Eike Mueller
The Gospel of Matthew begins with an element bewildering to ancient and modern readers alike, although for different reasons: a long genealogy. The modern reader tends to skip quickly over this list of names; in our cultural context it feels like tedious reading, and irrelevant to our concerns. To Matthew’s original audience, however, genealogies were not at all out of the ordinary. Rather, the first-century reader’s discomfort would have been based on how Matthew has put this lineage of Jesus together. He deviates significantly from the established norm in three ways: he selectively omits individuals in order to be able to arrange his genealogy into three sets of fourteen generations; he includes women, who do not typically feature in genealogies (1 Chr 1–6); and the lineage fails to provide a genealogical link between its main focus—Jesus—and the individuals included.
Before considering these issues—which Matthew would have known to be problematic for his intended audience—it is necessary to remind ourselves why genealogies were important to Jews in the first place. In Genesis 4:17–5:32 we see one function of the genealogy: it contrasts the development of a God-fearing lineage with that of a people descending further and further from God, in preparation for the flood narrative of Genesis 6–8. We also see God’s faithfulness through the record of succeeding generations who feared and obeyed him, and are shown that at all times, God has individuals who remain faithful to him amid the unfaithfulness of the world.
Genealogies also served as proof of an individual’s right to hold a specific role. Following the Babylonian exile, Ezra and Nehemiah were instrumental in overseeing the rebuilding of the temple. In the restoration of the temple service, it was imperative that priests could trace their family line back to Aaron, to establish their legitimacy to serve in temple activity (1 Chr 9; Ezra 2:62; Neh 7:5). In like manner, kings would have had to demonstrate their right to the throne by proving their royal ancestry to the founder—a test which would-be usurpers could not pass. Matthew uses his genealogy not only as clear evidence of God’s faithfulness in preserving a line of steadfast individuals, but also to confirm Jesus as the “son of David” (Matt 1:1), and thus a rightful heir to the throne. This prepares the way for the tension in Matthew 2, where Jesus is contrasted with Herod—an Idumean king who secured the throne by colluding with the Romans.
However, Matthew’s genealogy also resolves other difficulties, which it achieves through creative employment of some unexpected features. Firstly, it is divided into three sets of fourteen generations (Matt 1:17). This beautiful symmetry alerts us to the fact that Matthew is not simply relating historical fact, but also aims to make a theological observation. The three-generational periods cover Jewish history from the patriarch Abraham to Jesus and are grouped into three different time frames: the period from Abraham to David spans over eight hundred years; David to the Babylonian captivity covers just under half of that, at around four hundred years; and the time from the captivity to Jesus totals approximately six hundred years.
In comparing this with other genealogies we notice that Matthew omits some names and favors others. For example, the four hundred years of slavery in Egypt are represented by just three generations (Hezron, Ram, and Amminadab; see Matt 1:3; Gen 46:12; Num 1:6), while the patriarchal period is expanded by including brothers, who are not actually required for a lineage (this takes place in a reference to the twelve tribes, as well as in reference to Perez and Zerah, Matt 1:2, 3). Matthew also passes over several kings in his second grouping, to achieve the desired fourteen generations (Ahaziah, Joash, Amaziah, and Eliakim [known also as Jehoiakim]; 1 Chr 3:11–12, 15–16). Such omissions are not uncommon—see for example Ruth 4:18–22, and are based on the Hebrew understanding that the terms “begot,” or “son of” can refer to any ancestor-descendant relationship, and are not restricted to an immediate parent-child context. We see this clearly in the reference to Jesus himself as, “the son of David, the son of Abraham” (Matt 1:1).
Scholars continue to debate Matthew’s motives in grouping the genealogy into three sets of fourteen. Some have argued this to be a mnemonic device to help the reader remember the list. Others have proposed it to be a form of numeric symbolism called gematria. The Hebrew script does not have separate symbols for numerals, and instead uses specific letters of the alphabet to function as numbers (aleph=1, bet=2, etc.). Following this system, the numerical value of the Hebrew name ‘David’ adds up to fourteen (D=4, V=6, D=4). While this possibility cannot be ruled out, it is not clear that Matthew was employing this practice, as there are no other examples or justifications for this theory. Furthermore, there are multiple acceptable spellings of the name ‘David’ in Hebrew.
Another school of thought is that Matthew employs this system to demonstrate that the eschatological era is complete in Jesus. Jewish apocalyptic writings such as 2 Baruch highlight the significance of the number fourteen, and the division of history into segments. Matthew does not explicitly tell us why the three sets of fourteen generations are important, but the opening and closing references to Abraham, David, and Jesus make it clear that these three individuals initiate and complete God’s kingdom on earth (Matt 1:1,17).
