08.Jan.2009 The Mystery of the Lineage
God uses the even the messes we make…
Matthew 1: 1-6
1 This is a record of the ancestors of Jesus the Messiah, a descendant of David and of Abraham:
2 Abraham was the father of Isaac.
Isaac was the father of Jacob.
Jacob was the father of Judah and his brothers.
3 Judah was the father of Perez and Zerah (whose mother was Tamar).
Perez was the father of Hezron.
Hezron was the father of Ram.
4 Ram was the father of Amminadab.
Amminadab was the father of Nahshon.
Nahshon was the father of Salmon.
5 Salmon was the father of Boaz (whose mother was Rahab).
Boaz was the father of Obed (whose mother was Ruth).
Obed was the father of Jesse.
6 Jesse was the father of King David.
David was the father of Solomon (whose mother was Bathsheba, the widow of Uriah).
The opening verses of the book of Matthew—much like their counterpart in Luke, chapter 3—are seemingly little more than a concise ancestral record connecting an Old Testament prophet to Jesus. While this might seem a peculiar passage to preach from, especially in the expectant and trying days that lead up to Christmas, there is much more going on in “the begats” than meets the unstudied eye. First, it is important to note that one’s ancestry was considered a major issue to the Jewish community who were the recipients of Matthew’s letters. One’s lineage spoke of their history, their birthright, and, ultimately, their worth. Indeed, one’s family name carried much cultural weight, and so, Matthew shrewdly chose to begin his testimony by making certain to demonstrate for the Jews that Jesus’ alleged lowly birth ran, in actuality, through a royal line: that of King David, a fact that confirms the prophesy spelled out in Jeremiah 23:5-6.
Okay, so Jesus can evidentially be linked to great prophets and kings of the Old Testament—to Abraham, David, and Solomon—but how does that apply to us? Or to Christmas, for that matter? This familial listing is significant not only for its justifying Jesus’ royal birth, but also for its mention of some questionable, even disreputable characters who appear along the way. Matthew, then, proves Jesus’ relation to kings, but to a few scoundrels as well. Some who are listed above who warrant a closer study.
One is Tamar, a harlot whose seedy story can be found in Genesis chapter 38. It involves, in short, death, lust, condemnation, cunning, and incest: a father who impregnates his once daughter-in-law working in disguise as a prostitute. The details are truly overwhelming, the degree of sin almost staggering. And yet, God uses Tamar in the line of Christ.
Another similarly scandalous character is Rahab, also a prostitute, this time from Jericho, whose assistance to the Israelites brings about the fall of her people. Her story can be found in the early chapters of the book of Joshua, if you’re interested.
Finally, and famously, is the ignominious tale of King David, whose lust for the bathing Bathsheba results in adultery, and eventually murder as he sends her husband, Uriah, to the front lines of his great army. Uriah is killed according to plan, his death raises no suspicion, and David is able to claim the widowed Bathsheba as his own. Their son, Solomon, is born subsequently—an illegitimate child who, like both Tamar and Rahab, seemingly tarnishes the pristine nature of the Messiah’s bloodline. And yet, again, God does use them.
But isn’t God too holy, too perfect to get mixed up in such debauchery? you might wonder. After all, here we have unrepentant adultery. Here we have mendacious harlotry. Here we have the former shepherd boy, the Psalmist worshipper turned conniving king. These, strangely, are the forefathers of Christ our Lord, people as troubled and as iniquitous as anybody. And still they find their way into the bloodline of the savior of the world. Equally as surprising as God’s inclusion of such people, though, is Matthew’s. The author makes no attempt to gloss over these unfortunate details. If anything, Matthew highlights them. The question, then, cannot be ignored: Why would a perfect God want to associate with such imperfection? What kind of God would allow such frail and broken people to bring about His good will? And what kind of apostle would so plainly tether Jesus to harlots and murderers? Isn’t that the kind of information you’d want to suppress rather than proclaim? The God of the Bible, therefore, seems to be rather different than the religious God so many Christians today have popularized. You know, the one who hates everybody, who condemns and judges and generally dislikes everybody because they sin.
We are apt to forget how capable God is of working through all the garbage we leave Him, however, how thrilled He is to make something of us, even our wrongdoing. He may not ordain our sins, but He can and does use them. Modern-day Christianity need to be reminded just how mysterious and amazingly gracious God’s ways can be. So mysterious that He populated Jesus’ bloodline with some of the messiest characters in the Bible. So gracious that He is willing to redeem even the lowest of the low. And Jesus was no different for that matter, opting to spend his days with the tax collectors and prostitutes, the poor and helpless, rather than the self-righteous and religious folk.
So let us be clear: God wants to get involved in our messes. He can’t help Himself. History proves this. He is the Judge of the world, but He is not judgmental. He is perfect, yet He is also the Perfecter of our shortcomings. We need to be reminded of this, especially around Christmas, when holiday parties force us to deal with even the most annoying of our coworkers, when our wacky relatives come into town. We need to be reminded at how desperate God is to touch and to redeem the lives of His fallen people, and how we, His followers, should try to do likewise.
We should, therefore, strive to show the world the God of the Bible this Christmas season—not the God of our religious beliefs, our prejudices, or our hatred—the God of the Bible. To know Him is to love Him.
