Scripture Matthew 1:1-17
An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham.
Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, and Judah the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar, and Perez the father of Hezron, and Hezron the father of Aram, and Aram the father of Aminadab, and Aminadab the father of Nahshon, and Nahshon the father of Salmon, and Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth, and Obed the father of Jesse, and Jesse the father of King David.
And David was the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah, and Solomon the father of Rehoboam, and Rehoboam the father of Abijah, and Abijah the father of Asaph, and Asaph the father of Jehoshaphat, and Jehoshaphat the father of Joram, and Joram the father of Uzziah, and Uzziah the father of Jotham, and Jotham the father of Ahaz, and Ahaz the father of Hezekiah, and Hezekiah the father of Manasseh, and Manasseh the father of Amos, and Amos the father of Josiah, and Josiah the father of Jechoniah and his brothers, at the time of the deportation to Babylon.
And after the deportation to Babylon: Jechoniah was the father of Salathiel, and Salathiel the father of Zerubbabel, and Zerubbabel the father of Abiud, and Abiud the father of Eliakim, and Eliakim the father of Azor, and Azor the father of Zadok, and Zadok the father of Achim, and Achim the father of Eliud, and Eliud the father of Eleazar, and Eleazar the father of Matthan, and Matthan the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Joseph the husband of Mary, who bore Jesus, who is called the Messiah.
So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations; and from David to the deportation to Babylon, fourteen generations; and from the deportation to Babylon to the Messiah, fourteen generations.
Meditation
A few years back I dove into the world of DNA testing for the sake of learning more about my genealogy. I gave my partner and children DNA kits for Christmas, and three of the four of us spit into little tubes and sent our sputum to Ancestry.com for their analysis. I’m adopted, as many of you know, and I met my birth mother Molly more than thirty years ago, and got to know her and her other children and grandchildren. But my birth father was more of a mystery. I knew that he was an exchange student from Brazil, and that he broke Molly’s heart, but that was about it.
Today, Ancestry.com has provided me with nearly five thousand matches—people with whom I share DNA, no matter how miniscule the amount—for my birth mother’s side of the family, and nearly 4,000 matches or my birth father’s side. But I haven’t yet connected with the story of my birth father, which is really the reason I signed up in the first place. So far, he’s a name, and a probable birth date. But I want his story.
Today we had the relatively unusual experience of hearing one of Jesus’ genealogies, as found in the gospel according to Matthew. Let’s notice, up front, that it’s the genealogy of Joseph, whom the gospel tells us is Jesus’ adoptive father, his legal father. Luke provides us with Mary’s genealogy. The purpose of scriptural genealogies is to tell us important things about the person who is named at the very end—here, Jesus, who is called the Messiah.
Here’s the thing about genealogies: They’re full of stories. I did an experiment with the Bible Study folks this week, in which I read this passage aloud and asked everyone to raise their hands when they heard a name whose story was familiar to them. There were several sections in which every hand was raised, and there were others in which every hand—mine included was down. I’ve read the Bible cover to cover, and I’ve studied it at two fine institutions of learning, but I can’t tell you a single thing about Aminadab—except the name rings a bell.
But the writer of this account of the generations is counting on us all to know about, or at least take note of certain names. In fact, those names are the ones that tell us the most about the person whose name comes at the end, that tell us the most about what we, the curious readers and listeners, can expect from Jesus.
I think there are at least three stories this genealogy wants us to know. The first story is this: Jesus is a son of Abraham.
We know who Abraham is. He’s the one who God calls into action—the action of taking his family and flocks and moving away from his home—at the venerable age of seventy-five. God calls Abraham to go to a new land that God will show him. The command—which translates to Get up and go!—is accompanied by a promise: God will make a covenant with Abraham; God will give him land; and God will give him children, making him the father of a great nation. God will bless Abraham so that he will be a blessing to the world.
The first story Matthew wants us to know is that Jesus is a son of Abraham—he is a Jew, a bar mitzvah, which means, a son of the law. And he is born of a family that has faithfully abided by the commandments, that adheres to that first covenant with God. That’s the first story.
The second story the gospel writer wants us to know is this: Jesus is also a son of David. David, whom the prophet Samuel describes as “a man after God’s own heart” (1 Samuel 13:14), the greatest king of God’s people, whose dynasty ruled over Judah until the Babylonian exile. David, whose descendant will be born in his city, Bethlehem (Micah 5:2); David, whose descendant will be the Messiah.
The second story this genealogy is telling us is that Jesus is the son of David—that is, the claim that he is Messiah is a legitimate one. That’s the second story.
The third story this genealogy is telling us is less obvious, but no less important. It is a story that concerns all the women whose identities were pointed out. You noticed, I imagine, that even though the genealogy took us through forty-two generations, only five women were singled out: Tamar. Rahab. Ruth. The wife of Uriah, which is to say, Bathsheba. And Mary, the mother of Jesus. Let’s take them one at a time. Let’s also be aware that this is the PG-13 portion of today’s meditation.
The book of Genesis tells us Tamar’s story. Tamar was a daughter-in-law of Judah, one of the sons of Jacob. Tamar had the misfortune of being married to two of Judah’s sons, both of whom died untimely deaths. Genesis makes clear that God is behind the deaths of the two men, but Judah apparently saw Tamar as a kind of Black Widow, a woman whose sexual partners would all die. So, he declined to offer his third son to Tamar. Instead, he told her to go back to her father’s house until his son was older.
