Books can be captivating—fascinating characters, compelling language, a gripping plot. But some have a way of immediately capturing your imagination and grabbing your attention. For instance, George Orwell’s classic 1984 begins with the words: “It was a bright, cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.” As a reader, you are instantaneously transported to another world. Those words draw you in and you’re hooked. Charles Dickens’ novel A Tale of Two Cities begins with the iconic words: “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.” Again, those words have a mysterious—almost cryptic—feel to them. They make you want to know more. What was it about the story’s setting that made it, simultaneously, the best and worst of times?
But Matthew, the author of the first gospel in our New Testament, begins his account with a genealogy—a list of Jesus’ descendants that is about as riveting as reading the list of ingredients on a can of soup. Genealogies are the biggest yawn in the Bible; there’s nothing the least bit captivating about them. They’re like a cure for insomnia—a sure-fire way to make sure what you’ve written is going to sit on the end table and gather dust. Most of us, from our vantage point, sit back and think, “Matthew, you ought to know better! You hung around Jesus for the better part of three years. You witnessed some incredible, mind-blowing stuff. You saw exploits that defied expectation. You heard the teaching that captured people’s imaginations. You had behind-the-scenes access and saw a side of Jesus the rest of us missed. Certainly you can think of a better way to draw us in than that!” We may not say it, but it’s almost understood that genealogies are the “flyover zone” of the Bible. They’re the passages it’s OK to skip over, for reading them warms the heart about as much as reading the user manual for a new kitchen appliance.
But if what Paul says in 2 Timothy 3:16 is true—if “All Scripture is God-breathed and useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training …”, then that also includes passages like Matthew 1. But this particular genealogy, if you look closely, has some things that emerge from it that are both highly unusual and highly instructive. It leads us to believe that, perhaps, something useful can come from a passage like this.
Still … why would Matthew begin his account this way? A couple of reasons: (1) Matthew was writing primarily to a Jewish audience. He was trying to persuade and convince people who were steeped in the Jewish religious system of the importance of Jesus, and (2) Jews were as into your lineage and pedigree as horse breeders, or enthusiasts at the American Kennel Club, are into a particular animal’s blood lines. Many of us, these days, may want to casually learn about our backstory thru ancestry.com. But in Jewish society your place in the community was, for the most part, determined by your family tree. There were privileges that came your way, not because of anything you’d done, but because of your lineage. Your acceptance and sense of belonging hinged on whether you had blood lines that could vouch for your Jewishness. Samaritans, as you recall, were half-Jews—the product of Jews who intermarried with Assyrians some years earlier during a season of exile—and were treated with loathing and contempt by full-blood Jews. The animosity between the groups was palpable. That’s why Jesus’ utilization of a Samaritan as the protagonist in the well-known and familiar story he told was so stunning!
In addition, most every Jew knew that the Promised One was going to come from a certain family in the house and line of David. So, Matthew knew that if he didn’t begin by laying out the ancestral background of Jesus, he’d never get a hearing from the audience to which he was appealing. If he didn’t demonstrate that Jesus had the chromosomal make-up to be a potential Messiah, they’d dismiss him out of hand.
While this, on the one hand, explains why he’d begin his account this way, it also raises some questions. For what Matthew writes is what some scholars call a stylized genealogy—some names have been highlighted, and others left out, for a purpose. It’s kind of like a resume in that, when you craft a resume, you tailor your background and life experience to fit the position you’re applying for. You frame it so the individual reading it will hopefully reach conclusions about you that you want them to reach. You accentuate things that are going to make you look more attractive and de-emphasize things that are irrelevant or not pertinent. You don’t lie or misrepresent yourself, but you tailor it in such a way that it highlights certain elements you want highlighted.
This explains some things about this genealogy on the one hand. But it raises some questions on another. For instance, in the first section of the genealogy (v. 2-6) Matthew mentions four women—something that would have been considered very unusual and odd in that day and time. In a patriarchal culture like ancient Judaism, you typically didn’t mention women … and if you did, it was for the purpose of enhancing the purity and nobility of one’s heritage. You’d think that if Matthew was going to mention some women in Jesus’ genealogy, he’d have highlighted some of the heroines of the faith. But that isn’t at all what he does.
