Egypt thought it had already seen the worst of it.
The rivers had bled, the frogs had croaked, the flies had swarmed.
But pride is hard of hearing.
Pharaoh still stood tall, still folded his arms, still told God, “Not today.”
So God turned up the heat.
No thunder this time. No frogs hopping down the hallway.
Just a handful of soot.
Moses stood at the edge of Pharaoh’s furnaces — the same ones that had baked Israel’s bricks for generations.
He reached into the ashes, the waste of Egypt’s labor, and tossed it heavenward.
And the wind carried judgment on a breeze.
The soot settled like dust — first on the skin of the Egyptians, then on their livestock, then on their pride.
And the text says, “Boils broke out on man and beast.”
Boils.
Not the polite kind of sickness you can hide with perfume and a sleeve.
These were open sores, angry, red, blistered.
They didn’t just hurt — they humbled.
Pharaoh’s spotless court began to scratch.
Priests with their fine linen and oils suddenly looked like they’d rolled in gravel.
The magicians, the very men who had tried to copy Moses’ miracles, couldn’t even stand before him.
Their skin burned, their faces flinched, their power oozed away.
That’s what happens when pride refuses to bow:
God brings it to a boil.
When Pride Gets Under the Skin
Pride is a strange disease.
It starts deep, invisible. You feel fine. You tell yourself, “I’m in control.”
But given time, it rises to the surface.
It shows up in how you talk, how you treat people, how you pray — or don’t.
Pharaoh’s pride had been simmering since the Nile.
Every plague was a warning sign: a fever here, a cough there, a chance to repent.
But he ignored them all.
And now the infection surfaced.
The truth is, God could have sent a sword.
He could have dropped Pharaoh in his tracks.
But instead, He let Pharaoh feel his weakness.
The skin that once wore gold now wore boils.
The same hands that pointed and ordered slaves now trembled when they tried to scratch.
There’s mercy even in that kind of judgment.
God would rather bruise our skin than lose our soul.
Sometimes the only way He can reach the heart is through the nerves.
Ever been there?
Where God doesn’t just touch your circumstances — He touches you?
He lays a hand where you’ve been untouchable.
And suddenly the proud part of you blisters.
It’s not pleasant, but it’s holy.
Ashes in the Air
Those ashes weren’t random.
Egypt’s furnaces were the symbol of its power — the empire’s heartbeat.
Day after day, Hebrew slaves fed them straw and sweat.
The air smelled of clay and smoke, of empire and exhaustion.
When Moses lifted that soot, it wasn’t just ash — it was memory.
It was everything Egypt had done to God’s people rising back up against them.
The ashes of oppression became the dust of affliction.
That’s divine irony at its sharpest.
God doesn’t waste suffering; He recycles it.
What Pharaoh used to crush others became the very thing that crushed his pride.
Sometimes God does that with us.
He takes the furnace we built — the one fueled by our own ambition or anger — and lets its ashes float back around.
Not to shame us, but to show us what fire we’ve been standing too close to.
The Gods Go Silent
Egypt’s healers would’ve been ready with their ointments and charms.
They had gods for everything — even skin care.
Serapis for healing, Imhotep for medicine.
But this time, the pharmacy was closed.
You can almost picture the priests trying to mix balms with blistered hands, calling on their idols while scratching at the same time.
No answers. No relief.
The gods of Egypt had gone quiet — just wooden faces staring out from temples, watching their worshipers burn.
That’s what false gods do.
They promise healing, but they never touch the wound.
They promise strength, but they never bear the pain.
And eventually, they have to watch their believers suffer from the very disease they claimed to cure.
Pharaoh’s empire, polished and perfumed, was now festering.
And the smell wasn’t just in the air — it was in their pride.
Boils and Boundaries
What’s striking here is that God didn’t strike the Hebrews.
The soot blew over Goshen too, but it didn’t blister there.
Once again, the line was drawn — a line of grace.
That’s the pattern through all the plagues:
God exposes the false before He exalts the true.
He lets the world see the difference between what looks powerful and what actually is powerful.
Egypt’s power came from its furnaces — smoke, labor, heat.
God’s power came from a word.
One word from the Almighty, and every proud system starts to itch.
One word, and every counterfeit healer runs out of ointment.
That’s still how He works.
You can build your life like Pharaoh built Egypt — on sweat, strategy, and self.
Or you can build it like Moses — on obedience, dust, and divine breath.
Only one of those foundations survives the heat.
The Fever of a Nation
There’s something poetic in this:
Egypt’s god of the Nile, Hapi, was supposed to cool and refresh the land.
He was the symbol of fertility, the bringer of life.
Now the land baked.
Hapi got hot.
Every god Pharaoh trusted began to sweat under heaven’s spotlight.
And while the idols melted, the slaves began to hope.
For the first time in four hundred years, the tables turned.
That’s the gospel seed buried in the middle of judgment:
God fights not to destroy, but to deliver.
He doesn’t just expose the proud; He exalts the humble.
When pride festers, He sends heat.
When heat rises, He offers covering.
And when the boils finally break, healing begins.
