I took my first preaching class in the fall of 2016, and this is the sermon I preached:
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“My life is a perfect graveyard of
buried hopes.” – L.M. Montgomery
“The prince is never going to come.
Everyone knows that; and maybe sleeping beauty’s dead.” – Anne Rice
“My beerdrunk soul is sadder than
all the dead Christmas trees of the world.” – Charles Bukowski
“Life…is a tale, told by an idiot,
full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” – William Shakespeare
“This is the way the world ends. Not with a
bang but a whimper.” – T.S. Elliot
Our passage today, Genesis 3:1-7,
is one of hopelessness, or at least seems like it.
Eve's narrative: It was really a fantastic garden.
My love, Adam, and I spent our days just…worshiping. We swam in the river,
feasted on the fruits, vegetables, and nuts in the garden, and just soaked it
up. The animals were great friends to us, although none of them could quite
understand me like Adam did. Our job was to take care of these animals and this
garden, but I’ll have to be honest, it was an easy gig. I think God really just
wanted us to enjoy it, and enjoy Him.
One uneventful day, Adam and I were
walking past that tree again. It was
right in the middle of the garden, and it was gorgeous. We used to climb it, it
was so big and the limbs hung so heavy with fruit that we could easily grab
hold of one branch after another until we were at the top, looking down on the
garden and out into the great unknown outside of our garden. We never ate any
of its fruit while we were climbing. Adam said that, before I came along, he
and God had a talk and God told him never to eat from that tree. I was happy to
oblige, though I didn’t understand why it would matter if we ate that fruit.
Eventually, we decided that it was best to never even go near that tree, which
only made me want to eat its fruit even more.
It was on this day, during our walk, that a serpent approached me. Oh, how I loved communing with the animals! They all had such gentle spirits, and usually had something new to teach me about the nature of God and of the garden. The snake and I began to chat, and you know, it’s strange, but I can’t remember if that was a normal thing or not – chatting with one of the animals in the garden. We hung out a lot, but I don’t remember if they could actually talk. Anyway, this guy was definitely talking, and he started interrogating me about that tree – the “tree of knowledge” as we called it.
I turned to Adam, because he was the one who had received the mandate from God about not eating the fruit, but wouldn’t you know it, that guy was nowhere to be found. The serpent and I had a nice chat – he said he was helping me understand what God meant with that law. He also said that Adam had it all wrong, and I absolutely would not die if I ate that fruit – I would become wise just like God. I looked at the fruit, and it really looked like it was at its peak. In fact, I wondered if it would soon be over-ripe. Such a waste, you know, all of that luscious fruit just sitting there, with no one to enjoy it. I really wished I’d asked Adam – or God – more questions about the tree before this moment. Oh, well, the snake seemed like he knew what he was talking about, and it didn’t seem like God or Adam were paying attention, so I took a piece of that fruit and ate it. It really was delicious, I felt like God had been holding out on me. Then, Adam showed back up, and he looked pretty upset with me, until I convinced him to eat some of the fruit, too. The serpent seemed pretty happy for us, downright gleeful. I started to not like the look in his eyes.
It was on this day, during our walk, that a serpent approached me. Oh, how I loved communing with the animals! They all had such gentle spirits, and usually had something new to teach me about the nature of God and of the garden. The snake and I began to chat, and you know, it’s strange, but I can’t remember if that was a normal thing or not – chatting with one of the animals in the garden. We hung out a lot, but I don’t remember if they could actually talk. Anyway, this guy was definitely talking, and he started interrogating me about that tree – the “tree of knowledge” as we called it.
I turned to Adam, because he was the one who had received the mandate from God about not eating the fruit, but wouldn’t you know it, that guy was nowhere to be found. The serpent and I had a nice chat – he said he was helping me understand what God meant with that law. He also said that Adam had it all wrong, and I absolutely would not die if I ate that fruit – I would become wise just like God. I looked at the fruit, and it really looked like it was at its peak. In fact, I wondered if it would soon be over-ripe. Such a waste, you know, all of that luscious fruit just sitting there, with no one to enjoy it. I really wished I’d asked Adam – or God – more questions about the tree before this moment. Oh, well, the snake seemed like he knew what he was talking about, and it didn’t seem like God or Adam were paying attention, so I took a piece of that fruit and ate it. It really was delicious, I felt like God had been holding out on me. Then, Adam showed back up, and he looked pretty upset with me, until I convinced him to eat some of the fruit, too. The serpent seemed pretty happy for us, downright gleeful. I started to not like the look in his eyes.
I don’t know if this is my memory
playing tricks on me or not, but at that moment, it seemed like the sun
just…went away. The usually bright and cheerful garden felt dark and desolate.
I couldn’t hear any of the birds singing, and the wind that was always traipsing
through the leaves just died in the air. Or maybe it didn’t, but it sure felt
that way. God was approaching, and it seemed that all of creation knew what
Adam and I had done.
