Christmastide Musings, 2018

The first Noel the angel did say
Was to certain poor shepherds

in fields as they lay…(The First Noel, 1833)

At our Christmas Eve service, while singing “The First Noel”, I noticed that word “certain” that appears in the second line of the hymn: “Was to certain poor shepherds”. There were all sorts of shepherds “tending their sheep on that cold winter’s night.” But only “certain poor shepherds”, heard the fear-not-angel say, “I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people.”

Why were these “certain poor shepherds” chosen to hear the angels’ song? What about the other shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night? Why where these “certain poor shepherds” chosen to hear such “good tidings”? It has to do with the doctrine of election. It’s a troublesome doctrine of itself, but at this Christmas Eve gathering, as we sang the hymn, this troublesome doctrine turned into something beautiful. I teared up. That’s what hymns do.

After having its way in my heart, let me move the doctrine of election back into my head and think it through in light of how the hymn moved me. It’s the doctrine about God choosing particular shepherds—particular folks to be saved, while others are passed by. It leads to discussions and arguments about predestination. Are we simply predestined to salvation? And, if we have nothing to say about it—if we have no “Yes” to God’s “Yes” to us, then are we simply automatons fixed by God’s decrees? If we have no say, and all history has been set in place “before the foundation of the world” (Eph 1); then how does this differ from the stoic’s notion of fatalism, or current scientific ideas of determinism?

Back, to those “certain poor shepherds”—those elected shepherds, chosen shepherds, predestined shepherds. Did they have a say? They did discuss it all: “When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds talked it over.” I suppose they could have questioned, doubted, gone back to their business and dismissed it all as an illusion. “Let us go now,” the shepherds decide, “and see this thing the Lord has made known to us.” And, “so they went with hast and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manager.” They journeyed, like all believers, by faith and found “the child lying in a manager.”

All the while “Mary pondered these things in her heart”. Maybe it’s best that we, like Mary, humbly ponder such wonders in our hearts. The story ends with how “the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God.” That’s a good place to end up (Lk 2:20).

A Christmas Hymn (John one):

In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God.
He was in the beginning with God;

all things were made through him,

and without him not one thing came into being.

In him was life, and the life was the light of all people.

The light shines in the darkness,

and the darkness has not overcome it.

We can’t help but notice something of our Creation Hymn in this Christmas Hymn (Gn 1):

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

And the earth was formless and void;

And darkness was upon the face of the deep.

            Then the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. 

           And God said, “Let there be light.”

           And there was light.

Just as our creation story cannot be told without a hymn; so too, the new creation in Christ Jesus begins with a hymn: “In the beginning was the Word…” Then, like our creation story, the Christmas story moves from this big majestic hymn to simple particular people in a particular place during a particular time. It’s the story of a certain man and a certain woman and the Child of Promise.

This is scripture’s way: careening back and forth between glorifying God in the Highest; to a simple, unpretentious human story about Mary and Joseph making their way towards Bethlehem of Judea. God transcendent—high and lifted up; and God imminent—“closer than a brother” (Pr 18:24). We honor God best when we hold both together—his highness: “glory to God in the highest”; and his closeness: “and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

A word about “Word”. It’s not from rhēma, the tame Greek word for “word”; but rather from that wild, deep and rambunctious word logos. Watch how these two “word” words play off one another in this scary Jesus warning (Mt 12:36-37): “Every careless word (rhēma) that people speak, they shall give an account (logos) for on the day of Judgment. For by your words (logos) you will be justified…”  To make sense of our many and often thoughtless words (rhēma—our reams of words), requires a logos—a rendering, an ordering, a making sense of, an account of the meaning of things. What is the meaning of all these words? What are you really saying? What’s your point? We could translate our Christmas Hymn thus:

In the beginning was the Meaning,

and the Meaning was with God,

and the Meaning was God…

            The Meaning became flesh

and dwelt among us

full of grace and truth.

