My mother came from a long line of Bible thumpers that stalled with her irreverent father. Canadian by birth, Wisconsin farmer by training, my Gramp used to regale his kids with dinner table recitations of what he called The Begats, which opened the Book of Matthew:
“Abraham begat Isaac; and Isaac begat Jacob; and Jacob begat Judas and his brethren; and Judas begat Phares and Zara of Thamar; and Phares begat Esrom; and Esrom begat Aram; and Aram begat Aminadab; and Aminadab begat Naasson; and Naasson begat Salmon…”
And on for 16 verses until finally Jacob begat Joseph, who conspicously did not beget Jesus, since his bride Mary (also not begotten) was supposedly impregnated by “the Holy Ghost.” Gramp had rollicking good fun with that concoction, but it’s the earlier Begats that concern me here because of the dutiful brevity with which they’re listed, like inconvenient speed bumps that must be gotten over before reaching that sexy entryway to “the Holy Ghost.”
The challenge of the Begats …
