Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7
St. Christopher’s Episcopal Church, Austin
February 22, 2026
1st Sunday in Lent
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
We’re starting off on this first Sunday in Lent with the very first sin, Adam and Eve eating the fruit of the forbidden tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The Fall of humanity, the original sin. Many, many theologians have written many, many words about original sin, and how each of us carries the burden of the disobedience of our forebears—with the majority (or all) of the blame often laid at the feet of women. Feminist and womanist scholars and contemplatives have been adding their work and their voices to the field of theology, giving us new ways of thinking about the story of the Garden of Eden.
For example, my reading of Genesis changed a few years ago, when I read This Here Flesh by Cole Arthur Riley, a book I highly recommend. In her book, she examines a part of the Fall and the expulsion from the Garden of Eden that is easy to overlook – that when Adam and Eve appeared before him a little after today’s reading, ashamed of their nakedness, God knelt in the dirt and fashioned clothing for them. God didn’t mock them for their shame, he didn’t leave them to suffer in it, he tended to what they needed, even after their disobedience. Even as He prepared to impose devastating consequences for their actions, God loved them. Whenever I read Genesis now, I read it with Riley’s attunement to God’s love in mind.
I wonder what the real motivation of Adam and Eve was for eating the fruit. We know the serpent told Eve that they wouldn’t die from eating it; rather, they would be wise and full of knowledge. I was taught growing up, and maybe you were too, that Adam and Eve were being greedy and arrogant, and while I think that is true – it’s not a rare thing for us to be either of those things, after all – but I think it’s worth spending some time on what they were greedy for.
Before they ate of the fruit, what could they have known about what knowledge of good and evil even meant? What kind of idea of that could they have? I wonder if it wasn’t knowledge for knowledge’s sake that tempted Eve so much that she ate of the fruit, or why Adam followed her lead even though he knew directly from God that it was forbidden. I wonder if what they were willing to risk everything for – to risk their very lives for – was to be like their God. God was everything to them, their creator, the creator of their world, their protector, and their companion.
What could possibly be better than being like God?
Adam and Eve were trying to skip ahead of the game, to take a scenic shortcut to the finish line. If the real final purpose of humans is reunion with God – and I believe it is – what greater temptation could we face than having what looks like a clear, easy way to be like God placed right in front of us? We can see that God reaches for relationship with us again and again and again, relentlessly calling us to Him, stretching towards us, yearning for us. We reach back, in our human and imperfect way, but we’re not able to touch God on our own. We can’t always hear that still, small voice. There are devastating times in our lives when it feels like God has left us completely alone.
What would you do if someone showed you a way to be like God, with God, right now? I think if presented with that, obedience would be a hard thing to hold on to. I like to think I would make the right decision in the end, but I can’t be certain that I would.
I’m actually pretty sure I would have grabbed that fruit with both hands and let the juice run down my chin.
In 2020, when my job evaporated, like the jobs of so many, I found that the feeling of calling I had been sort of successfully running from since I was thirteen was still there – and that I couldn’t run from it anymore. The idea of approaching the church and offering up my messy self, with my messy life, and my messy family, was terrifying to me. I stayed up late praying one night, deep in anxiety. I poured out to God all of my fears of being not good enough, of being too damaged, of being too introverted, of just being wrong.
One of the vulnerable questions I asked God that night was this – “God, can you love an unwanted child?” And as sometimes happens in prayer, a thought floated up in me that felt like it didn’t only come from me, and it said, “Yes, but you have to teach yourself how.”
That small prayer and answer is something I will be unpacking for the rest of my life. I’m sharing it with you now, because I find it resonates with what I am learning about the first sin. God intends for us – his very wanted children – to be with him, reunited with him at the end of time, but we aren’t prepared to just leap into God’s presence of our own accord whenever we like. We are human creatures, and we must learn how to be one with God through our human journey. We have to teach ourselves how, in this life, in this world, and in these bodies.
Adam and Eve’s sin went beyond simple disobedience. They tried to become like their dearly beloved God without following the path God had laid out for them. They wanted to be like God so badly that they jumped at the chance, knowing they were disobeying. It sounds to me less like a calculated attempt to usurp God and more of the kind of rash decision we make when presented with something that seems so amazing, something we want so badly, that we don’t stop to think it through or ask questions about whether it is right—we just do.
That first sin was a tragedy, and also an accurate illustration of human nature. Every one of us has been tempted, and we will be again. Every one of us has sinned, and we will sin again. We wander away from the path God has laid out for us, over and over. Every time, God is there, reaching for us, trying to guide us despite all our stiff-necked conviction that we can do it on our own, thank you very much.
But we can’t do it on our own. God sent his only begotten Son to be one of us and among us. During Jesus’s time in the desert, we are told that he fasted until he was famished and weak. It is in this weakened state that the devil shows up tempt him to use his divine nature as a tool for his own convenience in a way that no normal human ever could. Jesus risked starvation and thirst in a fragile human body to remain true to his purpose and his calling while he was on this earth. He was willing to – and did – lay his life down for the path God the Father had laid out for him. Jesus resisted temptation in a way we will never achieve ourselves, but this is the kind of obedience we are called to. Discipleship, Jesus said, is very costly. It is uncomfortable and it is dangerous.
We can’t see the whole path that God has laid before us, but Jesus told us the commandments we are to live by to prepare us. First, Jesus told us, we are to love God, with our hearts, with all of our souls, and with all of our minds. We are also told to love our neighbors as ourselves – in fact, that is the most important thing we can do. Jesus’s life and these commandments are the blueprint we have been given to teach ourselves how to accept God’s love and to live God’s love so fully that we are ready, when the eschaton comes, to be reunited with God.
Returning to Lent, many of us take up a Lenten practice – we give up something we might indulge in too often, we commit to a daily period of devotional prayer, or to service to our communities. While we are beginning or planning to begin our Lenten practices, I invite us all to think about the kinds of love we are willing to face consequences for. Not for reckless disobedience, but in response to the yearning of God for us to follow his path.
We are living through a time when one of the greatest temptations we face is to stay in our safe places, to protect ourselves and our families, to keep our heads down. I feel that urge, that desire to protect myself, and it doesn’t feel good. That’s not what Jesus asked of us.
Who needs love from us that could be costly to give?
What are we willing to risk in the pursuit of justice?
In what areas of our lives could we give just a bit more?
Are we loving God with our whole hearts, our whole souls, and our whole minds?
Are we loving our neighbors as ourselves? Are we really?
What kind of obedience is being asked of each of us, right now?
I’m not standing up here pointing fingers. I will be asking these questions of myself right along with you. I don’t give all that I can – all that I should—and I am all too aware of that. These are things we can explore together. Call me, let’s have lunch, or chat in the foyer. Drop by my office. Let’s dig into this.
Where are the places we could take more risks for people who need us? What does it look like to live into those commandments Jesus gave us and to love hard? To lean into the long obedience that is the human path to reunion with God?
That path is long, and we will strike our feet against rocks on the way, but I truly believe that together, and always with God leading the way, we can teach ourselves how.
Amen.