What’s the meaning of all this—of the universe, of life? Christ is the meaning. Christ has a way of making sense of things. As Lewis puts it: “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else” (Essay Collection, p. 21).

That’s how Christmas works. It’s better sung than explained. Because of Christmas, we see all things different.

Faith:

The older ones left first.

(John 8:9)

Few certitudes now, just naked faith.

(Falling Upward, p. 165)

These two lines came together this morning during my fire pit reading. The line about how the older ones left first, comes from the story of the woman caught in adultery. One of my students is working on the textual problem of the story—does it really belong in the Bible? Chances are your Bible translation notes the problem. It’s a crucial question for him demanding certitude. I found myself not caring much about this technical textual question. Rather, the story itself once again captivated me. For the first time, I noticed that when Jesus said, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone;” the first ones to put down their stones and leave where “the older ones.”

That was last night. This morning, around the fire pit, I read: “Few certitudes now, just naked faith.” It comes at the end of Richard Rohr’s book concerning the second half of life. You are in the first half rightly preoccupied with making something of your life—your job, home and family. It’s a pressure filled time. If I remember right, it seems like it took everything we had just to survive. But we survived, and from time to time, even thrived; didn’t we?

I’m well into the second half of life where what has been accomplished has been accomplished. What now? The author, Richard Rohr, observes that in the second half of our spiritual life there are “few certitudes now, just naked faith.” When I read it I thought about last night, and the story of the woman caught in adultery, and how the older ones were the first to put down their stones and leave.

I might not call it “naked faith”. Naked faith needs some clothing. It’s not faith in faith, or heroic faith; it’s just a settled confidence that the Gospel is true. We do well to celebrate Christmas and Easter. We have no choice, the bible tells us, but to follow the path of faith:

Without faith (pistis) it is impossible to please God,

because anyone who comes to him

must believe (pisteuō) that he exists

and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him. (Hb 11:6—slipped in

Gk word so you can see that “faith” and “belief” come from the same word.)

Origin Story #21 of 21:

There is more. (Ruth 2:21)

David Christian’s Origin Story has the subtitle: “A Big History of Everything.” The “everything” bothers me. Our Genesis origin story won’t do because “modern science can find no direct evidence for a god.” That’s it. End of story. Science, “modern science” as he likes to say, has now reach a point whereby it alone can speak the last word. There’s no room for any other word than science’s one totalizing claim.

This “everything” of David C’s includes “meaning.” He wrote the book, he tells us in the preface, to layout an “emerging new global origin story that is full of meaning… based on modern scientific scholarship.” Can that be so? Has science given us the last word on the meaning of our lives—of the universe?

David C. waffles when he makes his moves from scientific inquiry to scientific meaning: “The universe is indifferent to our fate,” he acknowledges. But David is not indifferent to our fate. He cares. He pleads for us to repent and change our ways. Where does his deep personal concern come from? What’s its origin?

I’m not a scientist. I’m a pastor. As a pastor down the road from Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, I’ve been blessed to pastor a congregation with a fair share of scientist. I’m blessed because they tend to be interesting people. I’m enriched by their company.

My attempt at retelling our Genesis origin story began pastorally when Jimmy dropped by the house to discuss faith and science—his faith and his scientific vocation. It also comes from my concern that our grandchildren, the oldest of which is pursuing scientific studies, grow to trust the truth of our Genesis story.

Can both faith and science cohabitate in the same person, or does one have to obliterate the other? Here’s a few pastoral suggestions for the cohabitation of science and faith. I’ll start with the wisest of all mortals:

            1.      “‘Vanity of vanities’ says the wise leader, ‘all is vanity’” (Ecc 1:2). That’s a good place for us all to start—for the scientist and for the believer/pastor. Out of our own vanity we claim too much. We tend to speak with vain certitude. The wise person acknowledges the limits of wisdom. The reasonable person acknowledges the limits of reason. The religious leader acknowledges the limits of religion. The scientific person could benefit by acknowledging the limits off science.

