Passage 📖: Matthew 1-2

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👋 Introduction to Today’s Lesson

As we approach Christmas, we’re returning to the opening chapters of Matthew.

When we began this journey, we didn’t start at the manger — we started on the mountain, listening to Jesus teach about the Kingdom. And now, after walking with Him through His teachings, His suffering, His death, and His resurrection, we’re finally ready to go back and see how it all began.

And what we discover is this:

The way Jesus’ story started is completely consistent with how it ended.

The same Jesus who welcomed outsiders, confronted power, and laid down His life

is the Jesus who entered the world quietly,

through obedience,

into vulnerability,

and alongside the overlooked.

Christmas isn’t a break in the story.

It’s the foundation of it.

The birth of Jesus doesn’t contradict the cross or the resurrection —

it explains them.

So as we return to Matthew 1–2, we’re not just revisiting a familiar story.

We’re seeing it with new eyes.

Because the King who conquered death

is the same King who came close from the very beginning.

Last week, we closed the Gospel of Matthew by standing with the disciples on a mountain in Galilee, listening to the risen Jesus speak His final words. After fear, failure, and hiding, Jesus didn’t return with judgment — He returned with presence. He declared that all authority in heaven and on earth belongs to Him. He sent His followers into the world, not in their own strength, but under His authority. And He ended Matthew the same way it began: With a promise. “I am with you always.” The Gospel closes not with an ending, but with a commission — a reminder that the Kingdom moves forward not by human power, but by the abiding presence of Jesus with His people. And that promise prepares us perfectly to return this week to the moment when God first came near.

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This is 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 Ram, and Ram the father of Amminadab, and Amminadab 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 David the king.

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 Shealtiel,[d] and Shealtiel 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 Christ. So all the generations from Abraham to David were fourteen generations, and from David to the deportation to Babylon fourteen generations, and from the deportation to Babylon to the Christ fourteen generations.

Continued…

Although Matthew appears first in the New Testament, it is written into a world that has been waiting in silence.

For over 400 years, Israel has heard no new prophetic word.

No fresh revelation.

No divine interruption.

God’s people are living under Roman occupation, burdened by foreign rule, religious exhaustion, and unfulfilled hope.

And into that silence, Matthew does something unexpected.

He does not begin with a miracle.

He does not begin with angels.

He does not begin with a manger.

He begins with a genealogy.

📜 Why a Genealogy?

Matthew opens with:

“The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.” (Matthew 1:1)

To a Jewish audience, this is not filler — it is a legal and theological claim.

Matthew is saying:

But the genealogy also does something shocking.

Scattered throughout this family line are names that shouldn’t be there:

Matthew is signaling something before Jesus ever speaks:

This King comes from a messy family, a broken history, and a story filled with grace.

From the very first verses, this story is preparing us for the kind of Kingdom Jesus will bring.

Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth (1:18–25) is not sentimental — it is costly.

Mary is found to be pregnant before marriage.

Joseph faces public shame, legal consequences, and social disgrace.

In this culture:

Yet Joseph listens.

He obeys.

He names the child Jesus — “The Lord saves.”

Matthew tells us why this matters:

“They shall call His name Immanuel — which means, ‘God with us.’” (1:23)

This is not poetic language.

It is a theological claim:

God has not stayed distant.

God has not remained untouchable.

God has entered human vulnerability.

In Matthew 2, the first people to seek and worship Jesus are not priests, prophets, or kings of Israel.

They are Magi — pagan astrologers from the East.

This would have stunned Matthew’s audience.

At the same time:

Matthew is drawing a clear contrast:

Power is afraid.

Religion is passive.

Outsiders are attentive.

This pattern will repeat throughout Jesus’ life.

Herod responds to Jesus’ birth with violence.

Fear spreads.

Children are killed.

Families flee.

Matthew includes this to make one thing clear:

The arrival of Jesus does not bring immediate peace —

it exposes the world’s resistance to God’s reign.