The second surprise in Matthew’s genealogy is the inclusion of five women: Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, “the wife of Uriah,” and, finally, Mary. Lineages did include women at times (for example Ruth 4:11–12, or 1 Chr 1–6 both include several women), particularly if the genealogy contained unusual features, such as someone having been born through a concubine, the existence of noteworthy daughters or sisters, or a high-profile woman being involved in the lineage (as with Pharaoh’s daughter, 1 Chr 4:18). Nevertheless, Matthew’s inclusion of these particular individuals is surprising. The key Jewish matriarchs who would have been obvious candidates for inclusion are not listed (Sarah, Rebekah, or Rachel). Instead we are presented with apparent side characters to Jewish history. It has often been claimed that these women are sinful, disreputable or promiscuous, and are included to demonstrate God’s grace to women. But this is an unfair allegation: Mary and Ruth are depicted as completely virtuous, praiseworthy women; the story of Bathsheba should be interpreted as an account of sexual assault, in which David is the guilty party (see Ps 51); and, despite enduring years of mistreatment in the household of Judah and his sons, Tamar—by Judah’s own admission—is “more righteous” than he is (Gen 38:26). Only Rahab is identified as a prostitute, and yet she saves the Israelite spies, makes a remarkable profession of faith (Josh 2:2–13), and is saved along with her entire family (Josh 6:16; Heb 11:31). If anything, it is the men in this genealogy who have the checkered history; the list of names includes philanderers, war criminals, sexual abusers, idol worshippers, and individuals who murder their own friends or kill the prophets of God (take Judah, David, Solomon, Manasseh, Asa, and Amon, to name but a few).
There are two features that the women, on the other hand, have in common: they are all to some extent strangers in Israel, and they all advance God’s storyline in surprising ways. For Tamar (a Canaanite), Rahab (from Jericho), and Ruth (a Moabitess), their status as foreigners in Israel is clear. Bathsheba’s case is a little more complicated. Since she herself is an Israelite, Matthew avoids referencing her directly by name. Instead, he claims her place in the genealogy by mentioning her foreign husband, Uriah the Hittite (from modern-day Anatolia; see 2 Sam 11:3). Mary’s (and Jesus’s) connection to foreign lands will be made clear in chapter 2, when Egypt becomes the place of refuge for their hunted family, and Jesus is identified as the prophesied son to be called out of Egypt (Hos 11:1; Matt 2:15). Matthew’s gospel will grapple with this question of Jewish heritage versus gentile assimilation throughout its narrative. In chapter 2 the visit of the wise men demonstrates that God speaks to people far beyond the borders of Jerusalem. In chapter 3 John the Baptist gives his audience a stark warning that being descendants of Abraham alone will not save them, and tells them that God is able to raise up children to Abraham from the stones (Matt 3:9). Jesus continues to challenge the same misconception, affirming the validity of the Old Testament and its histories, but also extending the concept still further, right up to the conclusion of the gospel commission to “make disciples of all the nations” (Matt 28:19).
Matthew introduces this fundamental idea by pointing to Abraham in the opening lines of his gospel. While Abraham’s covenant with God shows us that he has been specially chosen, this is for the purpose of being a blessing to “all the families of the earth” (Gen 12:3). The religious leaders of John the Baptist and Jesus’s time highlighted their position as the chosen of God, but completely ignored its purpose: to be a blessing to the world. The women in Matthew’s genealogy confront the audience, from the very opening verses, with the notion that “sons of Abraham” is a broad term encompassing men and women, Jews and gentiles, saints and sinners.
Throughout his gospel Matthew weaves a rich theological tapestry, where a single image may have several implications. This is also the case for the inclusion of the women: besides shining a light on the true significance of the Abrahamic covenant, it also paves the way for the appearance of Mary at the genealogy’s conclusion. The closing part of the lineage is problematic; having set the scene with a long list of names leading to Joseph, the genealogy’s final link is missing. Joseph is the husband of Mary, but not the father of Jesus. Under normal circumstances this would make the entire genealogy invalid; but the women have already alerted the reader to the fact that God’s script carries unexpected twists and turns. It is significant that the first four women are to be found before and alongside David in the genealogy, and not after him. If Matthew’s Jewish audience can accept David as the legitimate king of Israel, despite the irregularities of the histories of Tamar, Rahab and Ruth, and despite the shame associated with David’s own treatment of the wife of Uriah, then the concept of the virgin birth should not be dismissed out of hand. Indeed, if we are dealing with an account of the long-awaited “son of David,” should the reader not expect something more extraordinary than in the earlier stories? Matthew does not try to avoid the challenge posed by the virgin birth (Matt 1:23), but paves the way for it through the preceding narratives of these women.
Before providing his solution to the missing link, Matthew reveals that Mary and Joseph recognize the divine nature of Jesus’s conception. After the baby’s birth we are told that Joseph “called His name Jesus” (Matt 1:25). This phrase echoes an established adoption ritual of the time, noted in the Mishnah (m. B. Bat. 8:6): “If a man said, ‘This is my son’, he may be believed.” Joseph’s adoption of Jesus closes the last open link: Jesus is indeed the “son of David, the son of Abraham” (Matt 1:1). Jesus’s dual paternity is thus fully established: He has divine paternity as the Son of God, but also human paternity as son of Joseph.