            Out of Christian vanity the church forces Galileo to recant. Out of vanity, science participates in eugenics. Out of vanity for our side we end up doing vain things. Acknowledging our vanity and the limits of our knowledge is a good place to start. As the Apostle reminds us: “Now we see through a glass dimly… Now we know in part. …For now, faith, hope and love abide, and the greatest of these is love” (1Cor 13).

            2.         “There is more” says Ruth to Naomi (Rt 2:21). There is always more. There is a certitude in David C’s origin story, that science must speak the last word and nothing more can or should be said. Conversation over. Our faith assures us that the last word is not ours to speak. After every theologian and every scientist has given it his or her best shot, there is always more. More to discover and more to be said. No mortal, religious or scientific, can speak the last word into our lives. There’s always more.

            3.         “Mystery” and “Wonder”…  Those are the big words of our faith. As we enter the mystery and wonder of Christmas, let’s freely retell our story. On Christmas Eve, let’s gather to worship and sing “glory to the new born king.” It’s not exactly science. We do not claim scientific certitude. It’s not the kind of thing science figures out. It’s the mystery and wonder of our faith (1Tm 3:16).

For those of us who believe in “God the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth”; we can trust our Creator to be faithful to his creation. There’s something more going on in that rainbow stretching across the sky than refracted light shining through water droplets. There’s always more.

Origin Story #20 of 21:

Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds,

I will remember my promise between me and you

and all living creatures of every kind.

Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life. (Gn 9)

Things don’t go well outside the Garden. There’s murder. There’s tyranny (Gn 4:24):

                        If Cain is avenged sevenfold,

                              truly Lamech seventy-seven.

There’s empire builders (Gn 11): “Let us build a city, and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves.” It’s a global story about all humanity: “They all spoke one language.” This language and this accumulated knowledge gives humanity such power that “nothing they propose to do will be impossible for them.”

The narrative of our Origin Story reads much like David C’s “modern science origin story”. Both tell of a Garden of lush vegetation, both tell of life outside the Garden where man’s language and accumulated knowledge allow him to build vast empires of tyranny. Both speak of how this human knowledge and power brings us to a very dangerous place. David C. calls it the Anthropocene Epoch, or the “era of humans.” This, in both our stories, is not good. We are in need, both stories insist, of redemption. For David C., our hope of redemption has to do with the Paris Accord on Climate Change. Our story, places its hope on the call of Abraham through whom “all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Gn 12-Rv).

Through it all, there is this rainbow across the sky. Science tell us, it is caused by the reflection, refraction and dispersion of light in water droplets resulting in a spectrum of light appearing in the sky. I have no reason to doubt that it’s true. It’s easy for me to trust science when it comes to such matters.

Must science close all other possibilities but its own? There must be room for those of us who “by faith understand that the universe was created by the word of God” (Hb 11:3); to see in the rainbow something more. When we look, after a fierce storm, at the rainbow across the sky, we can’t help but think of a promise God made with us:

                        As long as earth endures,

                              seedtime and harvest, cold and heat,

                        summer and winter, day and night,

                              shall not cease (Gn 8-9).

It was a close call, but God has decided to stick with his creation—to see it through to the end. “I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the Promise between me and the earth and. …every living creature.”  That’s how our story goes tell “every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all therein, sing,

                        To him who sits upon the throne

                               and to the Lamb

                        be blessing and honor and glory and might

                              for ever and ever!” (Rv 5:13)

Are we not blessed to see such things when we gaze at a rainbow stretching across the sky?

Origin Story #19 of 21:

The Lord God banished them from the Garden of Eden…

At the east side of the Garden,

God stationed the cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every which way,

to guard the path to the tree of life. (Gn 3:23-24)

I’m told all cultures have some version of this story. We carry some deep down memory that once upon a time, there was a Garden; and, if we could only get back there, life would be good and beautiful, just and right, eternal and youthful. Maybe, like the Spanish explorer Ponce de Leon searching for the Fountain of Youth, we will someday discover the path that leads to the tree of life.

