Christmas Day - December 25

Luke 2:15-20


When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.


Today on Christmas, I’ll share with you Thomas Merton’s words. In Seasons of Celebration, he writes about the birth of Christ. Merton is particularly moved by Christ as light, and our human need not only to receive the light within us, but more, to allow the light to shine through us. This is what Merton says:


Christ is born. He is born to us. And, he is born today. For Christmas is not merely a day like every other day. It is a day made holy and special by a sacred mystery. It is not merely another day in the weary round of time. Today, eternity enters into time and time, sanctified, is caught up into eternity. Today, Christ, the Eternal Word of the Father, who was in the beginning with the Father, in whom all things were made, by whom all things consist, enters into the world which he created in order to reclaim souls who have lost their identity. Therefore, the Church exults as the angels come down to announce not merely an old thing that happened long ago, but a new thing that happens today. For, today, God the Father makes all things new, in his Divine Son, our Redeemer, according to his words: Ecce nova facio omnia. . . .

At Christmas, more than ever, it is fitting to remember that we have no other light but Christ, who is born to us today. Let us reflect that he came down from heaven to be our light, and our life. He came, as he himself assures us, to be our way, by which we may return to the Father. Christ gives us light today to know him, in the Father and ourselves in him, so that thus knowing and possessing Christ, we may have life everlasting with him in the Father. . . .

Having realized, once again, who it is that comes to us, and having remembered that he alone is our light, let us open our eyes to the rising Sun, let us hasten to receive him and let us come together to celebrate the great mystery of charity which is the sacrament of our salvation and of our union in Christ. Let us receive Christ that we may in all truth be “light in the Lord” and that Christ may shine not only to us, but through us, and that we may all burn together in the sweet light of his presence in the world: I mean his presence in us, for we are his Body and his Holy Church. . . .

Christ, light of light, is born today, and since he is born to us, he is born in us as light and therefore we who believe are born today to new light. That is to say, our souls are born to new life and new grace by receiving him who is the Truth. For Christ, invisible in his own nature, has become visible in our nature. What else can this mean, except that first he has become visible as a man and second he has become visible in his Church? He wills to be visible in us, to live in us, and save us through his secret action in our own hearts and the hearts of our neighbors. So, we must receive the light of the newborn Savior by faith, in order to manifest it by our witness in common praise and by the works of our charity towards one another.

[Thomas Merton, Seasons of Celebration, pp. 102-105.]

Christmas Day - December 25, 2018

The Cave of the Heart

Luke 2:1-20


I wrote this meditation several years ago during Advent. It came out of an experience of prayer as I prayed with the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius of Loyola. In this meditation on the birth of Jesus, the writer described his birthplace as a cave dug into the side of a hill just below Bethlehem. Before reading those words, I had a mental image of the birthplace of Jesus, a stable scene behind an inn.

For the first time in my life, I saw the birthplace as something other than that old scene I had envisioned for decades. I saw the hillside cave in such vivid detail that not only did the birth of Christ come alive for me, but I also envisioned the cave as a place in my heart.

This guided meditation comes from that prayer experience. The cave became more than a place Christ as born 2,000 years ago. The cave became an image for that part of my heart where the conceiving and birthing work of God continues to happen within me.

If you choose to use the meditation for prayer or meditation, read it slowly. Pause as needed, shut your eyes for a few minutes, and let God's Spirit lead you. The goal is not to get through the exercise quickly, but to linger with the parts of the prayer that seem to have substance for you. And don't be afraid to use your imagination, what some have called, "holy imagination." In other words, don't censor where your soul wants to lead you. Take in the experience. Let it happen.

Joyous Christmas to you!



I sit still and settle into prayer. . . . I consciously take several deep breaths, each one slower and deeper than the one before.

As much as possible, I lay aside the things that preoccupy my mind and distract me. I want to become aware of God, who is present to me at this very moment.

In my imagination I see a small Middle Eastern town on a hilltop, crowded with people who are bustling about and tending to important business . . . Some people are eating or drinking . . . others are talking on the streets . . . while others are buying or selling in the marketplace. I notice the seriousness with which these people are tending to their affairs. The rush of activity is obvious.

