A little while ago, Nina—my fifteen-year-old daughter—and I were talking about the Bible. She’s been trying for a while to make her way through the whole thing and I asked her how it was going. She said something like, “It’s okay… sometimes great… but sometimes it’s a bit boring—especially the genealogies.”
I wonder if anyone here agrees with Nina?
I told her, “Oh, I love the genealogies.”
She rolled her eyes, as she sometimes for these days—and said, “How can you possibly love the genealogies?”
And I said, “well, I think they’re like the prologue to a book or a movie. They tell us what has happened that leads up to this point in the story.”
Who doesn’t love that bit at the start of Star Wars?
Matthew’s genealogy is like that. It roots Jesus’ story in a much larger one. The incarnation didn’t just appear out of nowhere. God had been at work for generations. Jesus was the long-hoped-for, long-expected Messiah.
Now, for some of us, listening to that genealogy this morning might have felt like hearing a long list of just hard-to-pronounce names. But each of those names holds a story.
Some names probably caught your attention—the names of people whose story you know. We’ve reflected on some of these in recent years.
There’s Jacob, whose story the young people brought alive for us today. Jacob the trickster, who deceived his brother but also wrestled with God and received the name Israel.
There’s King David, the beloved poet-warrior who united the tribes, defeated Goliath, and established Jerusalem. And yet—David, who despite being given everything by God, took the wife of one of his soldiers and then arranged that soldier’s death.
Then the kings that follow:
Hezekiah, the good king who restored the worship of Yahweh and protected the people from Assyria.
Then his son Manasseh, who undid much of that good, reinstating the worship of other gods—even child sacrifice.
Then Manasseh’s grandson Josiah, the great reformer who rediscovered the hidden Scriptures and called the people back to God.
But eventually the kingdom falls. The people are taken into exile. This is the great disaster on which the Hebrew Scriptures pivot. And yet—even in exile—the line continues. We hear about Zerubbabel, who helps lead the people home again and lays the foundation of the Second Temple.
And threaded through this list are the five women Matthew chooses to include. So much has been said about them as “broken” women—seductresses, adulterers, prostitutes. As if their only role is to show how merciful God is to sinners.
There is something beautiful about this. God does use sinful, broken people to be his presence on earth, Both the men, including Jacob, and the women were sinful and broken people.
But they were far more than just these labels given to them.
Their stories are complex—full of trauma and courage, hardship and resilience. Their presence in Scripture testifies to the sacredness of every human life, in all its mess and all its glory.
The artwork on the screen by Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman tries to capture this—these women not as one-dimensional “fallen” people, but as survivors and catalysts who propelled the lineage forward despite the corrupt systems they lived within.
Tamar holding Judah’s staff—reminding us of her role in preserving the line of Judah
Rahab holding the red cord—her act of bravery saving her family and helping Israel enter the land.
Ruth holding gleaned wheat—taking initiative for her own security and becoming the great-grandmother of David.
Bathsheba—whose name Matthew doesn’t even give, calling her “the wife of Uriah”—surviving abuse, surviving the murder of her husband, and securing Solomon’s place on the throne.
And finally Mary—holding the rose representing her son—the Messiah her people longed for.
When we know these stories, as Matthew’s audience certainly did, the genealogy becomes a rich prologue, not a boring list.
And that brings us to Joseph. This of course raises the question that was asked of me in High School Bible study recently, “Why does Matthew give Joseph’s genealogy if Jesus isn’t biologically his?”
Honestly, I don’t fully know. But I love the possibility that this makes room for non-biological family—for blended families, families formed through foster care or adoption. It reminds us that God affirms family in many forms.
Some people also wonder why Matthew’s genealogy is so different from Luke’s. Again, there are several explanations, but I think the most plausible is this: the two writers have different audiences and different purposes. Like any biography, they choose different details depending on the story they want to tell.
Matthew’s Gospel—often considered the most Jewish—begins with Abraham and emphasizes the royal line. Luke’s Gospel begins with Adam, highlighting Jesus’ connection to all humanity.
And as people of faith, our stories—yours and mine—are rooted in this great story as well. We too are ordinary, broken, brave, complicated people whom God weaves into the story of redemption. We too are part of the lineage of faith.
And our stories, are also rooted in and part of the story of this church. I keep a list above my desk of all my predecessors here at this church. It’s no secret that I have critiques of some of those who went before me—just as I am sure future ministers will have critiques of me. But like the people in Matthew’s list, their stories were multidimensional. They brought gifts; they made mistakes; they served as faithfully as they could in their time.
And now, of course, my name is on that list as well—with an end date. When I was in Adelaide two weeks ago, the JNC of the Salisbury Uniting Church offered me a placement beginning March 1st. And I have accepted it. Assuming the congregation there affirms the recommendation—which is almost always the case—I will finish here on February 15th.
And yes, it gives me a strange joy that this falls on Transfiguration Sunday—the final Sunday of Epiphany. You know I’m a bit weird about the church calendar, and I’m grateful you put up with me anyway.
This remains a sadness for me. But I have a deep sense of God’s call in this, and of God’s hand over both myself and this church. And it is good that we now all have some clarity.
But for now—I am here. I am grateful to be with you through Advent and Christmas.
This season that invites us to look back (as we have done today) and reflect on the incarnation, to look honestly at our present—both its light and its darkness— and to look forward to Christ’s coming again in glory, which we will do in the coming weeks.
But now let us sing, “come thou long expected Jesus, this song, like genealogy, reminds us that, like us, God’s people have always been a people who wait, but a people who wait in trust and hope.
Amen.