Now, I know you want to know
exactly how God approached us. Did He look like a man (or woman)? Could we see
or just hear Him? The truth is, ever since that day, I can’t remember exactly.
All I know is that he was there, and I knew him. I had spent every day with
him, but that day, He felt like a stranger, and I learned a new word...shame.
Adam and I both felt so…exposed.
This was our first experience with this feeling, this wanting to hide – from
God, from each other, and from ourselves. We inherently felt that we needed to
be punished, and covered. We took the leaves from a nearby fig tree, and
pressed them against our most sensitive places. The leaves itched and stung,
but we felt the sting of our own shame deserved to be matched by our bodies.
God drew nearer, and we tried to grow smaller. We hid behind the bushes, knowing
that our God would never be fooled by such a simple ruse, but we couldn’t help
it. It was in this moment that I, along with Adam and all the rest of creation,
first knew the meaning of the word “hopeless”.
end of Eve's monologue
This is a story with which we are
all painfully familiar. I think that, at some point, we all have a conversation
with ourselves that goes something like this: “Stupid Adam and Eve. I wouldn’t
have eaten from that tree. If I had a time machine, I’d go back and chop that
tree down and use it for firewood. Why did they have to go and mess everything
up for us?” Of course, we know that we all have our own “fruit” that we return
to time and again, even after it has rotted in our bellies.
The problem with this story is that
it is so familiar. We start hearing it as a bedtime story before we are even
old enough to understand the words, and it’s the first story in the Bible, so
every time we resolve to read the Bible through, we at least make it through
the Adam and Eve narrative. I don’t know about you, but I was well into
adulthood before I understood that I am Eve, and, yes, this story is
devastating. Yet, there is hope.
The first thing I notice when I
read this story is the innocence of Adam and Eve. Indeed, they made the
decision to disobey God’s orders, and bore the consequences of that sin, but I
also have to give pause and remember, they had never known anything but good,
and that innocence is what made them easy targets for the serpent, the true
villain in this story.
Statistics say that 1
in 4 girls and 1 in 20 boys will experience sexual abuse before the age of 18.
Often, this abuse can trigger the onset of addiction, mental illness and even
perpetration of abuse later in the life of the abused, creating a devastating
cycle. As ministers, we cannot ignore these statistics, because they represent
people who sit in our pews week after week after week. One would hope that we,
the Church, the hands and feet of Christ, would be a place of healing for these
men and women, but often, church is just another place for them to go and face
judgement for their "bad decisions". When the snake enters the scene in verse 4,
he is targeting an innocent bystander. She had not yet known sin and
brokenness, not been ripped from the comfort and safety of the garden and her
place in it. When I read this passage, I see words of comfort for these
survivors of sexual abuse – you were victimized, targeted, and broken in a way
that has affected you every day since. Your original abuse has led you down new
paths of pain that are perhaps partially of your own creation, but are not
entirely your fault. Keep reading the story, because for you, there is hope.
When we read the dialogue between
the snake and Eve, the snake refers to the law given in chapter two verses 16
and 17, and I notice something – Eve hadn’t been created yet. I wonder if Eve
got her information about the tree second hand, and for that matter, how much
of God she knew second hand through Adam. While some would say that Eve was
targeted because women are the weaker sex, or that women are placed in
subjection to men because Eve sinned first (ahem…Paul), some scholars propose
that perhaps the snake targeted Eve because, having received her information by
way of Adam, she would be easier to deceive.
I think about my own faith walk,
and how this is also true about me. Theologians abound to tell us whatever it
is we want to hear, or just as often, what we don’t want to hear. They often
contradict each other and most even have scripture to validate their beliefs.
It is very easy to be willingly led by hand into all kinds of crazy beliefs about
God, ourselves, and our relationship to this world. This can be incredibly
disorienting and damaging.
Are you ready to hear the secret to
preventing this from happening?.............
Me, too. Because I don’t know it. I
do know this, though: I am far more likely to find myself spiritually upside
down and sideways when I’ve been experiencing God primarily second hand. Some
of us may have been taught that we cannot trust our own instincts when it comes
to knowing God, that we had better listen to our “superiors”, the “trained
experts” to teach us about God. Don’t get me wrong, we are not meant to make
our spiritual pilgrimage alone, and the discipleship of those wiser and more
learned on that journey is absolutely priceless, but at the end of it all,
they…we… are all fallible and bound to lead you astray at some point. I am much
less likely to buy into a false teaching about my God now because I know God for myself. I can hear someone
shouting hate, or whispering to me that I am less than, worthless, useless, and
I can shout or whisper back that my God tells me it isn’t so, and that my God
not only invented love, but is the manifestation of love itself.
How do you get to know God? I do it
through meditation, prayer, silence, solitude, time in nature and a host of
other practices. The older I get, the more I learn about learning about God.
For you, the list may be different, but the key is to never stop pursuing. Never
stop chasing hope.