I allow my gaze to move outside the confines of the little town . . . down a hillside, to a small grotto dug into the earth.

It is the kind of place created to shelter animals from the elements of weather . . . but in this shallow “cave” are a man and woman, along with several animals. I take a moment to let my mind shape this scene for me.

The young woman is in labor and the man is assisting her with childbirth. I let my imagination fill in the details of the scene . . . what happens . . . what is spoken . . . where I am in the cave.

Perhaps I talk to this holy family, or just stand aside and watch, or maybe I take the place of one of the animals. I ask God to help me understand the significance of this event of which I am a part. I stay with this scene in the hillside cave as long as I’m able.

At some point I realize that there is also a cave in my heart . . . It may seem as if I live most of my life on the streets of activity and in the marketplaces of busyness, but there is within my heart a cave.

This cave is an interior space where the really important things in my life are conceived and given birth. . . . Conception and birth do not happen on busy street-corners, but in the privacy and hiddenness of the cave. . . . I notice where that cave is within me.

I may find that much of my life is spent on busy streets and in crowded marketplaces. How might I ask God to help me spend more time in the cave? If I can ask God for more "cave-time," what might God say back to me?

Then I ask God to help me see what is being conceived in my heart . . . what is being brought to birth within that cave of my heart. I ask God for the grace to find a life-giving rhythm that includes time in this quiet, interior cave . . . and time on the streets engaging daily life, people, and events. . . . I talk to God about both the busy streets of my life, and the hidden caves of my heart. I make this my prayer.

When I feel like my prayer has completed, I say the Lord’s Prayer as a way of bringing the prayer time to an end.

Fourth Sunday of Advent - December 23, 2018

Wombing New Life

Micah 5:1-4
Luke 1:39-45


The Gospel reading today repeats the reading from two days ago, December 21, the encounter of Mary and Elizabeth known as The Visitation.

Within both Elizabeth and Mary new life takes shape. As the narratives have suggested, God intervened in the lives of both women, making the impossible possible. They now share the same path, but at the same time walk very different paths.

The womb is a rich Advent symbol worth pondering, as it suggests gestation, waiting, preparation, and more. Birth takes time and only happens in the fullness of time.

Within the womb of each of us -- yes, female and male! -- God's life grows, taking shape over a long period of time, slowly forming apart from our machinations.

I do not see the shape of this new life within me, nor can I know exactly what it will be. I can only imagine and hope, and even then the final reality of new life will surprise me at birth . . . how different it is from my expectations and imaginings!

But as the new life grows within me, I want to be with others who can help nurture the life growing in me . . . who will help me be faithful to God, self, and others . . . who will support me and challenge me and provide the setting in which this life within me can grow to fullness.

In the middle of Rainer Maria Rilke's poem, "I am too alone in the world," some beautiful lines caught my attention 15 years ago as I was going through a significant passageway, when things I thought I could depend on were crumbling in my hands. I found these words in his poem and they became a lifeline for me.

. . . and in those quiet, sometimes hardly moving times,
when something is coming near,
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone.
[Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, trans. by Macy and Burrows]

This is Mary going to Elizabeth, wanting to be with someone else who knows secret things, wanting the company of someone familiar with the mystery of Divine movements. It is any surprise that Mary's greeting upon entering the house causes Elizabeth's womb to awaken and stir with recognition? This is what happens among those who know secret things together.

Steve Garnaas-Holmes posted this poem a couple of days ago about this meeting of Mary and Elizabeth, and about our own wombing of new life into the world. (Find Steve at www.unfoldinglight.net)


When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting,
the child leaped in her womb.
—Luke 1.41

Two expecting mothers share a bond,
the recognition of the altered balance,
the spherical spirit, the parallel gaze,
companionship on a hard, bright path,
the magnificent power of giving life
that others can only surmise.

And yet that gaze, that bond, that power,
is yours.
We have too many religions of gods in clouds.
God does not enter the world from the stratosphere.
God enters from within, in each of us,
not might or magic, but in love.
Mary's genius was her insight
that the divine, the world-changing Holy,
emerges from us like a newborn child.
I bear it. You bear it. It's who we are.