This was a problem for Tamar. Marriage was a legal contract in those days, with very specific rights given to the wife. The institution of Levirate marriage requires Judah to either give his third son to Tamar in marriage, or, since he is a widower, to perform that duty himself. Tamar was legally entitled to have children in the name of her first husband, and one of the men in his family was legally bound to take care of the matter. To be sent back to her father’s house, to remain in this limbo state, unable to marry anyone outside Judah’s family, made Tamar vulnerable. With no husband and no children to care for her in her old age, her future was bleak.
Tamar took matters into her own hands. She went to a spot near to where she knew Judah, her father-in-law, would be traveling. She covered herself in a veil to hide her identity and waited for him to come by at the end of a festival where he would probably have been drinking. He did come by, and propositioned Tamar, and they slept together. Judah left his staff and his signet ring with Tamar (a kind of ancient near Eastern credit card, a promise that he would send her a young goat as payment).
When it became clear that Tamar was pregnant, of course, news got back to Judah. The correct punishment for the sexual indiscretion of a widow (outside the Levirate arrangement) was death, and Judah called for Tamar to be burned alive. When she was being brought out of her house, she sent the signet and the staff to Judah with a message: “It was the owner of these who made me pregnant.” When Judah received his own items back, and understood what had happened, he said, “She is more in the right than I, since I did not give her to my son…” Tamar gave birth to twins, a double blessing.
Why do you think Tamar’s story is highlighted in the genealogy of Jesus?
The second woman named in Jesus’ genealogy is Rahab, and we find her in the Book of Joshua. She was a Canaanite woman living in Jericho, and a prostitute, a sex worker. She hid the Hebrew spies when they were scouting the lay of the land. In return, she asked that she and her family would be spared when the Israelites attacked Jericho. The spies complied, and Rahab was able to protect her entire extended family from the Israelite forces as they overtook the city. Rahab also spoke a prophetic word to the spies: She said, “I know that the Lord has given you the land…” and “The Lord your God is indeed God, in heaven above and on earth below” (Joshua 2:9, 11). One scholar calls Rahab “Mother and Midwife to Israel in the Promised Land.”
Who do you suppose Rahab’s story is highlighted in Jesus’ genealogy?
Ruth, the third woman named, is much better known to us. The widowed Moabite woman who left her land with her widowed mother-in-law, Naomi, is a model of love and loyalty in the way she cared for the older woman. Once they were in Bethlehem, she showed strength and fortitude in harvesting grain to sustain her mother-in-law and herself. Boaz, who turned out to be a relation of her dead husband, took notice. (This was another Levirate marriage situation.) Ruth’s mother-in-law gave her advice about presenting herself to Boaz, which she did on the threshing floor at a community celebration of the harvest. (Again, lots of drinking, and in the Hebrew, lots of innuendo.) In the end, Ruth and Boaz married, and their son, Obed, was grandfather to King David.
Why do you suppose Ruth’s story is highlighted in Jesus’ genealogy?
We come to the fourth woman in this story of the generations leading to Jesus, though she is not named there. Bathsheba was the wife of Uriah, a Hittite who was a general in David’s army. When Uriah was away at war, David sent for Bathsheba, whom he saw bathing on her roof. Though this has been portrayed in film and books as an affair, that idea suggests consent on Bathsheba’s part. There’s no indication of consent in the text. Bathsheba was taken by the king. Who could say “No”? This was closer to rape than to an affair. When Bathsheba became pregnant, David had Uriah sent to the front lines to be killed. The child of this pregnancy did not survive. But after David and Bathsheba were married, she gave birth to Solomon, known as the wisest of the kings of Israel.
Why do you suppose Bathsheba’s story is highlighted in Jesus’ genealogy?
All four of the women named so far are not Hebrews. They are gentiles. And they all have histories or pregnancies that put them into the category of what one might call “sexual suspects.” Yet, scripture proclaims their righteousness. Mary is righteous, too, though, as we will see next week, even Joseph takes pause at her highly unusual pregnancy.
The third story Matthew wants to tell us is that Jesus’ family tree includes women of valor who are not Jews. These women experience hardship, they are wronged, they are shamed. But they are also resilient, fearless, essential links in the generations that bring us to Jesus. In telling their stories Matthew sets the stage for a Messiah whose message will travel beyond God’s covenant people to the gentiles. Matthew sets the stage for a Messiah who will eat with those called sinners. Matthew sets the stage for a messianic age of welcome and inclusion, where those who are considered “least” play vital roles.
There is room in Jesus’ family tree for these stories, which some might consider risqué. There is room in Jesus’ family tree for our stories, too. Stories of joys and sorrows, hardships and triumphs; quiet stories and thundering stories, stories of being lost and found again; stories of faith and doubt and faith once more. Our stories are unique, and precious, and their absence would diminish the whole. There is room for every one of our stories. As we travel through this Advent time, we will see how God’s love and purpose move from generation to generation. I invite you to use this time to place yourself firmly, joyfully in the story, to know that without you, the story is not complete. You are a part of God’s story, and nothing can change that.
Thanks be to God. Amen.