This article was first published in Jan 2009.

These opening chapters of Matthew evoke magical memories; glistening trees adorned in tinsel, children clad as makeshift shepherds. Only a week ago we were singing of Wise Men and angels, stables and starlight. The story that has arguably inspired more than any other begins here, in Matthew, bereft of commercial linings and full of reflective cheer.

It’s a well-rehearsed cliché that Matthew is the gospel for the Jews. But in these opening three chapters we find an account that is far more than ‘culturally relevant’ to Jewish readers. It is explosive, driving spikes deep into the Jewish psyche where it can set charges, ready to detonate meaning as the story progresses.

The first 17 verses of the New Testament are epic. The genealogy begins with Abraham, the father of all Jews, moves to David, whose covenant with Yahweh promised him an unbroken kingly line, and then shifts, via the Return from Exile to Jesus, the son of a humble carpenter. The entire Old Testament in just moments claims this child as its own. And then, as swiftly as we have flown over this narrative vista, we plunge down to earth, to a backwater town in rebellious Galilee and two young people locked in obscurity.

But the story is not about the angel’s visit to Mary or shepherds at the crib; this is not Luke. One concern overrides all others: Mary’s virginity fulfils the prophets, the birth in Bethlehem fulfils the prophets and the exile to Egypt fulfils the prophets. Matthew 1–3 is not so much a stirring narrative introduction as it is a formidable case for credibility.

Matthew’s Jewish readers were expecting a Messiah, a liberator who would usher in a new dawn for Israel and overthrow their Roman oppressors. Old Testament texts that spoke of this promised one were well-rehearsed, known by Pharisee and fisherman alike. And Matthew 1–3 weaves such a web of these texts – and the beliefs that surrounded them – that it is impossible to escape its clutch. A miraculous birth, like the son of Abraham. Born in Bethlehem, King David’s city. A returned exile, from Egypt, the evocative precursor to Babylon. Everything about this story is saturated with the powerful imagery from Israel’s history. No other conclusion is possible; the baby Jesus – who arrives, a grown man in the desert, to the words of the prophet Isaiah, spoken by one like Elijah – is this Messiah. It’s a perfect introduction. But not without a sting.

Chapter 2 is a dark comedy involving the most powerful Jew of his day, ‘King’ Herod, and the ‘Magi from the east.’ Herod’s rule was subjected heavily to Roman tribute yet he ruled like a tyrant. Hated by many, especially the Pharisees, he is portrayed here as a fool who doesn’t even know the messianic prophecies and has to consult Jerusalem’s scholars! Collaborating with foreign mystics (anathema to Matthew’s Jewish readers) he schemes to plot the death of his child rival, only to be outdone at every turn. The real shock, however, comes as the foreign mystics are welcomed to honour Jesus while the Jewish king is duped and excluded from his presence.

The comedy ends with its heroes, Jesus and his parents, returning from life in exile. All is well as the narrative approaches its resolution. Until the last two lines that is: the Messiah, the hero, is forced to Galilee as a refugee. Galilee is the land of rebels, of peasant unrest. The child would grow in a hotbed of political radicalism; what kind of zealot liberator would he become?

Yet if the Pharisees were pleased by Matthew’s mocking of Herod, their pleasure was short-lived. Chapter 3 has John the Baptist preach judgement on them. This Messiah, the radical from Nazareth, is coming to winnow and burn the chaff of the children of Abraham (vs.7–12). To lump together Pharisees and Sadducees in such a burning critique was all-encompassing: Israel’s religion was rotten.

So as Jesus arises from the water of his baptism, the sky parts and a voice from heaven proclaims a divine blessing, the blistering validation of the Son of God, Messiah, is complete. The Jews should not look to the current line of spurious kings. Neither should they trust in their religious leaders. The true hope for Israel is here in the refugee-child grown man: a Galilean revolutionary and a Son of David.

Forget what you know about the rest of the story for just one moment and imagine yourself a Jewish reader living in first-century Palestine. It’s after AD 70 and the Romans have destroyed your great Temple at Jerusalem as part of a move to quash revolutionary activity. The very future of the faith is uncertain as religious infrastructure heaves from the strain of this oppression. And yet here is a new story, beginning with 3 chapters of political promise which you know never came to fulfilment. The audacity of Matthew’s claims about Jesus tug at every string in the Jewish psyche; every embarrassment, every hope, every bitter thought and every promise. They tease and they embolden; they inspire and they crush. All you can do is read on, hooked.