The Beloved begs us to feel for the leap in us,
the divine child in us that knows
its sibling in another, that knows
we are connected in our power to give life.
Behold that in yourself, feel for the leap,
and know the bond that makes of all humanity,
all living creatures, one blessed womb.

Blessed are you among women,
and blessed is the fruit of your womb.
[Steve Garnaas-Holmes, www.unfoldinglight.net)

For Reflection:

Reflect on the part of this story that draws you into itself . . . or spend time with the lines from Rilke . . . or pray with the poem by Steve Garnaas-Holmes. There are many ways you may go today. The birth of Christ approaches. Spend time with whatever draws you today.

Third Tuesday of Advent - December 18, 2018

The Story within The Story

Jeremiah 23:5-8
Matthew 1:18-24


As the day of Jesus' birth nears, the Advent readings speak more directly of his coming. The stories, repeated each Advent, tell a familiar tale. If we are not intentional during the season, we may sleepwalk through these familiar texts and miss their life-altering message.

We return to them each year, though, because in some ways they contain the whole Gospel in a nutshell. In a sense, the acorn-like birth narratives become the Gospel oak tree. The birth stories introduce themes that Jesus will deal with throughout his life. Matthew 1:18-24 is a wonderful.

** The birth story begins in scandal and hints of illegitimacy . . . a mysterious pregnancy not easily explained to family, friends, and the religious authorities. Likewise, scandal will follow Jesus throughout his short life as his teaching stirs controversy, as he keeps company with persons of disrepute, and mostly as he claims to have the authority of God. He will be charged with lacking legitimacy, of not having the proper credentials to speak on God's behalf.

** Matthew makes sure we hear at the beginning of the Gospel that Jesus is Immanuel, God with us. Then Matthew reminds us again, when he ends the Gospel with Jesus' words after the resurrection: "Behold, I am with you always." (And always means always!)

** In Matthew's version of the birth account, Joseph chooses compassion and mercy in his care of Mary, rather than legalism and judgment. (A public hearing to determine the origins of her pregnancy would have been common in his time.) Likewise, throughout his life Jesus will bring mercy and compassion to life-situations in which others call out for judgment.

** Joseph wakes up. In a dream, Joseph is given eyes to see what the Spirit is engineering through this birth, then he awakens from that dream. However, more than simply opening his eyes from physical sleep, Joseph sees the Divine dimension in the events unfolding around him. He sees through the actual events to their interior. Again, this will be the very perception Jesus tries to instill in God's people, that we have "eyes to see and ears to hear." In fact, Anthony de Mello said this is the core of Jesus' entire message: "Wake up!!"


For Reflection:

Take something you've read today and bring it into your prayer and meditation. You may simply rest in this familiar story, allowing wonder and gratitude to bubble up within you.

First Monday of Advent -- December 3, 2018

The Unfolding Plan of God

Isaiah 2:1-5
Matthew 8:5-11


Most mornings I make the mistake of checking the news before I am fully grounded. I read about acts of aggression . . . hostility among races . . . mean tweets that exaggerate facts and belittle others. If I fall too deeply into the hole, despair knocks on the door.

Scripture always resists despair, but is completely realistic about our human situation. The words of prophet and Gospel-writer alike address a fractured world, while also chasing after alienated humans with hope for a reconciled world. The final word is not fracture and alienation, scripture insists, but oneness, healing, and compassion. The world is not a forsaken garbage dump in which good things miraculously happen; rather, God is at work in and around the world in mercy, to bring all things to wholeness. In the words of those who follow the path of Ignatius of Loyola, God's project for the world is to bring all things to oneness. And God is somehow present in all things to bring God's vast project to fruition.

Of course, there are wars and divisions, competition and conflict, racism and sexism, lands and peoples who are plundered. But the work of God is about healing and saving those who are caught in the grip of conflict, destruction, and unjust systems.

The work of God is about restoring the earth so that vegetables and fruit, oil and wine, might feed and refresh all people of the world.