When I was preparing this sermon, I
read the story to my children out of our children’s Bible, and asked all three
of them individually what they would say to Adam and Eve when they were kicked
out of the garden, and here are there replies:
o
Izzy, age 6 - “You still have your whole life to
be happy and not sad, so it’s not the end.”
o
Korban, age 4 - “God is always here for you so
you don’t have to be scared.”
o
Evie, age 3 - “Jesus!”
Now, I think that in this case, as
usual, there is wisdom to the simple answer of a child, but I’d also like to
point us to the work of scholars. Genesis 3:7, the end of our text for today,
is not the end of the story, far from it. I’d like to skip down just a tiny bit
further to chapter 3 verse 24, which says:
“He drove out the man; and at the east of
the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim, and a sword flaming and turning to
guard the way to the tree of life.”
This
seems, at first glance, like the saddest part of the story so far, but it also
contains such hope. Is the cherubim guarding the gate so that Adam and Eve may
never enter, or is he “guarding the way to the tree of life” so that we may all
enter and partake of that tree when the time comes? After all, God could have
had the tree cut down or destroyed the garden entirely, but God didn’t. In other
places in scripture, cherubim are symbols not of divine vengeance, but of
divine mercy. In Exodus 25, they surround the mercy seat, which sinners can
approach after a sacrifice is made on their behalf. Perhaps Evie was on to
something – this story ends with a promise, and that promise is…. “Jesus!” There
is certainly hope.
Here
is the problem, though. Some thousands of years passed between the
excommunication of Adam and Eve and the coming of Jesus, and redemption for us
can feel just that far away. Yes, we know that we are promised a place of
peace, rest, and God’s presence at the end of our lives, and that God has promised
to restore all things to God’s self eventually, but I bet that every one of us
in this room has at least one situation that feels hopeless, one relationship
that feels beyond redemption, or one physical malady that plagues us every day.
Perhaps you have all three, and more. Yet, there is hope.
I
can hear you thinking, or perhaps it’s just my own spirit groaning, that redemption
may be coming, but it feels eons away and provides no hope for today or
tomorrow or any day soon. But I dare to ask you to hope anyway. I don’t know
about you, but I frequently find myself feeling upside down and sideways. I’ve
come to call these seasons my “quarterly existential crises”. It may be one of
those weeks when the news is especially full of hate and hurt, or maybe the
pain originates a little closer to home, with friends or family. Just as often,
perhaps, it’s even closer than that, originating in my own self so that I
absolutely cannot escape it. When these days come, I try to make it to the
Brazos river. I take a walk and sit by the side, or if I don’t have time for
that, I’ll at least go out of my way to drive past it on my way to wherever I
need to go. I look at the river, and the sun passing over it, and I’m reminded
of something – while my world may seem to be in complete, head over heels
chaos, this river, this sun, and the God who created them have all proven
steady through the ages, and will continue to do so. That sun will resurrect
itself over there on the other side of the river every 24 hours, no matter how
dark it gets at night.
The
front door of my apartment opens into a small courtyard, and I’m so lucky to
have three stately pecan trees in that courtyard. I’ve lived there for a year
and a half now, so I’ve gotten to see them through all the seasons, when the
branches are so full of leaves that the entire courtyard is shaded from the
relentless sun, and now, when they are straggly and grey, and the last of the
pecans are falling from them, thunking loudly onto the tin roof above us. It’s
quite depressing, but there is one lonely branch up there that has just now put
out some fresh green leaves. I didn’t even know a limb could do that, act independently
of the rest of the tree. It’s reminding me of something – I saw that tree lush
and green and full of life just a few short months ago, and I will see it
again, though that seems impossible right now. It’s an annual resurrection.
Now,
as you can tell, I see signs of God all over God’s creation, and not just in
the rivers and trees, but also in the relationships I’ve been blessed with. The
sad part is that I didn’t even discover this about myself and God until
recently, and I don’t want to you think that you have to go take a walk in the
woods to be reminded of the faithful, redemptive work of God. For you, it might
be in a great movie, or an early morning cup of coffee, or a late-night
conversation with a friend. It is absolutely written all throughout scripture, and
celebrated in the history of our people. There is absolutely hope. Hope, by
definition, is not about what we already have or see coming, and it’s not
necessarily about knowing the details of what comes next, it’s about resting in
the knowledge that whatever it is, it rests in the hands of a faithful, loving
God.
A
loving God.
My
task for you is to find your own everyday resurrections, make a list of them
perhaps, so that, when you find yourself dizzy with despair, you will know
where to look to be reminded of the hope promised in Genesis, and all
throughout the word of God.
You
may lose faith for a moment, or heart for a time, but please don’t ever let go
of hope.
We
began the season of advent this past Sunday, and these weeks before we celebrate
the birth of Christ, and I’d like to close with a verse from Isaiah 9
“ The people
who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness—
on them light has shined.”
have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness—
on them light has shined.”
Though you may walk in darkness, don’t
lose hope, you will see a great light.
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