The gospel of Matthew is not nearly as popular around Christmastime as Luke’s account of Jesus’ birth. Yes, there is yet another lengthy biblical genealogy in the first chapter of Matthew, but I want to share why I really like it.

As we’ve walked together this Advent through some of Jesus’ family tree, we’ve seen that most members of this genealogy are misfit outsiders. Whether it’s Judah the greedy and adulterous son of Jacob or Rahab the prostitute, these are not some blue blooded moral elite of humanity. They are real people with real sinful failures.

Remember Ruth the Moabite, who is mentioned in Jesus’ genealogy, does not begin her life as part of Israel. Like Rahab, she is not ethnically part of Israel. She is grafted in like us. Jesus’ genealogy here is not a demonstration of his genetic prowess. It’s an assertion of his humanity and connection with us. That my family tree does not also run through King David does not at all invalidate my inclusion among the people of God. I’ve been grafted in.

I’m part of the people of God, because I have faith in this Jesus who was born a poor baby, lived a perfect life, died on a cross, and rose again. I trust in Him for my whole life, and I await His return.

When you or I call on Jesus as our Lord and Master, we are part of the people of God. Maybe we’ve been a prostitute like Rahab or destitute like Ruth. Maybe like Solomon we’ve been fortunate enough to be born into wealth and status. Or maybe, like Jesse, we’ve been somewhere in between. Wherever we’ve been, when we give our lives to Christ, we’re going to be with Him. We’re going to celebrate Christmas with Christ like we’re family, because we are.

The gospel of Matthew is not nearly as popular around Christmastime as Luke’s account of Jesus’ birth. Yes, there is yet another lengthy biblical genealogy in the first chapter of Matthew, but I want to share why I really like it.

As we’ve walked together this Advent through some of Jesus’ family tree, we’ve seen that most members of this genealogy are misfit outsiders. Whether it’s Judah the greedy and adulterous son of Jacob or Rahab the prostitute, these are not some blue blooded moral elite of humanity. They are real people with real sinful failures.

Remember Ruth the Moabite, who is mentioned in Jesus’ genealogy, does not begin her life as part of Israel. Like Rahab, she is not ethnically part of Israel. She is grafted in like us. Jesus’ genealogy here is not a demonstration of his genetic prowess. It’s an assertion of his humanity and connection with us. That my family tree does not also run through King David does not at all invalidate my inclusion among the people of God. I’ve been grafted in.

I’m part of the people of God, because I have faith in this Jesus who was born a poor baby, lived a perfect life, died on a cross, and rose again. I trust in Him for my whole life, and I await His return.

When you or I call on Jesus as our Lord and Master, we are part of the people of God. Maybe we’ve been a prostitute like Rahab or destitute like Ruth. Maybe like Solomon we’ve been fortunate enough to be born into wealth and status. Or maybe, like Jesse, we’ve been somewhere in between. Wherever we’ve been, when we give our lives to Christ, we’re going to be with Him. We’re going to celebrate Christmas with Christ like we’re family, because we are.

Zechariah’s punishment in Luke 1:20 has always seemed a bit harsh to me. Zechariah’s in the middle of doing his job when the angel Gabriel appears. Sometimes, when I’m focused, doing my job, I get startled by my cat jumping onto my chair. Imagine what it would’ve been like to have an angel appear. Fear gripped Zechariah. It would’ve gripped me too! So I can relate to Zechariah asking Gabriel for some assurance. He’s scared out of his mind.

While I know this text makes it clear that Zechariah’s inability to speak for the better part of a year is a punishment, it has helped me to imagine this inability as also a blessing. As his son grows inside of Elizabeth, Zechariah is given the space to reflect quietly. He can’t run off at the mouth. He can’t explain this. He’s saved from saying stupid things. As a person who says stupid things I often regret, I can see how this punishment is also a gift.

As well, Zechariah is forced to wait. Remember, the people of God have been waiting for the Messiah for an awfully long time. Even for us, when we began our Advent reading in Isaiah, we began with a Messianic prophecy about a shoot of Jesse emerging from a chopped down burned over tree stump. Zechariah waits with an inability to have any say about it just as Israel has waited all these years.