The work of God is about using creativity and ingenuity to fight disease and to create just systems of government for our communities.

The work of God is about compassion, sharing with those who struggle in famine and flood, through hurricane and wildfire.

The work of God is about stepping across divisions between haves and have-nots, using power and authority for giving fullness of life, not diminishing life.

Advent proclaims the truth of our current reality, but also the vision toward which God is working. Our world is being made still, as you and I still are being made. And God is in the making, the unfolding, even now.

The birth of Jesus into the world is part of the unfolding plan of God.


For Reflection:

In what part of life are you most tempted to despair? What helps you to recognize when you are in a place close to despair?

Above I shared with you a partial "litany" of what I sense God is about in the world. Write your own litany, or statement of what you feel God is about in the world. You might begin each line with something like: "The work of God is about __________."

Magi: Journeys That Shift Everything

Something in the very act of journey transforms those who push through resistances, who weather obstacles, and who persevere through the fatigue and relentless dailyness of staying on the path.

In the world of spiritual journeying, there really is no firm destination. If you do arrive at what you think is a destination, it will look much different than you envisioned. And then, once you feel you have arrived, the destination changes, always stretching out before you.

Here is T. S. Eliot’s poem, “The Journey of the Magi.”

The Journey of the Magi
T. S. Eliot

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

[T. S. Eliot: Collected Poems, 1909-1962, p. 99.]

Eliot uses the Magi’s journey as a metaphor for a spiritual journey, a journey which deepens and rearranges all of life, including one’s relationships and stance in the world. Those who know Eliot better than I do claim that he was rediscovering Christian faith when he wrote this poem. The poem very well could be Eliot’s spiritual journey. It resonates with my life’s pilgrimage, as well.

Eliot’s poem is darker than Mary Oliver’s “The Journey” (yesterday’s post). Eliot doesn’t flinch at the difficulty of the journey, and the ongoing resistance the traveler faces at every turn.

In the first stanza, Eliot introduces the challenges in a number of different images . . . “a cold coming” . . . “the worst time of year for a journey” . . . “a long journey” . . . “the ways deep and the weather sharp” . . . “the very dead of winter.”

The journey is not for the faint of heart, for “a hard time we had of it.” Resistance to moving onward comes in a number of forms: “night fires going out” . . . “lack of shelters” . . . “cities hostile” . . . “towns unfriendly” . . . “villages dirty” . . . “charging high prices.”

As Mary Oliver noted in yesterday’s poem, the most formidable obstacle to our exploration is often summarized as “the voices singing in our ears.” Mary Oliver wrote that those voices are “shouting their bad advice.” For T. S. Eliot, they are saying, “This is all folly.” The voices sometimes come from family, friends, co-workers, or those who find journey a waste of time. And just as often, they come from within us, our own interior, whispering voices that seek to convince us to stop, go back, stay safe.

In Eliot’s vision of the Magi-journey, the road is long and full of obstacles. The arrival at the end of the second stanza is, well . . . underwhelming.

“And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.”

For me, the crux of the poem comes in the third stanza, Eliot’s reflection on the experience of journey. In Matthew 2, the Magi were led by a celestial light to the birth of Christ. But Eliot, imagining a journey that is more interior, suggests that at the end of this journey there is both birth and death. While he had thought they were different, this journey draws the two experiences together, two aspects of the same life-experience which are both necessary for a complete life.

This is a birth and death that changes a person deep within, that alters his or her fundamental stance toward all of life. This death (letting go) and birth (new life) shifts one’s relationships, attitudes, and loyalties.

Rowan Williams, former Archbishop of Canterbury, wrote this about Eliot’s poem:

What happens when a birth – Jesus' 'birth', as the poet starts re-discovering Christian faith – changes everything? The bizarre fact is that it can feel as if nothing has really changed, except that you have a sense that no one else has noticed what has happened – because something certainly has. 'Birth or death?' A new start that is felt only as the death of all that has been familiar; and yet the old world goes on, galloping aimlessly like the old white horse. Eliot never wanted to present religious faith as a nice cheerful answer to everyone's questions, but as an inner shift so deep that you could hardly notice it, yet giving a new perspective on everything and a new restlessness in a tired and chilly world.


