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, (her name, by the way, was Bathsheba) 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 Uzziahand 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.
MESSAGE: “MOTHERS”
I’d like to read you that scripture in a slightly different way. Let me tell you a story. So, here we go: Abraham’s wife Sarah had a son named Isaac, even though both Abraham and Sarah were really old. Isaac married Rebekah. Rebekah’s youngest son Jacob married Leah. Even though Jacob didn’t really love her (he really loved her sister Rachel), he and Leah had many sons. One of them was Judah. Judah spent some time with his daughter-in-law Tamar, who had twin sons named Zerah and Perez. Perez was the great-great-great-great-great grandfather of Boaz, whose mother was the hero Rahab, who people say was a prostitute. Boaz married Ruth, who gave birth to Obed. Obed’s grandson was King David. King David murdered his soldier Uriah and stole his wife, Bathsheba. David and Bathsheba had a son named Solomon. Many years went by, and descendents of Solomon married and had children and more children until there was Joseph. Joseph married Mary. And Mary was the mother of Jesus, who is called the Messiah.
It’s interesting how many father’s names are remembered, and how few mothers. I guess it’s not really surprising, though. The Hebrew people were a patriarchal society. Fathers mattered and mothers didn’t; at least not in the big picture. If there wasn’t an exciting story to tell about them, their names were forgotten. These mothers whose names are remembered had stories that were worth telling over and over again as their people’s history was passed on from generation to generation.
The reality is, of course, that most of our lives aren’t so exciting that our names will be remembered generations from now. Most of us go about our lives, hoping we’re doing the right thing. I think this is particularly true of parents, perhaps especially mothers. Now, I know that not all parents are good parents. In fact, there are quite a few terrible parents out there, even terrible mothers. But most try their best. They teach their children how to be grownups by example and by telling stories.
It’s usually the mothers who tell the stories. Not necessarily the big, sweeping stories of history, but the stories about family. The stories about how to get along with others. The stories about taking care of others. Mothers are the ones who take the children in their arms, hold them close, and sing to them. They sing the lullabies, the "Too-Ra-Loora’s", the "Hush Little Baby’s", the "Duérmete, mi niño’s". They sing the silly songs, the "Froggie Went a Courtin’s" and the "Down by the Bay’s". They tell the nursery rhymes and the fairy tales. And they tell the stories about the grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles and aunts you never knew.
When my sisters and brothers and I were young, our mother used to read to us. When we were very small, I am sure she read us the nursery rhymes and recited the silly games like “This Little Piggy Went to Market.” The stories I remember most, though, are a little more complicated. We might have been the only children in our circles whose bedtime stories were Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge and The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe. Mom would sing to us, too. Unlike me, who, as you will note, steps as far away from the microphone as possible when it’s time to sing, Mom had a good singing voice. A lot of the time, Mom and Dad would be singing together, as Dad played guitar. But then, she would sing to us whenever we were in the car. “The angels are lighting God’s little candles, we call them stars, they’re our friends in the sky,” and “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.” She sang some of the songs we are singing today, like Tell Me the Stories of Jesus.* In fact, she sang all of the songs we're singing today! So many songs. I learned how to be a caring person in an uncaring world from my mom. I learned how to be a mom from my mom. Maybe some of the bad ways, but mostly the good ways. So many memories.
I bet you have some of them, too. Good memories of times with your mother or a mother figure. An aunt, or grandmother perhaps…or a step-mother. Take a moment to recall some of your favorite things that you think of when you remember the woman or women who gave you the most in your life. How did they teach you? What kinds of stories did they tell? What songs did they sing? Did they tell you about the rest of your family? I can remember my mom telling me about growing up in the 1940’s and 50’s, about uncles and aunts I never got to meet. There were funny stories like the ones about things her grandma did or said and there were sad stories about things that happened to people.
I sometimes imagine Jesus as a small child growing up with Mary and Joseph. Joseph would have shown him how to work and to make a living. Eventually, the Rabbis would teach him the Torah. But his first teacher in his life on earth would have been his mother Mary. She would have told him stories about her mother and the rest of her family. He might have listened, fascinated while she talked about her cousin Elizabeth the year when her son John was born. Mary might even have told Jesus some of the tales about his ancestors. She might have taken him on her knee and told him the story of Ruth and Naomi. I’m certain she told him about Sarah, who laughed at an angel and had a baby when she was an old lady. And maybe she sang him to sleep sometimes with the story of a star that shined bright on the night when he was born.
No other mother will whisper lullabies to the Messiah. Most mothers won’t be remembered for generations to come like Tamar, Rahab, or Bathsheba. But they don’t need to be. All most mothers and substitute mothers really want is to be remembered fondly by those they have loved the most, to know they have made a difference in our lives. Let us remember our mothers and all the women who helped us become who we are. Let us recall the best that they have given us, and live the best that they have taught us. Let us share their stories with those who come after us.
Happy Mother’s Day!
*Note: The other songs we sang were In the Garden and I Love to Tell the Story
