When Matthew sits down to write his version of the Christmas story, he begins with a list of names — many of whom we simply don’t know much about. Take Judah, for example. If I were to ask you to tell me everything you know about Judah, what would you say?

“He’s in the genealogy”?

Judah did, however, have a very famous little brother named Joseph — yes, he of the “coat of many colors” fame. If I were to ask you to tell me everything you know about Joseph, you might go on and on for a while. He got that coat of many colors from his father. He had crazy dreams about how great he was going to grow up to be — and his brothers would have to bow down to him. They eventually faked his death and sold him to some slave traders headed to Egypt. There was the whole scene with Potiphar’s wife. There was the time in prison when he interpreted the dreams of the baker and the cupbearer. There was his rise to prominence and his friendship with Pharaoh. His is truly an epic story — the longest narrative about a single character in the Book of Genesis. Movie of the week stuff.

But Judah? Not so much.

Actually, there is one whole chapter devoted to Judah, but it’s hardly the stuff of sermons. It’s easy to skip over because it doesn’t fit the main flow of the big story — it’s almost a parenthetical story — doesn’t push the narrative forward at all. But it does give us some insight into the kind of man Judah was.

First, though, let’s remember that selling Joseph into slavery was Judah’s idea in the first place. Ignoring the pleas of his younger brother, Judah negotiated a price and pocketed the money, planning to take his secret to the grave.

Think that through for a minute. He fakes his brother’s death and tells his parents that a wild animal ate him. Imagine watching your parents grieve through that. He keeps up this facade for 20 years.

Later, Judah had three sons. The oldest married a woman named Tamar, but he did something so bad that God struck him dead. Judah orders his next-oldest son to impregnate Tamar (so the oldest son could have a lineage). That doesn’t go so well, and God strikes another one of Judah’s sons dead.

Judah’s third son is too young to get married, but he promises Tamar that if she’ll stay in mourning, when the time comes, she can be his. For one reason or another, he does not keep this promise.

Tamar is in a vulnerable position here. An aging widow is a burden on her parents, and, with no children to care for her, there were several things that could happen to her — none of them were very good. So, she decides to take matters into her own hands.

Dressing up as a hooker, she seduces Judah (it didn’t take much seducing — he was pretty willing). As partial payment, she takes his seal (like a signet ring) and his staff.

Months go by, and Judah receives word that Tamar is pregnant. Of course, he doesn’t know she was the prostitute. He only knows that she didn’t keep her end of the bargain. She was supposed to stay in mourning until he decided his youngest son was old enough to marry. Never mind the fact that he was plenty old enough & Judah had no intention of keeping his end of this bargain.

He shouts, “Bring her out and have her burned to death!”

As they’re arresting her, she comes out with the seal and the staff, saying, “Tell Judah these belong to the man who knocked me up. Ask him if they look familiar.”

Obviously, this stops Judah in his tracks.

Now, God is watching all of this unfold, and he thinks to himself, “I have to pick one of these 12 sons to use in Jesus’ family tree. Should I pick Reuben, the oldest? Nah. Joseph the brightest? Nah. I’ll go with Judah the lowest. Judah the creepiest. Judah the schemer, the liar, the hypocrite. Judah the despicable one.”

Why?

Because God wants us all to know this: If Judah can get in, so can you. If God can work through Judah, he can work through you. If there’s room in Jesus’ family for Judah, there’s room enough for you.

We take for granted the fact that we have four different versions of the Jesus story — well, four reasonably credibly versions. There are lots of phony versions, but that’s a topic for another day. The Bible contains four different accounts of Jesus’ life — each written from a different perspective by a different author for a different audience.

It makes sense, then, for these four Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke and John) to be similar but not identical.

Two of the Gospels don’t mention the birth of Jesus. In fact, Mark and John begin with the ministry of Jesus’ cousin about 30 years after Jesus was born.

Luke starts with an angel announcing the birth of that cousin. Then the angel goes to talk to Jesus’ mother-to-be, Mary.