When Williams says, “an inner shift so deep that you could hardly notice it, yet giving a new perspective on everything,” he is writing about the nature of a life that is becoming, growing, and evolving deeper into God in a way that makes a difference in relationships with God, self, others, and the world.

In Eliot’s poem, that deep inner shift is noted by the Magi returning “to our places” but “no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation.” So deeply has life shifted that upon returning home to their families, friends, and neighbors, they feel surrounded by “an alien people clutching their gods.”

By the end of the poem, though the journey is over, it’s not yet over. “I should be glad of another death.” To journey onward will lead to other deaths and other births. In truth, the invitation to journey and growth never ceases. We will not arrive . . . not until our last breath.

For Reflection:
Take a few moments to reflect on your own experience of being changed by a spiritual journey in a way that causes you to feel like an “alien” among family, friends, and neighbors. Has that experience caused you to take a different stance toward your own spiritual journey? Does it make you reticent to move onward?

If needed, take a moment to touch and embrace the Magi within you again . . .that spirit of exploration and adventure . . . the courage to move beyond what you have seen and what you know . . . the part of you not afraid of mystery and the unknown.

The Second Wednesday of Advent -- December 7, 2011

Luke 1:26 - 38

In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”

Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.”

“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”

The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. For no word from God will ever fail.”

“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May it be to me according to your word.” Then the angel left her.


This passage draws me toward Mary in a couple of ways. For one, she is one who is graced, who is favored, not because of what she has done, but because of who God is.

That's how grace and favor tend to work, much to our dismay. So much of modern life is built upon what we deserve and what we earn that the notion of grace and favor are totally outside our understanding. Western Christians have a difficult struggle with authentic grace, because it completely eliminates anything that I do to merit or become worthy.

Real grace doesn't preach well in the Church, neither does it sell well, nor does it keep the "faithful" in line. It is too unpredictable, too loose . . . too much initiated from God's side.

But mostly today I'm drawn to verse 31, to the simple statement of Gabriel to Mary: "You will conceive and give birth to a son."

That is the promise of spiritual conception, not only for Mary but for every one of us. In fact, you could probably image the spiritual life as the ongoing process of conceiving and then giving birth to God's life within each one of us. At a very basic, foundational level, that's what life is about. God's life, God's work, God's indwelling is conceived within us . . . and then our lives become about how that life, work and indwelling are birthed in our own life-worlds.

How is God embodied within you and me?

How are our lives expressions of incarnation, as Christ dwells within us?

In the twentieth century, Thomas Merton found some old Advent sermons preached by Bernard of Clairvaux in the 12th century. Merton ran with Bernard's idea that there are three Advents of importance.

The first was the Advent of Christ into human history. This is the past event we remember and celebrate at Christmas.

The third Advent is the coming of Christ at the end of the age. This Advent is still in the future.

It is the second Advent that may be most crucial, according to Bernard and Merton, and it is also the Advent to which we give least attention. This middle Advent is the birth or coming of Christ into our lives and into our world at every moment. Christ is continually coming, constantly being conceived and birthed in our world. We may or may not see and participate in those conceptions and births, but nonetheless they are real and they are all around us.

Perhaps the most compelling invitation for us today would be to hear the invitation to conceive and give birth to Christ in our own life-worlds, to live into the reality of this current-day Advent as a time of God's breaking in, no less than God broke in centuries ago in Bethlehem, and no less than God will break into human history at some time in to future.

The Third Friday of Advent -- December 17, 2010

Matthew 1:1 - 17

This is the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah the son of David, the son of Abraham: Abraham was the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob, Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, Judah the father of Perez and Zerah, whose mother was Tamar, Perez the father of Hezron, Hezron the father of Ram, Ram the father of Amminadab, Amminadab the father of Nahshon, Nahshon the father of Salmon, Salmon the father of Boaz, whose mother was Rahab, Boaz the father of Obed, whose mother was Ruth, Obed the father of Jesse, and Jesse the father of King David.