When the Fire Finds Grace
The Bible says Pharaoh’s heart was hard, but his skin was tender now.
Every movement stung. Every robe rubbed raw.
That’s how pride feels when it meets the living God—tough on the outside, inflamed on the inside.
The mighty king who once lifted a scepter now lifted a clawed hand to scratch.
And all heaven was watching the most powerful man on earth learn what Job already knew:
“Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.”
Sometimes God lets the sparks touch us—not to consume, but to correct.
He’s not cruel. He’s consistent.
If you play god long enough, He’ll remind you that you’re made of dust.
The Fire That Purifies
Scripture never says God enjoys turning up the heat; it says He uses it.
The fire that blistered Pharaoh also refines believers.
There’s a difference between punishment and purging.
Pharaoh’s boils were punishment.
But for God’s people, fire is transformation.
Peter said, “Do not be surprised at the fiery trial… that the testing of your faith may result in praise and glory.”
In other words, God turns up the temperature to burn off what can’t go with you into freedom.
The goal isn’t destruction—it’s distinction.
Egypt’s heat produced boils; Israel’s heat produced gold.
You’ve felt it too.
That season where everything was going fine, and then suddenly the pressure hit—
relationships cracked, prayers went silent, old insecurities bubbled up.
That’s not random. That’s the Refiner’s fire.
The same hand that tossed soot in Egypt holds your life with precision.
He knows how much heat you can bear.
He knows when to remove you from the furnace and say, “It is finished.”
From Furnace to Freedom
Think about it: the ashes Moses threw came from a furnace.
The Israelites knew that fire well. They’d labored beside it, sweating and coughing as the taskmasters shouted.
To them, the furnace was slavery.
But to God, the furnace was justice in waiting.
He took what once symbolized oppression and used it to dismantle the oppressor.
That’s redemption in one scene.
God doesn’t create new ingredients—He reclaims the ones Pharaoh misused.
He takes what the enemy meant for evil and works it for good.
Maybe the very ashes of your past are the dust He’s going to use for your deliverance.
Maybe the smoke you thought meant defeat is the cloud announcing His presence.
The Healing Substitute
Jump ahead from Pharaoh’s palace to Golgotha.
There stands another King—stripped, scourged, skin torn.
Isaiah saw it centuries before and wrote,
“He was wounded for our transgressions,
bruised for our iniquities;
the chastisement of our peace was upon Him;
and by His stripes we are healed.”
The boils that covered Egypt were a picture of sin—pain that starts inside and shows on the surface.
Jesus took that pain onto Himself.
He became the festering Pharaoh so we could become the healed Hebrews.
He took the infection of pride and buried it in His wounds.
When He rose, He left the scars but not the sickness.
That’s why every believer can say, “I’m healed,” even while the scar still shows.
When the Magicians Can’t Stand
Remember those court magicians who once mimicked Moses?
By this point they couldn’t even stand before him.
Sin always collapses in the presence of grace.
That’s good news for anyone tired of pretending.
You don’t have to compete with the world’s tricks or prove yourself to Pharaohs.
You just have to stand in God’s presence and let the imitation fall away.
Pharaoh’s magicians fell in boils; Moses stood in obedience.
That’s still the line today.
You can scratch and posture, or you can stand and trust.
One path festers. The other heals.
Battle Plan for Humility
If God uses heat to heal, how do we stay teachable without getting burned?
Here’s the field manual:
Keep your ashes in the right hands.
Don’t throw them yourself. Let God decide what furnace memories to use for refining.
Let the wound breathe.
Confession is spiritual oxygen. Pride suffocates healing; humility speeds it.
Apply the right ointment.
The Word isn’t perfume to hide the smell; it’s medicine to cleanse the sore.
Read it even when it stings.
Stay in Goshen.
Protection isn’t isolation; it’s identification.
Stay marked by grace even while Egypt boils.
Give thanks in the heat.
Worship turns pain into purification.
You can’t praise and pout at the same time.
The Cooling Touch
I love how this story doesn’t end with Pharaoh’s boil—it ends with God’s patience.
Even after all that, God still says, “Let My people go.”
He’s still giving Pharaoh a chance to soften.
That’s the heart of our Lord.
He doesn’t just send plagues; He sends invitations.
He keeps offering mercy long after we’ve run out of excuses.
When you feel the heat this week—when something in your spirit flares up—
remember: the same God who can send fire also knows how to cool it.
He gives beauty for ashes and calm after chaos.
The proud man festers; the humble man heals.
Which one will we be?
Reflection
Maybe the Lord’s been throwing a little ash into your air lately.
Not to punish you, but to wake you up.
He’s showing you the furnace you’ve been serving and the fire He wants to redeem.
You can be Pharaoh—burning, blistering, scratching your way through pride.
Or you can be Moses—lifting ashes to heaven and letting God use them for glory.
Either way, the soot will fall.
The only question is whether it lands as curse or cleansing.
So when life starts to itch, don’t reach for the mirror—reach for the Master.
He still heals boils with mercy.
He still turns ashes into beauty.
And He still fights battles you can’t even scratch.
