Psalms 136:10 Meaning: When Judgment Shows Mercy

Three Hebrew words hold the weight here. The verb nakah (struck down) is blunt and strong. It is the same word used for God striking the rock for water and for the destroying angel passing through the camp. God acts directly. The noun bekhor (firstborn) means the choicest child, the heir, the strength of a family. To strike the firstborn was to hit Egypt in its most tender part. And then the refrain comes with chesed, loving kindness. This is not a soft sentiment. It is covenant loyalty, the stubborn faithfulness of God to His people. Hebrew poets often used chesed to describe God keeping promises even when those promises cost something. Here it tells us that the same blow that broke Egypt was the blow that broke Israel’s chains.

Jewish tradition calls this psalm the Great Hallel, a song of thanks for God’s wonders from creation to redemption. Many Christian commentators note that the mercy falls first on Israel, sparing them through the blood of the lamb, and then extends to the whole world through the deliverance that followed. Barnes writes that it was “an act of mercy to the world” that Israel was freed. Gill highlights the mercy in the distinction: the firstborn of Israel were protected even as Egypt’s were taken. Both traditions agree that the psalmist does not shrink from the hard moment; he folds it into the same chorus of praise, teaching readers to trust God’s steadfast love even when His ways are severe.

Some readers hear this verse and see only a vengeful God striking down children. The mistake is to stop there and miss the refrain. In fact, the psalmist intentionally places the plague inside a song of thanksgiving. He is not celebrating death; he is celebrating deliverance. The same act that broke Egypt’s power set God’s people free. The refrain forces us to look deeper: God’s loyal love was at work even through that terrible night, protecting His covenant people and beginning a rescue that would echo into eternity.

This week, think of one hard chapter in your own story, a loss, a disappointment, a door that slammed shut. Maybe you have only ever seen the pain of it. The psalmist invites you to reread that chapter with the refrain in your ear: His loving kindness endures forever. It does not deny the grief. It asks a different question: Could God’s mercy have been moving even there, maybe in the rescue that came afterward? Write down one way that hard thing led to a freedom you would not have found otherwise. Let that become your Amen.