David was the father of Solomon, whose mother had been Uriah’s wife, Solomon the father of Rehoboam, Rehoboam the father of Abijah, Abijah the father of Asa, Asa the father of Jehoshaphat, Jehoshaphat the father of Jehoram, Jehoram the father of Uzziah, Uzziah the father of Jotham, Jotham the father of Ahaz, Ahaz the father of Hezekiah, Hezekiah the father of Manasseh, Manasseh the father of Amon, Amon the father of Josiah, and Josiah the father of Jeconiah and his brothers at the time of the exile to Babylon.

After the exile to Babylon: Jeconiah was the father of Shealtiel, Shealtiel the father of Zerubbabel, Zerubbabel the father of Abiud, Abiud the father of Eliakim, Eliakim the father of Azor, Azor the father of Zadok, Zadok the father of Akim, Akim the father of Eliud, Eliud the father of Eleazar, Eleazar the father of Matthan, Matthan the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Joseph, the husband of Mary, and Mary was the mother of Jesus who is called the Messiah.

Thus there were fourteen generations in all from Abraham to David, fourteen from David to the exile to Babylon, and fourteen from the exile to the Messiah.


Okay, be honest. When you saw that the December 17 text for today was a genealogy, raise your hand if you read all the way through it. I thought so . . . I'm not seeing many hands. Count me with you, too.

I'm not a big genealogy reader. I'll scan them for familiar names, but I find it difficult to get too interested in ancient -- or modern -- genealogies.

I'll also confess that I've never gone back into the Hebrew Scriptures to check on the names and generations listed by Matthew as Jesus' heritage. I've never done the intensive, extensive study of Jesus' line to check it for accuracy. And I've read commentaries on Matthew that come out in many different places regarding this genealogy in Matthew 1:1 - 17 . . . including some who say there is no way this is an accurate record . . . and some who say this is the exact bloodline of Jesus. I'm not here to argue either extreme today.

A couple of things do strike me as important in Matthew's genealogy. First, this record echoes the history of ancient Israel. It begins with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, then turns toward David and Solomon. It marks the period of Exile, when the Israelites were captives in Babylon, before running toward Joseph. Within the list there are kings in decline and persons more ordinary than significant. Many of those mentioned are not famous and are, in fact, completely unknown to us.

So the family of Jesus includes sinners, common folks and some who faltered very publicly. His human roots foreshadow the human family that will gather around him later as he heals, teaches and extends mercy to persons in everyday life.

Second, the genealogy is notable for the women who show up in the listing. Tamar, Rahab, Ruth and "Uriah's wife" (Bathsheba) are mentioned in Jesus' origins. It is scandalous that their names are given . . . they are foreign, non-Jewish women who show up in a Israel-centric and male-dominated genealogy.

Perhaps more, the four Old Testament women were each involved in some kind of scandal. In fact, sexual scandal was the common thread in each of their stories.

These scandalous females are so prominent in the list that by the end of the genealogy, Joseph is not introduced on his own merits, but in relationship to Mary. He is the "husband of Mary," though not actually the "husband" of Mary. Joseph's identity is tied to Mary. Mary -- and by association Joseph -- will be involved in sexual scandal as well, as the next section of Matthew will detail.

It seems important to recognize not only that Jesus' life began in scandal (Mary, Joseph, and rumors of illegitimacy), but that his "origins" throughout his lineage were filled with the sexually scandalous.


I want to push the PAUSE button right now. The next part of Jesus' origins come up tomorrow in the text for December 18. For now, I'll say that Matthew makes it clear that Jesus' human origins are important. They give us some idea of who he is and where he is going. When we give attention to his origins, we understand why he was who he was . . . why he attracted to himself those who came to him.

Our own origins are important in spirituality. In a healthy spirituality, we come to see God, ourselves, others, and the world in new ways. As a part of this deeper knowing of our own inner landscape, we become aware of our beginnings, the voices and influences that have shaped our becoming.

For the wounds that have come from some of those origins we need healing. And for the gift that has come in those origins we need to give thanks.

Tune in tomorrow for the next movement . . . I'll offer another perspective on Jesus' -- and our -- origins from Matthew 1:18 - 25.