Jesus enters the world not as a conqueror,

but as a child whose very presence unsettles power.

Before Jesus teaches…

before He heals…

before He confronts religious leaders…

before He speaks of the Kingdom…

Matthew wants us to understand who this King is.

He is:

This is not just the beginning of Jesus’ life.

It is the foundation for everything He will do.

The Kingdom does not arrive with force.

It arrives with presence.

And Christmas, in Matthew’s Gospel, is not about nostalgia —

it is about God stepping into human history and refusing to stay distant.

The story begins with a genealogy for a reason. Before Jesus heals a single person… before He teaches a single sermon… before He performs a single miracle… We are shown that God chose to enter the world through a messy family line. Scandal. Outsiders. Failure. Brokenness. Redemption. From Tamar to Rahab, from Ruth to Bathsheba, the lineage of Jesus is not polished — it’s honest. And that matters, because it tells us something essential about the Kingdom: God does not wait for perfect conditions to begin His work. He does not require a clean past. He does not avoid complicated stories. He does not bypass broken families. He enters them. If God chose to bring salvation into the world through a family like this, then your story — however complicated, fractured, or unfinished — is not a barrier to God’s work. It may be the very place He intends to begin.

The birth of Jesus is not a sentimental moment — it is a costly one. Mary risks her future. Joseph risks his reputation. Obedience means misunderstanding, suspicion, and social loss. Joseph could have protected himself. He could have chosen the path that made the most sense. Instead, he listened. He trusted. He obeyed. And in doing so, he teaches us something profound: Faithfulness does not always feel safe. Sometimes it looks like choosing obedience when it costs you comfort, clarity, or control. The Kingdom does not advance through people who avoid risk — but through people who trust God even when obedience feels expensive. And the good news is this: God is present in that cost. God meets us in that obedience. God is with us in the loss. That’s what Immanuel means.

From the very beginning, the wrong people are paying attention. Political power is threatened. Religious leaders are passive. But outsiders — the Magi — see the signs and respond. This is not accidental. It is a pattern. Those with power fear losing it. Those with certainty stop searching. But those who remain curious, humble, and attentive — they find God moving. The Kingdom does not announce itself to those guarding their position. It reveals itself to those willing to seek. And this invites a question for us today: Are we watching closely? Are we listening attentively? Are we still searching — or have we grown comfortable? Because God is not impressed by proximity to power. He responds to openness of heart. And He still reveals Himself to those willing to look.

The story of Jesus does not begin with glory.

It begins with silence.

With waiting.

With a long, unfulfilled ache.

Four hundred years without a word from God.

Generations wondering if the promises still held.

A people living under power that was not their own.

And then — not with thunder,

not with armies,

not with a throne —

God comes quietly.

Through a family line filled with scars.

Through a pregnancy that invites shame.

Through obedience that costs reputation.

Through a child born into danger.

The world expected God to arrive in power.

But God arrived as a child — dependent, exposed, and near.

This is what Christmas teaches us:

God does not wait for the world to be ready.

He enters it as it is.

He does not stand above broken stories.

He steps into them.

He does not demand perfection.

He brings grace.

And from the very beginning, we see the pattern:

Power is afraid.

Religion hesitates.

Outsiders pay attention.

The faithful respond.

The King is born —

and the world does not yet know what to do with Him.

But here is the good news for us:

If God chose to come this way,

then He is not intimidated by your story.

He is not repelled by your past.

He is not waiting for you to clean yourself up.

He has already come close.

Immanuel does not mean God near us.

It means God with us.

In uncertainty.

In obedience that feels costly.

In stories that feel unfinished.

In seasons where hope feels fragile.

Christmas is not about escape.

It is about presence.

The Kingdom does not arrive by force.

It arrives by God refusing to stay distant.

And if that is how God chose to enter the world —

then He is still entering lives the same way today.

Quietly.

Faithfully.

Personally.

God with us.

Always.

Blessings,

Michael

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