every crushed spirit be revived. Let every hidden warrior rise.

And as we wait upon You, Lord, let us not grow weary. Let us not abandon our posts. Let us not retreat into silence or slumber. Fill us with holy resolve. Baptize us with the fire of Your Spirit. Let the Church be the womb of destiny again—not a place of performance, but of birthing, nurturing, and protecting what You are bringing forth in the earth. Let our altars burn with prayer. Let our gatherings be marked by Your glory. Let our witness provoke repentance and awaken the fear of the Lord in a sleeping world.

We offer ourselves to You now—not as perfect vessels, but as willing ones. Use us, Lord. In every sphere, in every nation, in every context, make us preservers of life, defenders of promise, carriers of Your heart. Let Your kingdom come and Your will be done through us, even when it costs us everything. For Your glory, for Your name, and for the sake of the generations to come, we pray.

In the name of Jesus Christ, the true Deliverer, who was once threatened by Pharaoh but triumphed over death, hell, and the grave—we pray, we believe, and we act.

Amen.