Like the Philosopher’s Stone, we live with a vague hope that maybe science can discover the elixir of life. Modern times are marked by powerful attempts to force man’s utopian schemes into reality. Communism and Nazism come to mind. Whenever we seek to crash the gates of Paradise on our own terms, we run into the cherubim with the flaming sword cutting us up every which way and throwing us back onto the cursed ground from which we came.

We long for a place we can’t get to of ourselves. “God has placed eternity into our hearts,” as the wisest of all mortals puts it, “yet so that we can’t figure out the beginning or the end” (Ecc 3). We can’t go back to the beginning. The arrow of time points only forward. Nor, can we claim the end. The tree of life eludes us.

Yet, we best not become cynical. If we were to deny this longing, we would lose our humanity. This inexplicable longing is the stuff wonder and imagination, art and science. Maybe we do best by following the path Solomon suggest: “God has made everything beautiful in its time; …there is nothing better for humanity than to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live; it is God's gift to all that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all their toil” (Ecc 3). God still spreads his gifts of seed time and harvest: “Turn to the Living God who made the heaven and the earth and the sea and all that is in them. …giving you rains from heaven and fruitful seasons, and filling you with food and your hearts with joy” (Ac 14:15-17),

On this side of Easter Morning, we gaze upon this “One put to death by hanging him on a tree; but God raised him up on the third day” (Ac 10:39-40). What a strange tree of life this tree planted on Mount Calvary.

Origin Story #18 of 21:

The Lord God made garments of skins for the man and for his wife,

and God clothed them… Then the Lord God

banished them from the Garden of Eden. (Gn 3:21-22)

“Love covers” (1Pt 4:8). God will not leave Adam and Eve as he found them—blaming and mumbling, drifting apart from one another and from their Creator, hiding and trying to cover up. In short, God will not leave them naked and ashamed. God is not interested in exposing their guilt. He does not engage in ridicule. God still comes. He sticks with them as their God. He covers their sin and their shame: “God clothed them.”

It wasn’t as if Adam and Eve hadn’t tried: “They sowed fig leaves together to make coverings for themselves.” It just didn’t work. They need something larger—something more lasting and real. They need the kind of covering only God can provide: “The Lord God made garments of skins for the man and for his wife, and God clothed them.” It’s God’s work and it’s God’s doing. The God who curses is the God who covers: “Though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies” (Lam 3:32). God himself provides the necessary covering for life outside the Garden.

From this side of Calvary, we can’t help seeing something of our Lord’s Sacrifice. Adam and Eve were supposed to die this day, but they live. They don’t die, but somebody died. The curse of death lands on another—an innocent who had nothing to do with this mess. It causes us to think of how “Christ died for our sins” (1Cor 15:3).

Origin Story #17 of 21:

The man named his wife Eve,

because she was the mother of all living.

(Gn 3:20)

Adam gets right back into the naming business. He can’t help himself. That’s what humans do—it’s their God given vocation. Wherever we find humans, we find incurable namers. They name stuff. “Woman” is a good name. But now that death hangs over life; a more meaningful name is required: “Eve.” It’s a good name resembling the word for “living.” Adam and Eve will die; but, humanity lives on. She brings forth life in the midst of death.

On this side of Christmas, we can’t help but think of our Savior, Christ Jesus, who was “born of a woman” (Ga 4:4). Man in his power must step aside. This is between God and the Woman. This One, will not be born out of the complex good of a woman’s desire and man’s assertions (Gn 3:16). But rather, out of Holy Goodness (Mt 1:23): "Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and his name shall be called Emmanuel." God in a manager. “Conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary” as we confess and as we sing our carols of joy and wonder.

The mystery and wonder of Christmas has to do with that riddle about how the child of a woman, though wounded, would crush the serpent’s head (3:15). It’s the riddle of God’s grace that outlast the curse: “Where sin increased, grace abounded all the more” (Ro 5:20). Mary, the second Eve, responds to her calling as the mother of our Lord, by trusting God’s Word: “Let it be with me according to thy Word” (Lk 1:38). Let it be. That’s why we call her “Blessed” (Lk 1:48).

