The shape of the king.

Every family has a favourite or the eldest. God has a habit of choosing neither.

“Judah, your brothers will praise you; your hand will be on the neck of your enemies; your father’s sons will bow down to you. You are a lion’s cub, Judah; you return from the prey, my son. Like a lion he crouches and lies down, like a lioness—who dares to rouse him? The sceptre will not depart from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet, until he to whom it belongs shall come and the obedience of the nations shall be his. He will tether his donkey to a vine, his colt to the choicest branch; he will wash his garments in wine, his robes in the blood of grapes. His eyes will be darker than wine, his teeth whiter than milk.” (Genesis 49:8–12)

The brothers won’t praise Joseph. It would make sense if they did; he was the favourite son.

The brothers won’t praise Reuben. It would make sense if they did; he was the firstborn.

But it is Judah. This is the man who sold his brother into slavery and deceived his father with a bloodied coat. Judah’s willingness to substitute himself for Benjamin (Genesis 44:33) turns the whole story. He becomes praiseworthy not by being the favourite or the firstborn but by offering himself. The king who earns the obedience of nations does the same thing. Therefore, the brothers will praise him.

Jacob speaks into the far distance. Whether he knows he is speaking beyond the Judah generation to a King who will come from that line, we are not told. But the shape of what he sees is unmistakable.

He will tether his donkey to a vine. A throwaway agricultural image, until you realise it is a prophecy of a king who rides into his own coronation on a borrowed animal. Not a warhorse but a donkey. The humility was always part of the promise.

Centuries pass.

Matthew’s gospel opens with a genealogy of forty-two generations from Abraham to Jesus. Fourteen of them pass through Judah, the lion’s line. And when at last the King comes, he enters Jerusalem on a donkey. He drinks a cup of wine at a final supper and calls it his blood. He is condemned in a purple robe, the colour of royalty.

Jacob didn’t know the name. But he knew the shape of the one who was coming.

The sceptre belongs to him, “until he to whom it belongs shall come.” The sceptre is held in trust. Judah’s line, Solomon, David, etc., are regents, not the real king. They are custodians waiting for the rightful owner, the true king, to arrive.

Jacob is blessing his sons on his deathbed, barely able to see. And yet he sees further than any of them. Which is perhaps what faith always looks like.