Isaiah 2:1-5 and Matthew 1:1-17
This was the weekend that I put away decorations that I had up for the month of November—turkeys made of handprints, pumpkins crocheted by previous generations, a wooden toy my grandfather made with pecking chickens… and it’s the weekend when I began to up the decorations of Advent and Christmas. Peace doves and lanterns, the stable my Dad made by hand when his hands were skilled and able, tree-filled winter scenes and new colored lights and stockings made long ago. Taking down and putting up decorations this week and practicing Advent in the weeks to come is something that is not just an act of the present time. The activity connects me to generations of my ancestors, it’s something I’m passing to my children, and it’s where the writers of this Sanctified Art liturgy we’re sharing this season invite us to begin—by contemplating ancestors.
This is why we read the genealogy of Jesus. It was not just a boring list of names, it was a remembering list—a list of so many stories woven together. Stories of trauma, triumph, hardships and beauty. Stories of outsiders who become central, stories of adoption being even more powerful than bloodlines, stories of complex relationships that all lead to Christ’s story. Some evil kings were left out of Matthew’s list and many of the matriarchs’ names were left out, but five of the matriarchs were named.
In case you’re not familiar with these ancient ancestors of Jesus, I’ll briefly share a glimpse of the stories of Tamar, Rahab, Ruth and Bathsheba.
Tamar[1] suffers the death of her husbands and is blamed for their death by her father-in-law. She is in danger of losing all rights and resources but through being incredibly creative and assertive, she gives birth to twins with Judah who ends up saying about her, “ zadekah mimmeni-- often translated “she is more in the right than I” (Gen 38:26), a recognition not only of her innocence, but also of his unfairness to her.
In spite of being a foreign wife, she is incredibly loyal to Judah’s family, a quality that we see later in another part of this family tree—as Naomi and Ruth lose all the men in their family but Ruth, another foreigner, stays with Naomi and gives her descendants.
Tamar’s (and Ruth’s) traits of assertiveness in action, willingness to be unconventional, and deep loyalty to family are remembered from generation to generation.
Circling back to Rahab, she is Canaanite as the Israelites are invading Canaan. Rahab receives and then hides spies from Israel from her own king. She bargains with the Israelites to save her family as they invade and prophetically says that they will win. She gives her loyalty to God’s people and makes them her new community.
Finally, the wife of Uriah, Bathsheba, is an Ammonite woman. Her husband fights loyally for King David but David has him killed in order to cover up his own selfish actions. Later, when Bathsheba is David’s wife, she has a key role in making their son, Solomon, king.
These four foreign grandmothers are included as named ancestors along the way of the 42 generations—women who like Mary, the mother of Jesus, were vulnerable to unfair judgement but chose instead to be assertive, unconventional, persuasive, faithful. In the short-term, things looked bleak for them but in the long arch of the story, they are remembered for their perseverance, creativity and intelligence. They are honored. They are named.
Dr. Christine J. Hong writes, “Just as Christ’s genealogy reveals the relationships across time and space in his life, many of our names also tie us to the generations who come before us and those who will come after us. Matthew lists the names of Jesus’ forebears as a marker of hope finally realized. Even today, names are the seeded hope of one generation planted in another. They are the thread that connects our histories, stories and futures. We are the hopes of those who’ve come before, and we live in hope for those who will come after us.”
Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity, from the Sanctified Art creative team, writes that as they were developing this theme, she learned about The Seventh Generation Principle, “a philosophy of the Iroquois that emphasizes how seven generations after us will be affected by our current actions and decisions. This invites us to cultivate a sacred imagination for what will come, considering what will sustain and benefit the generations who come after us… our world is continually shaped and re-shaped by our collective actions.”
This is very similar to what is said by God within the giving of the 10 best ways, sometimes also known as the 10 commandments. When God is asking for people to live in a new way, God describes these consequences of actions—“that children suffer for the sin of the parents to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but that God shows love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments.” (Deuteronomy 5)
It doesn’t even compare—how influential loving God and neighbor can be—how much exponentially more God wants to love and bless than to punish.
“Like a tapestry woven throughout time, this story weaves us in…”
We are invited in… to practice love and faith, courage and community, not only for ourselves but for seven… or a thousand generations.
The work of God is always unfolding—in and through real people. The work of God goes on in real people as complex as the 42 generations named from Abraham to David to Jesus, as the real people gathered here. Our lives, histories, actions, and stories are interconnected and woven together and still unfolding in Christ. In God’s holy imagination, there’s room for every story.
So as we begin this Advent, may we remember that we belong—to an ongoing story, to generations that have come before and will come after, to a love that will never end.
[1] For the full, complicated stories of Tamar, Rahab, Ruth and Bathsheba read here: https://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/tamar-bible