Origin Story #16 of 21:

Cursed is the ground… (Gn 3:17)

God sorts things out and makes his judgment (Gn 3:14-19):

The Lord God said to the serpent,

"Because you have done this, …upon your belly you shall go,

                                        and dust you shall eat all the days of your life.

 I will put enmity between you and the woman,

                                        and between your seed and her seed;

 he shall crush your head,

                                        and you shall bruise his heel."

To the woman Lord God said,

 "I will greatly multiply your pain in childbearing;

                                        in pain you shall bring forth children,

 yet your desire shall be for your husband,

                                        and he shall rule over you."

And to Adam Lord God said…

"Cursed is the ground because of you;

                                        in toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life;

                                        thorns and thistles it shall bring forth to you…

 In the sweat of your face you shall eat bread

                                        till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken;

                                        you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

The serpent will slither about in the dust “cursed above all the wild animals”—scary beyond reason. A strange animosity will settle in between the serpent and humans. What the serpent put into motion will recoil back to crush the serpent’s head. It’s a riddle about how the serpent will be brought down and the woman lifted up. The woman he beguiled will bring about the serpent’s demise.

For humanity, male and female, judgment concerns the heart of their calling—that which forms the center of their vocation:

For the woman, being “fruitful” will now come with pain and relational complications. The pain of childbirth and the complications of her relationship with her husband. The “good” will be a complex good mixed with pleasure and pain, joy and grief, longing and disappointment. Childbearing and child raising will not be easy. And the man, who plays a part in all this, will take advantage.

            For the man, making something of the land—of his life, will not come easy. The earth is cursed to “bring forth thorns and thistles” rather than lush vegetation. The work of subduing the earth and tilling it into arable land for food will come with much toil and sweat. The work of keeping things in order will constantly be frustrated with all sorts of “thorns and thistles.” At the end of our toil, the earth will take us back to itself: “You are dust, and to dust you shall return."

It’s grim. However, throughout this grim sentence, there is a thread of grace. There lurks a “Yes” in God’s “No.” The serpent was sort of right. They don’t die. At least not today. Life will go on. The woman, though through pain, will bring forth life. And there is a hint in God’s judgment, that this evil that scars God’s good creation, will someday be crushed through the child of a woman.

Judgments have been made. But they are not ultimate. The worst thing will not be the last thing. Humanity lives to see another day.

Origin Story #15.1 of 21:

I heard the sound of thee in the garden, and

I was afraid, because

I was naked; and so

I hid myself…

I ate. (Gn 3:10-13)

Lots of “I”s.  Our origin story takes a turn from the “them” of: “Let us make …them male and female” (1:27-27). Or again, in the Garden story, the wonder of them “both naked and not ashamed” (2:25). After eating the forbidden fruit, the “us” turns into a world of “I”s. It’s everyone for oneself.

It’s the “I” the serpent promised. But now, it’s the “I” that can’t stand upright before his Creator. It’s the “I” that hides, blames and mumbles. “I was afraid…” Why this fear? It’s a fear of being found out—of being exposed for who I really am. There’s something contrived about his center—about this “I” that revolts against his Creator. To these isolated, fearful, blaming “I”s, God declares his judgments.

Origin Story #15 of 21:

The Lord God called to the man,

 "Where are you?" (Gn 3:9)

The Lord of the Garden, comes to his Garden during “cool evening breezes.” Something is not good. God calls out, “Adam, where are you?” The Gardener attends to his Garden. The Creator cares about his creation. He hasn’t walked off. God comes, he questions, and makes his decisions (Gn 3:8-14):

They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden.

God:                Where are you?

Man:                I heard the sound of thee in the garden, and I was afraid,

because I was naked; and I hid myself.

God:                Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten of

the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?

Man:                The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me

fruit of the tree, and I ate.

Then the Lord God said to the woman,

God:                What is this that you have done?

