The Primeval Mythology of Genesis - The Fall

Genesis 3:8-24

They heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden.

But the Lord God called to the man and said to him, “Where are you?” He said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself.” He said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten from the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?”

The man said, “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit from the tree, and I ate.” Then the Lord God said to the woman, “What is this that you have done?” The woman said, “The serpent tricked me, and I ate.” The Lord God said to the serpent,

“Because you have done this, cursed are you among all animals and among all wild creatures; 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 offspring and hers; he will strike your head, and you will strike his heel.”

To the woman he said,

“I will make your pangs in childbirth exceedingly great; in pain you shall bring forth children, yet your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.”

And to the man he said,

“Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten of the tree about which I commanded you, ‘You shall not eat of it,’ 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 for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

The man named his wife Eve because she was the mother of all living. And the Lord God made garments of skins for the man and for his wife and clothed them.

Then the Lord God said, “See, the humans have become like one of us, knowing good and evil, and now they might reach out their hands and take also from the tree of life and eat and live forever”— therefore the Lord God sent them forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from which they were taken.

He drove out the humans, 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.

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If ever there was a story in the Bible that has been misunderstood, misused, and abused, it is this one. The story of Adam and Eve, and their leave from Eden, is what many have used to justify patriarchy and the subjugation of women, the explanation and origin of evil, sin, and death in the world, and why sex has long been treated as something shameful and dangerous.

We come to these beliefs and practices by believing that there really were two people named Adam and Eve. And a serpent, who is clearly Satan, tricked the gullible Eve into eating the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

Eve, being the temptress that she was, lured her husband into sampling the fruit, too. Suddenly, they realized they were naked, filled with shame, and ran to hide themselves with fig leaf loincloths. Then God shows up, gets them to confess to their sin, and punishes them both with painful labor: one in childbirth and the other in trying to bring life from the ground, and of course getting pushed out of paradise forever.

And now, every person after can blame Adam, but mostly Eve, for bringing sin and death into the world.

All from taking a bite of an apple…

But what if we don’t have to believe all of those things? What if the text itself doesn’t really support any of that? What if there are a lot more ways to understand the story of our mythical first parents and what it might mean for us today? And more importantly what it tells us about God our Creator.

So first things first - there was no apple. The text just says fruit. What kind of fruit, we don’t know. But I am pretty sure it wasn’t an apple, no matter what popular paintings portray.

Now to something more serious. Did Adam and Eve exist? Two individual people in a perfect garden, from whom the whole human race descended? No—probably not. The archaeological, historical, and especially genetic evidence just doesn’t support that reading.

And that’s where a lot of people start to worry. If that part of the Bible isn’t literally true, then what about the rest? If Adam and Eve weren’t real people—if this is a story rather than a historical event—then how can we trust the Gospels? Or the cross? Or anything else?

That fear is what one theologian called “house of cards theology.” If one part of the story feels shaky, then the whole thing must come crashing down. But that’s a fragile way to approach Scripture. It leads to an anxious, defensive kind of faith—one that clings to literal readings and misses deeper truths.

Yet we must remember, not only when we are looking at these stories in Genesis but throughout the Bible, God doesn’t only desire knowledge, but faith. And faith involves mystery, not certainty.

As for an origin story, this is a sort of an origin, but not one about evil, sin, and death.

Nowhere in the text is the serpent called Satan. Genesis 3:1 says, “The serpent was more crafty than any other wild animal the Lord God had made,” suggesting it too is an animal, created by God. If anything, based on what we know from the previous two chapters of Genesis, all of creation created by God, is good.

What that means for this crafty serpent, I am not sure. Perhaps this is where we lean into God saying that creation was good, not perfect. Perhaps the serpent was good, not perfect, but also not evil. Could it be that even in a good creation, not everything was meant to be simple or safe?

As for death, what rings in our ears is Paul saying, “the wages of sin is death.” So we often assume Adam and Eve were created immortal, and that because they sinned, now we all suffer the consequences—one of them being death.

However, the question of Adam and Eve being created immortal remains open and unclear.

If anything, God’s words in verse 22 suggest something different: “If they eat from the tree of life, they will live forever”—which implies they wouldn’t otherwise.In other words, part of being a creature is death. It is part of the created order. But if the serpent wasn’t Satan, and death wasn’t a punishment, then what about sin?

Sin is certainly central to the story, no doubt. But not sin in the abstract. This is the first instance of sin, so an origin story in that way. Yet the way we often hear this is that because Eve ate the forbidden fruit, all humanity after her is cursed—sin passed down like a hereditary disease.

But such a reading seems a little unfair to Eve and to us.

Afterall, Adam was there with Eve the whole time she was talking with the snake! [pic 3] It says so right in v. 6. He wasn’t off gathering other fruit. He stood silent, passive, seemingly unengaged from what was happening right in front of him. Eve on the other hand, though she is labeled and seen as a temptress, she is anything but.