All three of those begin with a story. Granted, John has a bit of a mystical prologue, but he gets into the story proper rather quickly — and the prologue is interesting if slightly confusing to the first-time reader.

Matthew, though, is different. He doesn’t start with a story. He starts with a genealogy — perhaps the most boring genre of literature contained in the Bible. A list of names — most of whom we have never heard before — many of whom are nearly-impossible to pronounce.

Honestly, I’d totally understand if someone were to pick this up, read the first paragraph and put it back down immediately.

He starts with Jesus, David and Abraham. He goes on to Isaac, Jacob and Judah. So far, so good — I’m pretty familiar with all these people. However, we are only two verses in.

In the next two verses he mentions Perez, Zerah, Hezron, Ram, Amminadab, Nahshon and Salmon. I wish I could tell you that I’m such a great biblical historian that I’m very familiar with these guys, but I cannot tell you one detail about any of them except that two of them are named after animals (or vice-versa).

Name after name after unfamiliar name.

Every once in a while you come across someone you recognize like Boaz, but that’s seems to be the exception to the rule.

Also, Matthew does something really irritating and strange. He lists four different women — none of whom are necessary for his list. He kind of adds them parenthetically: “Judah the father of Perez and Zerah, whose mother was Tamar” or “Salmon the father of Boaz, whose mother was Rahab” or “Boaz the father of Obed, whose mother was Ruth” or even more strangely “David was the father of Solomon, whose mother had been Uriah’s wife.”

This is irritating to me because it’s inconsistent. He doesn’t always list the mothers. He only lists these four. And it’s strange because very few ancient histories concerned themselves with women. Royal lineage was traced through the father, so this is a pretty significant aberration from the norm.

It’s not just irritating and strange. It’s actually scandalous. Go back and look up these four women and their stories sometime. They weren’t really the kind of person with whom you’d want your name associated. Three of them aren’t even Jewish. Rahab ran the best little whorehouse in Jericho. Tamar’s story is like something you’re more likely to find on the Jerry Springer show than on TBN. And the woman who had been Uriah’s wife — well, we all know that’s Bathsheba, don’t we? And we all know how her story went.

The question is: Why? Why would Matthew start his story with this list of names? Why include those four women?

Most of us spend most of our time just trying to survive and advance through life. That mortgage doesn’t pay itself, and my job demands a lot of time and energy. Plus, I have a family that requires attention. Someone has to drop off clothes at the dry cleaners and make sure the check book is balanced. The dog needs a walk, and at least one of my daughters has a recital of some sort every other week (or so it seems).

There’s just too much to do for me to spend a lot of time gazing at my own navel asking mysterious questions of the universe.

And yet….

Every once in a while, you pick your head up and start to wonder, “Is there a point to any of this? Am I going anywhere, or am I just stuck on some sort of cosmic treadmill?”

In those quiet moments you do ask those big questions. You may not expect an audible voice to reply, but you ask nonetheless.

Is there something more?

Why are we here?

More specifically, why am I here?

Spend much time asking those questions, and you may find yourself feeling all alone, isolated, peculiar. You may begin to wonder if anyone understands you at all. You may actually long for a life that looks different, but the idea of being different may make you feel lonely.

Welcome to existentialism.

These are problems that have been addressed by philosophers who, as the word suggests, have been concerned with the problems of human existence — not the existence of objects or planets or animals, but the existence of humans — specifically the existence of individual humans.

See, it’s one thing to ask why there is anything and why there are people in general. It’s quite another thing to ask about why, of all the people who could have existed, I exist.

And, lest you think this is just one of those questions that can only be answered by people who do yoga and eat lots of fiber and live in caves somewhere, the truth of the matter is this: you have beliefs about this. You may not be able to articulate them, but they’re in there.

And those beliefs inform the decisions you make, leading to the life you live.

So, if you want to change your life, you can’t just go back to the decisions you’ve made, undecide and redecide. You have to go all the way back to what you believe. Examine whether or not your belief matches up with the truth (which is best defined as “Reality from God’s perspective). Then make sure the decisions you make reflect that belief.

Who wants to go first? Why am I here? Why are you here? Anybody?