Woman:           The serpent beguiled me, and I ate.

The Lord God said to the serpent,

God:                Because you have done this…

What a mess. The woman, whom the man saw as God’s gift worthy of praise and song, is now a problem. It’s her fault. Or, more to the point, since the woman is God’s idea and God’s doing, it must therefore be God’s fault for creating such a wonder. For the woman, it’s the serpent’s fault. Or, more to the point, it’s God’s fault for creating such a creature so cleaver, crafty and beguiling. The serpent seems the only one who owes up. He seems rather proud of the whole debacle.

When the Creator shows up, Adam hides, he blames, he mumbles out some kind of explanation. From his new found knowledge of good and evil, he now judges God. He deserves a better god than this God. He continues to fall further and further away from his Creator into his own contrived center. He refuses to stand alone before God and to owe up to his revolt. He hides.

Origin Story #14.3 of 21:

And she ate …and he ate. (Gn 3:6)

It’s a mutual decision to eat of the forbidden fruit. Adam has no objections. Adam is a go. Our culture, especially those who guard our deepest values of equity and equality, claims our story is sexist because it blames the woman for this calamity. I suppose if you looked for sexism in our story you could find it; or, claim that you found it.

However, a careful and maybe a more sympathetic reading, reveals how the story breaks with patriarchal structures. We saw it in that first “Therefore”: “Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife.” Patriarchy is not allowed to define marriage. The home is freed to be built on the mutuality of the man and the woman. Or, further back in our story, modern folks aren’t happy about the man being created first and then the woman. One could fuss, I suppose. However, Saint Augustine reminded the church many centuries ago, long before our modern sensibilities, that the woman was not taken from Adam’s feet that she should be his slave; but rather, she was taken from Adam’s side that they should live together as partners.

At first glance the Apostle seems to make a sexist interpretation: “Adam was not the one deceived, it was the woman…” (1Tm 2:11-15). Nevertheless, in the very next breath the Apostle affirms woman’s remarkable role as child bearer—she brings forth life. As we shall see, the woman’s life giving power will require Adam to come up with a new name for her—a bigger, more breathtaking name than “woman”. Her new name will bring to mind her life giving power.

In the Bible stories that follow, women play dynamic roles: We can’t think of Abraham without thinking of Sarah; and, we can’t think of Isaac without thinking of Rebekah; and, we can’t think of Jacob without thinking again of his cleaver mother Rebekah whose subversion of patriarchal authority, brings us, through her conniving, Jacob as the son or Promise rather than Esau, the Patriarch’s choice (Gn 27). To our surprise, God sides with Rebekah. It turns out to be a matriarchal story. Women, like Rebekah, Tamar and Ruth make a way that leads to the Promise—to that day when a remarkable young woman, about the age of Anna or Priscilla or Abby, will say, “Let it be with me according to your Word” (Lk 2:38).

Origin Story #14.2 of 21:

In the center of the garden (Gn 2:9 & 3:3)

The Woman got it right: “You may freely eat …but not of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, or you shall die”. The edges are boundless—explore and enjoy, rollick about God’s good and beautiful creation. God has set the boundary, not out there, but in the midst of the garden—in the midst of us.

The big universe out there is not the problem. The problem of good and evil enters from the center—from the midst of the garden, from the midst of us. We know this. As much as we try to blame something or someone out there; the line that divides good and evil runs through the midst of us—through the middle of me.

After breaking the boundary that God placed in the center, humanity itself unravels form its own center. We can no longer see the other as simply, only and completely God’s gracious gift. There’s always complications. Something in the center of life has been lost. We have become our own person making our own decisions about our Creator and his creation. We have claimed the center for ourselves. And in this human center, we find ourselves alone—alienated from others, from our Creator, and from creation itself. Our center dies.

It is direr. But, we know the story from this side of Calvary. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil is not the only tree planted in the midst of the Garden. God choose to plant another tree in the center—the tree of life.