Look at the four women he mentions: Tamar in v. 3 … Rahab & Ruth in v. 5 … and Bathsheba in v. 6. Not exactly a Who’s Who of virtue. While Ruth is applauded for her character, the other three lived under a cloud of suspicion. Tamar’s story is found in Genesis 38. She’s the young lady who tricked her father-in-law into having a child with her and continuing her husband’s line by disguising herself as a prostitute … and the child that resulted from that union is the one that is highlighted in this register. While Tamar pretended to be a prostitute, Rahab was one. We read her story in Joshua 2. Yes—she did a very helpful thing by housing and hiding some Hebrew spies and helping them escape when word leaked that they were in town scoping things out for a potential future conquest. But in terms of her character, Rahab didn’t exactly offer the pristine and spotless blood lines you’d want to set forward as being part of the family of the Promised One of God. And she was a Canaanite—not someone of unadulterated Jewish blood. Same thing with Ruth—she was a Moabite and, as such, fell under the restriction of Deuteronomy 23:3 which says, “No Ammonite or Moabite or any of their descendants may enter the assembly of the Lord, not even in the tenth generation” (NIV). Bottom line: none of these ladies bring to the table the spotless, unsullied credentials you’d think pompous and persnickety Jews would be looking for.
And then there’s Bathsheba—the attractive young wife of a soldier in David’s army who had an affair with him and ended up pregnant as a result. While there’s certainly an element of exploitation and unbalanced power dynamics at work in what played out, there’s also a cloud of suspicion that lingers over her. Was she a victim or a willing participant? Was she a helpless casualty or a savvy seductress? We don’t know for sure. But what we do know, and what’s interesting, is how Matthew refers to her in v. 6 … not by her name (as he had with Tamar and Rahab and Ruth) but as “Uriah’s wife.” If you’re trying to downplay certain unpleasant aspects of Jesus’ family heritage, you certainly don’t refer to her that way. You don’t do it in a way that evokes memories of the improper and illicit nature of David’s and her relationship. Referring to her as “Uriah’s wife” is a way of pointing to her that brings up that ugly, unsavory chapter all over again. It reminds us the lineage of Jesus is not all that immaculate and pristine. These are people with a past!
Seems to me that Matthew rummaged through the family tree of Jesus and intentionally tried to pick out some of the seediest and shadiest characters he could find. He highlighted women whose presence in his blood line compromised the untaintedness of his pedigree … women whose lifestyles were not sparkling and undefiled … women whose Gentile blood undermined the wholesomeness of his heredity and heritage. He drew attention to women whose background and backstories were not going to convince and influence the audience he was ostensibly trying to engage. Which makes you wonder, “Why?” Why begin your account with an approach that will hopefully engage a particular audience only to do it in a way that introduces the potential to sabotage it? That doesn’t make sense … unless there was another more compelling message he was trying to send. A broader message. A more consequential message. A crucially significant message.
I believe that’s the case—that this unappreciated and ignored passage teaches us a couple of profound and penetrating lessons about God. (1) God’s love is bigger than the Jewish race. If you recall, God’s covenant to Abraham was that “all the nations of the world would be blessed thru you.” It’s a message they’d by and large forgotten, for their status as God’s chosen people led them to believe they were somehow privileged … or favored … or superior. But by inserting a couple of these women into this genealogy, Matthew gives us a subtle reminder that God is not racist … or sexist … or plays favorites. By reminding the audience some Gentile blood is coursing thru Jesus’ veins, He’s also reminding us this child He’s about to introduce us to is a gift for the entire world. Everyone everywhere—no matter what their background or ideology … no matter what their ethnic identity or social standing … no matter what their skin color or net worth—is cherished, valued, and accepted by Him. And by reminding us of a couple of women in his background who had some fairly consequential baggage, he suggests (2) that there’s nothing you can do that is so egregious and dreadful that it will prevent you from having a place in his family. There’s nothing so scandalous and shameful you can be a part of that it disqualifies you from being welcomed and accepted into his household. If these women—many of whom aren’t exactly Sunday School role models—can somehow be qualified to be part of the family that ushered the Messiah into the world, then I believe there’s nothing so abhorrent and despicable that we can be a part of that God won’t receive and welcome us if we come to Him with a repentant and contrite spirit.
Who would have thought that a passage so discounted and passed over could testify so compellingly and persuasively to the grace, love, and forgiveness of Jesus? Years ago, being of the blood line of Abraham was all-important. But these days what matters is our relation to Jesus. Back in the day, people would go to great lengths to make that case that Abraham was their father. But today, we can become a child of God and gain a place in his family by faith in Jesus Christ. We can become a part of God’s household not by pedigree or blood line, but by expressing our faith and receiving as we would a gift the blessings and privileges that come to the human race through the One whose birth we celebrate at this special and sacred time of the year.