Chances are, even if you’ve never attended a Sunday school class, you’ve heard the story of Adam and Eve, a story of humanity’s origin from the Book of Genesis. After creating all things and calling them good, God places Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, allowing them to eat of any of the trees, except for the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, warning that if they eat of that particular tree, they will die. Well, along comes a very persuasive snake, and before you know it, like curious toddlers (or like me, staring at freshly baked cookies on the counter), both Adam and Eve have consumed the forbidden fruit. From this story, the Church establishes its Doctrine of Original Sin, which teaches that, because of Adam and Eve’s original disobedience, all humans inherit a corrupted nature and need to be saved through divine grace.
Exactly at which moment, though, did the “sin” occur? There are various interpretations that lead to different answers, and I ask because what we define in the story as sin helps to shape what we believe is necessary for our salvation. Some would argue that the sin occurred in Adam and Eve’s hearts, at the very moment they decided to disobey God, even before they acted on it. Others would argue that it occurred at the moment Eve took the fruit, which can, and has led to many misogynistic misinterpretations of women’s role in the Fall. Either way, both of these interpretations place a big emphasis on a specific rule being broken.
More recently, I’ve become more curious about what resulted immediately following the eating of the fruit. Suddenly, both Adam and Eve’s eyes were opened and they knew that they were naked. They were filled with shame for their bodies, the very same bodies that God had deemed very good, and immediately hid underneath fig leaves and loincloths, alienating them from their own bodies and goodness. As they heard God walking around the garden, Adam and Eve hid among the trees, fearing God and alienating themselves from God’s presence. And then the moment that cuts into me like a knife as I re-read it: God asks Adam, “Have you eaten from the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” Adam, without hesitation, responds, “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit from the tree, and I ate.” A sudden fragmentation and alienation from each other.
Lent is often described as a time of repentance or self-examination. That language and practice is meaningful, but I wonder if another way of orienting ourselves to this season is to notice where our lives have become disconnected or alienated from God, from one another, and even from ourselves. Following Jesus’ way of love then becomes a practice of returning to ourselves, each other, and God; returning to the goodness and love by and for which we were created; a sort of undoing and retelling of Adam and Eve’s story with Jesus’ help. Because Jesus’ grace is what helps us to stay connected when times get tough, rather than scapegoating each other. Jesus’ grace is what helps us to seek God’s presence in times of fear, rather than to hide or try to go it alone. And it’s Jesus’ grace that breaks us free from the chains of bodily shame that claims some bodies are more worthy than others and casts shadows on our own belovedness.
That kind of returning feels especially important right now. Many of us are feeling weary, shaped by the pace of life, by anxiety about the world, by grief, by anger, or by a sense of powerlessness in the face of injustice. You might feel it in a tense conversation around the dinner table or in the comments section in a local Facebook group. There is not a time in my life where I’ve witnessed a greater divide among groups of people than what we are experiencing right now. In moments like these, disconnection can begin to feel normal, especially in the age of social media. And yet, again and again, our faith teaches us that deep love, joy, peace, and hope are not distractions from what is broken in the world, but rather they are part of how we faithfully respond to it. They are part of how we can continue to see the world as God sees it, worthy of being loved, not condemned.
If that is true, or even partly true, then Lent might be less about willpower to break a bad habit or to eat fewer cookies, and more about attention. Less about giving something up as punishment and more about making space, refocusing, and returning to what matters most. And perhaps, over time, those small acts of reconnection, of intentionally turning toward God, each other, and our own belovedness, can become one of the ways new life quietly takes root among us.
Rev. Benjiman Durfee is the pastor at Trinity Church, Shelburne Falls, an open and affirming, ecumenical church affiliated with four denominations: American Baptist, Episcopal, United Church of Christ, and United Methodist. Services are held at 10 a.m. on Sunday mornings and nursery care is available. www.trinityshelburnefalls.org