Origin Story 14.1 of 21:

Did God say…? (Gn 3:1)

That’s the way of temptation—to question our trust in God’s Word. That’s what makes this such a cleaver and interesting conversation. The serpent is not an atheist. He’s not questioning the reality of God; or, that God created the heavens and the earth. In our choice of origin stories, between the one we find in the Bible and the one according to “modern science” as told by David C.; the serpent is on our side of the issue. Like us, the serpent believes God created the heavens and the earth. He apparently takes pride, that as creatures go, God created him as “the craftiest of all the wild animals that the Lord God had made.” He’s really something—cleaver and crafty.

He just raises questions about our trust in God’s Word:

Serpent:         Did God say, “You shall not eat from any tree in the garden”?

Woman:         We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; but God said, “You shall

not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.”

The serpent overstates what God has forbidden. The woman, no dummy herself, corrects the serpent: No, God didn’t says that; but, he did say we are not to eat of the tree “that is in the middle of the garden”.  It’s a discussion about God—a theological conversation. What exactly did God say? Why did he say it? What do you think God actually meant?  Are you sure God meant that you will die when you eat its fruit? The serpent is something of a theologian. He knows things about: “You will not die,” says the serpent, “God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”

It’s a pious argument: “You want to be like God, don’t you?” Where did the serpent obtain this knowledge about God? John Milton, in his epic poem Paradise Lost, has a wild and creative explanation about how Satan, having a long antagonist history with God, knows things about God that man does not know. The serpent knows, for example, that maybe you won’t die; at least, not right away—not on that very day you eat of the forbidden fruit.

“God wants you to be like him knowing good and evil,” goes the serpent. Why would God forbid such godly knowledge? To the woman’s credit, she points out that God has given them all sorts of freedom: “We can eat of all sorts of fruit!” There is plenty to eat and enjoy. We are free to explore all the wonders and delights of God’s good and beautiful creation. Why fuss about this one forbidden tree in the midst of the garden?

Did God really say…? There’s something about God’s “No” that grates on us. Just one “No” is one too many. Maybe God says “No” because he wants to deprive us of greater knowledge. Be your own person. Be smart. Take of the forbidden fruit. It is tempting, isn’t it?

Origin Story #14 of 21:

Then they saw the other as naked;

so they sewed fig leaves together

and made coverings for themselves. (Gn 3:7)

What happened? Suddenly, without warning, our origin story moves from “naked and not ashamed” to “covering up”. It’s better read than explained. How do you explain such a thing? A serpent appears out of nowhere: “More crafty than any other wild animal that the Lord God had made;” and, carries on a conversation with the woman. Nothing is said about who this serpent is or represents. We can’t help but suspect that it has to do with Satan’s mischief (Rv 20:2).

What is certain, is that this serpent happens to be a very cleaver conversationalist (Gn 3:1-7):

Serpent:         Did God say, “You shall not eat from any tree in the garden”?

Woman:         We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; but God said, “You shall

not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.”

Serpent:         You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes

will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.

So, when the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was

- good for food and

- pleasing to the eye, and also

- desirable for gaining wisdom,

she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves.

It turns out the serpent has some truth on his side: 1) The man and the woman will die, but not “in the day that you eat of it”; or, if so, it’s an awfully long day. Adam live nine hundred thirty years before he dies. 2) They come to know something about good and evil that they didn’t know before—something that causes them to “sew fig leaves together to cover themselves.”

Why is such knowledge destructive? Maybe, with this knowledge of what evil is, man is now able to do evil things to others. Animals do savage things—like kill and eat other animals. But we give them a pass. They do it because they are hungry. But humans can kill for other reasons—like power; or spite; or jealousy; or anger: “Why are you angry, Cain?” (4:6).

When we know about how evil hurts, we know something about how we can use evil to harm others. Our awareness of evil weaves its way into our social fabric. Suddenly, we see the other as “naked”—no longer as a gift from God, but as an object to be made use of for our own purposes. With such knowledge, life can no longer be lived freely and innocently. With such knowledge, we need covering.