So maybe instead of questioning the silence imposed on Zechariah, maybe we can consider how adopting a habit of being quiet can orient our hearts this Advent. There is so much going on as Christmas nears—Lights! Music! Action!—keeping quiet can carve out space to reflect and prepare. Maybe there’s a blessing in these final days before Christmas in finding a quiet corner. Maybe like me, you could benefit from the suggestion to turn off the music, put down the phone, and open up the Word to listen. What is the Spirit saying to me?

Zechariah’s punishment in Luke 1:20 has always seemed a bit harsh to me. Zechariah’s in the middle of doing his job when the angel Gabriel appears. Sometimes, when I’m focused, doing my job, I get startled by my cat jumping onto my chair. Imagine what it would’ve been like to have an angel appear. Fear gripped Zechariah. It would’ve gripped me too! So I can relate to Zechariah asking Gabriel for some assurance. He’s scared out of his mind.

While I know this text makes it clear that Zechariah’s inability to speak for the better part of a year is a punishment, it has helped me to imagine this inability as also a blessing. As his son grows inside of Elizabeth, Zechariah is given the space to reflect quietly. He can’t run off at the mouth. He can’t explain this. He’s saved from saying stupid things. As a person who says stupid things I often regret, I can see how this punishment is also a gift.

As well, Zechariah is forced to wait. Remember, the people of God have been waiting for the Messiah for an awfully long time. Even for us, when we began our Advent reading in Isaiah, we began with a Messianic prophecy about a shoot of Jesse emerging from a chopped down burned over tree stump. Zechariah waits with an inability to have any say about it just as Israel has waited all these years.

So maybe instead of questioning the silence imposed on Zechariah, maybe we can consider how adopting a habit of being quiet can orient our hearts this Advent. There is so much going on as Christmas nears—Lights! Music! Action!—keeping quiet can carve out space to reflect and prepare. Maybe there’s a blessing in these final days before Christmas in finding a quiet corner. Maybe like me, you could benefit from the suggestion to turn off the music, put down the phone, and open up the Word to listen. What is the Spirit saying to me?

My ears aren’t accustomed to hearing prophecies. I’m used to hearing a lot of promises—campaign promises, wedding vows, promises from companies that buying their product will improve my quality of life. Because those promises are usually broken, I start to think every promise holds no weight. Maybe we all carry that skepticism along with us when we read prophecies. They won’t possibly come true, will they?

I shouldn’t let my skepticism about promises color my reading of this prophecy: from Bethlehem will come someone who will rule, not the way those promise-breaking politicians do, but like a shepherd. He won’t say one thing and do another. He won’t disregard his constituency. No, this leader cares for his people the way a shepherd cares for his sheep. He’ll stand and feed his flock in the strength of the Lord.

The people who heard this prophecy for the first time worried about the same things we do: what to eat for dinner, how to make amends with their mothers, whether their homes and land would be secure. And the prophecy can bring us the same comfort—comfort that we will live securely and in peace. The same Jesus who was born in Bethlehem, fulfilling Micah’s prophecy, will come again to reign as Prince of Peace. Come, Lord Jesus!

Pray with me: Prince of Peace, I am eager for you to return. Some days, both the world and my life seem out of control and beyond repair. But I am trusting you to keep your promise to come and rule like a good and gentle shepherd. Amen.

My ears aren’t accustomed to hearing prophecies. I’m used to hearing a lot of promises—campaign promises, wedding vows, promises from companies that buying their product will improve my quality of life. Because those promises are usually broken, I start to think every promise holds no weight. Maybe we all carry that skepticism along with us when we read prophecies. They won’t possibly come true, will they?

I shouldn’t let my skepticism about promises color my reading of this prophecy: from Bethlehem will come someone who will rule, not the way those promise-breaking politicians do, but like a shepherd. He won’t say one thing and do another. He won’t disregard his constituency. No, this leader cares for his people the way a shepherd cares for his sheep. He’ll stand and feed his flock in the strength of the Lord.

The people who heard this prophecy for the first time worried about the same things we do: what to eat for dinner, how to make amends with their mothers, whether their homes and land would be secure. And the prophecy can bring us the same comfort—comfort that we will live securely and in peace. The same Jesus who was born in Bethlehem, fulfilling Micah’s prophecy, will come again to reign as Prince of Peace. Come, Lord Jesus!

Pray with me: Prince of Peace, I am eager for you to return. Some days, both the world and my life seem out of control and beyond repair. But I am trusting you to keep your promise to come and rule like a good and gentle shepherd. Amen.