Really, it is Eve who takes initiative. She rebuffs the serpent when it doesn’t tell the full truth. She makes decisions and is bold. All things we praise men for being, but not Eve. She doesn’t need to act as a temptress because she was clearly already in control. She handed Adam the fruit and he ate, no questions asked. No protest. No discernment. Just silence. Perhaps if Adam had been as engaged and discerning as Eve, we wouldn’t be in this mess.

So if there is blame, it is squarely on both. For not only were they equal in creation, they were equal in sin, too. And just so it’s stated, the story, not before eating the fruit and not after, does not call for men’s dominion over women. As one writer puts it, v. 16 “is not a mandate by God for male dominance but a description of the distortion that now marks human relationships.

A distortion brought by sin.

And what was the sin exactly? We’re told its disobedience - clearly they disobeyed God.

But disobedience is really the result of the actual sin at the heart of this story and the sin at center of our hearts, too. And that is mistrust.

Genesis 3 tells us that we live in a world where there are alternatives to God’s voice, in this case the serpent. And those voices tell half truths and lies that make us wonder if life could be better, we could be better if we just had that thing we are missing.

And we listen to those voices just enough that we begin to doubt not only ourselves, but God too. Creation is good, but not good enough. Perhaps it could be better. I am very good, according to God, but not good enough. Perhaps I could be better.

Maybe the snake is right, I am missing something. And once you believe that, you no longer trust God. And with trust out the window, disobedience is sure to follow.

We all have listened to the talking snake that tells us half truths and lies. If you just had this one fruit, this missing piece, then life would be better. If only I were skinnier or bulkier, if only I had more money or were more successful, if only I had more sex, or a nicer car, or a bigger house, then life would be better. It’s the same voice behind every perfectly filtered photo on instagram, every hustle culture mantra, every ad promising transformation if we just buy, try, or become something more. And finally we could be whole; we could be like God!

But don’t listen to the snake, it's a damned liar, always has been!

No human, no creature has it all. We are good, not perfect, remember? And the tragedy, as one pastor put it, is when we become so obsessive at securing what we think is missing from our lives, we end up losing the garden that was really good from the start.

The good news in all of this is what the story tells us about God our Creator.

Even though Adam and Eve listened to the snake, mistrusted God, and disobeyed, God still clothed them; meaning from the start God has never desired for us to walk around in shame or guilt. God has always desired to cover that for us. Whether it was leather garments for Adam and Eve, or the grace of Jesus Christ that now clothes us in baptism.

God, the perfect Creator, is always covering us with forgiveness and grace, even in our mistrust. Amen.

The Primeval Mythology of Genesis - Creation

John 19:38-42

After these things, Joseph of Arimathea, a follower of Jesus, though a secret one because of his fear of the Jews, came to Pilate and asked if he could take away the body of Jesus. Pilate gave him permission; so he came to remove his body. Nicodemus, who at first had come to Jesus by night also came, bringing with him a mixture of myrrh and aloes weighing about one hundred pounds. They took the body, wrapping it in the spices and linens, according to the Jewish burial customs. Now, there was a garden in the place where Jesus had been crucified and in the garden there was a new tomb in which no one had ever been [buried.] So, because it was the Jewish Day of Preparation, and because the tomb was nearby, they laid the body of Jesus there.

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“The Primeval Mythology of Genesis: Creation”

I’ve already heard some curiosity – maybe mixed with some cynical suspicion – about the title of this new sermon series: “The Primeval Mythology of Genesis.” Curiosity and suspicion aren’t terrible things and I think it’s the word “mythology” that stirs the pot for some people, which was kind of our goal. Part of the point with this next round of sermons is to remind ourselves and each other that we’re called to read the Bible LITERATELY, not LITERALLY, and to see that its message and good news – its grace, hope, and promise – go deeper and wider when we do.

So first, things, first … which is what “primeval” means, sort of … first things; of the earliest ages; the beginning of the beginning, you might say. The first eleven chapters of the Bible’s first book are where we will spend our time the next few weeks. The good stuff before the good stuff. The stage-setting. The foundation. The genesis, is where we begin.

And the word “mythology” rightly ruffles feathers if we are inclined to equate the foundational narrative of our faith story with the fables, fairy tales, and fictional “myths” of, say, the Greek gods (Zeus, Poseidon, Aphrodite, and the like); or Aesop’s fables; or the tall tales of the wonderful world of Walt Disney. But that’s not what we’re up to.

“Myth” and “mythology” can mean something more, something deeper from a theological perspective, which is what we plan to wrestle with. I would contend that, when we limit stories like creation, where we are beginning this morning, to all and only what we can glean from it LITERALLY, that that’s precisely how and when we reduce it to something like a mere fable, a fairy tale, a fictional “myth,” rather than when we wonder about the holy, sacred, profound Truths that this story – and the others like it in Scripture – hold for our life and faith in this world.

And where better to start than at the very beginning – “it’s a very good place to start” – in the beginning, with the fact that, if we’re honest, the two very different versions of creation that we just heard – from Chapters 1 and 2 of the same book – make it really hard to take either of them LITERALLY?

