Looking to Sunday: The Garden and the Choice

(Reflecting on Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7)

This Lent, we journey into the wilderness, seeking repentance and renewal. Yet, to understand our need for a Savior, we must return to the very beginning, to a garden where humanity’s relationship with God took a tragic turn. Genesis 2:15-17 and 3:1-7 offer profound insights into the human condition we still grapple with today.

God’s Good Design and Gracious Boundary (Gen 2:15-17)

“The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it. And the Lord God commanded the man, ‘You may freely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die.’“ (NRSVue)

Notice the abundance! God places humanity in a paradise of provision, entrusting us with purposeful work (“till and keep”). Within this goodness, God establishes one clear boundary. This wasn’t arbitrary restriction, but a loving safeguard, defining the space for trust and obedience within the relationship. The consequence (“you shall die”) wasn’t mere threat; it was a statement of spiritual reality – separation from the Source of Life.

The Twisting of Truth and the Lure of Autonomy (Gen 3:1-7)

Enter the serpent, “more crafty than any other wild animal.” Its tactic? To cast doubt on God’s character and generosity:

“He said to the woman, ‘Did God say, “You shall not eat from any tree in the garden”?’“ (NRSVue)

The serpent exaggerates God’s command, making it sound harsh and restrictive. Eve, in her response, subtly adds to God’s word (“neither shall you touch it,” 3:3), perhaps already internalizing the distortion. Then comes the core temptation:

“But the serpent said to the woman, ‘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.’“ (NRSVue)

The lie is twofold: First, denial of consequence (“You will not die”). Second, the promise of autonomous godhood – the allure of defining good and evil for themselves, independent of God. This is the root of sin: distrusting God’s goodness, doubting his word, and grasping for self-determination apart from him.

The tragic result unfolds:

“So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food and that it was a delight to the eyes and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate. Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked, and they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves.” (NRSVue)

The immediate consequence wasn’t enlightenment, but shame. The harmony of God’s design shattered. Their innocence replaced by a profound awareness of vulnerability and separation – from God, from each other, and from their own true selves. Their flimsy fig leaves symbolize the futile human attempt to cover our spiritual brokenness by our own efforts.

Lenten Lessons from the Garden

1.      The Nature of Temptation: It rarely presents itself as pure evil. It twists truth, questions God’s goodness and boundaries, and appeals to our legitimate desires (for wisdom, fulfillment) in illegitimate ways. It promises life but delivers death.

2.     The Cost of Distrust: Choosing autonomy over trust in God fractures our fundamental relationships. It leads to shame, hiding, and brokenness. Sin isn’t just breaking a rule; it’s breaking relationship.

3.     The Futility of Self-Covering: Like Adam and Eve’s fig leaves, our attempts to fix our sin, cover our shame, or achieve righteousness on our own are ultimately inadequate. We cannot stitch ourselves back together.

The Wesleyan Perspective: Grace Amidst Choice

In the perspective of our Wesleyan tradition, the fall in Genesis 3 does not result in the total destruction of the human will, but in its profound corruption. While we believe in “total depravity” in the sense that every faculty of the human person is affected by sin, we also affirm that God’s prevenient grace immediately began to work to restore the possibility of a response to him. The ability to choose is a gracious ability. Lent is the season where we acknowledge the gravity of the choice made in the garden, recognizing that we, too, have often chosen the path of self-sovereignty over the path of trustful obedience. As we reflect on these verses, we are reminded that the “knowledge of good and evil” gained in the garden led to a wilderness, but it is in the wilderness of Lent that we find the way back to the Tree of Life through Christ, the second Adam.

Turning Towards the Cross

The garden shows us our need. Lent directs our gaze forward, to another garden – Gethsemane. There, the second Adam, Christ Jesus, faced a profound temptation. Yet, where the first humans chose self-will, Jesus chose surrender: “Not my will, but yours be done” (Luke 22:42). His obedience on the cross undoes the curse of Eden. His sacrifice provides the covering for our shame that our fig leaves never could – the robe of his righteousness.

This Lent, as we reflect on Genesis 3, let us:

• Examine our hearts: Where are we tempted to distrust God’s goodness or word? Where are we grasping for autonomy? Examine the boundaries God places in our lives; are they seen as limitations or loving guidance?
• Confess our fig leaves: What inadequate ways are we trying to cover our sin and shame? Acknowledge our spiritual brokenness and separation from God, identifying our “fig leaves” of shame.
• Turn back in trust: Hear God’s voice, even now, calling to us in our hiding places. His grace enables our repentance. Embrace the transformative power of God’s grace that prepares our hearts for repentance and renewal.
• Look to the Cross: Find hope not in our own efforts, but in the perfect obedience and sacrifice of Christ, the one who reverses the curse and offers us life abundant.

The journey through Lent’s wilderness leads us back to the heart of God, revealed most fully not in a forbidden tree, but in a Savior lifted up on a cross. May we turn towards him.

A Prayer for This Week

Gracious God, you have given us more than we can count. Forgive us for listening to voices that name your love as withholding. Strip from us the fig leaves we have fashioned to hide what we are. Find us where we are hiding, and call us by name. We trust in the one who bore the weight of the fruit we should not have taken. Amen.