Readings

Genesis 49.2, 8–10 – Assemble and hear, O sons of Jacob; listen to Israel your father. ‘Judah, your brothers shall praise you; your hand shall be on the neck of your enemies; your father’s sons shall bow down before you. Judah is a lion’s whelp; from the prey, my son, you have gone up. He crouches down, he stretches out like a lion, like a lioness—who dares rouse him up? The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet, until tribute comes to him; and the obedience of the peoples is his.

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, of whom Jesus was born, 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.

Reflection

In our first reading from Genesis, we hear the voice of the aged Jacob, gathering his sons around him. These are words spoken at the threshold between past and future: a father blessing his children, but also a people being shaped by promise. Jacob speaks particularly of Judah, praising him and declaring that the sceptre shall not depart from him, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet, until the one comes “to whom it belongs”.

At first glance, this feels like a text about power, authority, and kingship. Judah will be strong; his brothers will praise him; rulers will come from his line. Yet this is not simply a story of human ambition or political success. Jacob’s blessing is rooted in God’s purposes unfolding slowly through history — often in ways that are surprising, fragile, and deeply human.

When we turn to Matthew’s Gospel, we are given what may seem an unlikely companion reading: a long genealogy, a list of names that we are tempted to skim over. Yet Matthew places this genealogy right at the beginning of his Gospel, as if to say: if you want to understand Jesus, you must first understand the story he steps into.

Matthew traces Jesus’ family line back through King David, through Judah, and all the way to Abraham. This is the fulfilment of the promise hinted at in Genesis: the line of Judah does indeed continue, and it leads us not to a palace, but to a child born to Mary.

What is striking about Matthew’s genealogy is not only who is included, but how they are included. This is not a polished list of heroes. It is a family tree marked by failure, scandal, displacement, and suffering. We hear of Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and “the wife of Uriah” — women whose stories involve vulnerability, courage, and, at times, great pain. We hear of kings who ruled well and kings who failed badly. We hear of exile, loss, and waiting.

In other words, this is not a triumphant march of uninterrupted success. It is the story of God working faithfully through imperfect people and broken situations. The sceptre promised to Judah does not appear as an obvious symbol of worldly power. Instead, it is carried through generations of ordinary, flawed lives.

This matters deeply for us. The promise of God is not dependent on human perfection. God does not wait until history is tidy or people are blameless. God enters the story as it is — with all its complexity — and redeems it from within.

When Matthew tells us that Jesus is “the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham”, he is not simply making a theological claim. He is saying that in Jesus, all these promises, all these stories, all these lives find their meaning. The ruler spoken of in Genesis comes not as a lion devouring prey, but as the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world. The sceptre is real, but it is a sceptre shaped like a cross.

For us, this invites a quiet but profound reflection. We are part of this same story. Our lives, too, are a mixture of faithfulness and failure, hope and uncertainty. We may feel ordinary, or even unworthy, but God’s purposes are not thwarted by our weakness. Just as God worked through Judah’s line, God continues to work through the Church — through us — to bring Christ into the world again and again.

As we listen to these readings, we are reminded that God keeps his promises, often in ways we do not expect. The genealogy that begins Matthew’s Gospel is not dead history; it is a living testimony that God is faithful across generations. And the Christ who comes from this long line of waiting is the same Christ who meets us here today: not distant or idealised, but Emmanuel — God with us.

May we trust that the God who fulfilled his promise through Judah and through Mary is still at work in our own lives, drawing hope from our brokenness and bringing light into the ordinary paths we walk each day.