I mean, those are two very different versions of the same story, right? (Many Bibles, like the ones we read from each Sunday, say it plainly. Chapter 2 is “another story of creation.”) The story in Chapter 1 tells of the day-by-day, very long work-week of the Almighty, who creates first this, and then that, with a break and no small measure of satisfaction between each.

“…and God saw that it was good…” “…and God saw that it was good…” “…and God saw that it was good…”

“…and there was evening and there was morning, the first day…” “…and there was evening and there was morning, the third day…” “…and there was evening and there was morning, the fifth day…”

But Chapter 2 goes down altogether differently. In that version of creation, God – like some sort of holy potter, or divine craftsman, or sacred sculptor – makes a man from the dust, then plants a garden and puts him to work, then decides he could use a companion and some help, so then creates all the rest, and a woman, to boot.

In version #2, we don’t know which came first or next, on which day. And none of that matters.

What matters is that God, something Divine, did something divine – created the heavens, the earth, and all that is in them. What matters is that it was and is good. What matters is that we are part of that goodness – you and I – and all people – created good, by God; and created for good, for God’s sake.

What matters, if you ask me, is that we stop reducing the Bible to some sort of prehistoric science book – the authors of which never could have known a thing about bunker-busting missiles or atomic bombs; about Gaza or the West Bank, as we know of them today; about electric cars, school shootings, cancer, chemo-therapy, Medicaid or social media. And that’s okay. These stories have something to say to all of that – and to all of us – nonetheless.

Because what the creation stories tells us – among so many other things – is that we are made in the image of the divine, even though we do so much to make that hard to believe. And we are made in the image of the divine, not just because we have heads, shoulders, knees, or toes…

…but we are made in the image of the Divine because we are made for community, like God; with the power to create and care about and have compassion, like God; that we have the capacity to do justice, like God; make sacrifices, like God; be generous, like God; forgive, like God; and love one another, like God.

Oh, and this is important: the stories of creation make it very clear that none of us IS God and that we shouldn’t try to be – which Pastor Cogan will get to next week, I believe.

Instead, for now, let’s let the stories of creation inspire within us what, I believe they were meant to inspire and to teach and to proclaim all along: a sense of reverence and awe about what God can do; a posture of humility and gratitude for our part in the grand scheme of things; and a response from each of us – and all of us together – that is generous, careful, and full of service that acknowledges our connection to all people and to the grand scheme of things.

Because today’s good news includes the notion that we are created “just a little lower than the angels” – as the Psalmist puts it – and that God calls us to live differently because of that Truth. God invites us to tend to and care for what belongs to God – the earth and all that is in it. God calls us to replenish what we use up – from the earth and from each other, too; to give more than we take, save, and keep for ourselves.

So, what if these primeval creation stories are nothing more – and certainly nothing less – than prehistoric best efforts at describing something that cannot be described; that is too big for words; that are meant to love us and leave us in awe and wonder for what God has done for us – and hopes to do through us – for the sake of the world where we live?

What if these primeval creation stories are nothing more – and certainly nothing less – than poetic prose from a prehistoric Mary Oliver, who could marvel at creation as well as anyone, as far as I’m concerned? Her poem Wild Geese, goes like this:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

What if the point of the creation stories is simply, and profoundly, to announce your place – and mine – in the family of things?

And what if these primeval creation stories are nothing more – and certainly nothing less – than like clever song lyrics from a pre-historic John Prine, encouraging you, with a wink and smile to…

“Blow up your TV, throw away your paper
Go to the country, build you a home
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches
Try and find Jesus on your own.”

What if these primeval creation stories are nothing more – and certainly nothing less – than prehistoric pieces of art – trying to capture, with words, something like Van Gogh’s “Starry Night”:

or Monet’s “Water Lilies”:

or even Ansel Adams who, like the story tellers of Genesis, certainly had a thing for trees.

But, speaking of John Prine, I hope the Gospel reading wasn’t too on the nose this morning. But I wanted to connect all of this to Jesus, of course. Because it is as poetic and powerful to me that our faith story begins and ends, in a garden, sometimes.

There aren’t enough of even the most beautiful words, songs, poems, or prose to adequately convey the power of God’s love in creation – or by way of the Word made flesh, in Jesus. And I think the two different versions of creation that we find in Genesis aren’t in competition. They’re just evidence and acknowledgment of that fact – of how grand and glorious and full of grace this God is that we worship.

So I think it’s a beautiful thing that both versions of creation’s origin story – and the consummation of God’s resurrection in Jesus … God’s defeat of death … Christ’s victory over Sin for our sake … I think it’s beautiful that all of that, too, takes place in a garden – where light shines in the darkness; where the goodness of God bears fruit for the sake of the world; where sin never gets the last word; where we are all made and made new in God’s image; and where hope rules, in spite of the chaos, because of the grace, mercy, and love of the God we know in Jesus.

Amen