Life in Paradise
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In November of last year, the President of Princeton Theological, Dr. Craig Barnes, preached on today’s text. That sermon began a process for me of rethinking how I understand the narrative of Eden and what it meant to have a life in paradise, and what it means for us to have that paradise lost. I am indebted to Dr. Barnes for his preaching, and I hope that any similarities between our sermons will be taken as they are intended - as the most sincere form of appreciation.
UPDATE: About a week after this sermon, Dr. Barnes preached on some of the issues I address here. For more on that sermon (including audio and video links) go here.
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Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7 (NRSV)
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.’
Now the serpent was more crafty than any other wild animal that the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, ‘Did God say, “You shall not eat from any tree in the garden”?’ The woman said to the serpent, ‘We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; but God said, “You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.” ’ 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.’ 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.
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A little over a year ago, while I was home for winter break, Mary Erin and I were in the process of preparing for our wedding. So, in between time with family and friends we squeezed in visits to plan our catering and cake, photography and music. With the invitations ordered and pre-marital counseling underway, we decided it was time to begin registering for gifts. If you have not created a wedding registry before, or if it has been a few years, let me assure you that it is a daunting process. After spending some quality time with the customer service folks, you are given a price-scanner and free reign of the store. Any barcode you scan, that item goes on the list - along with a satisfying beep. You can eventually print out the list, or share it online with family and friends. But first, you and your future spouse must decide what you want to put on the list.
It starts off easy enough: selecting which kitchen utensils you want, deciding on the right non-stick skillet, and of course which color of stand mixer you will want for the next few decades. Things get a little more challenging around table cloths and napkins - should you color-coordinate with you kitchen, or do something different? You skip the entire china section because maybe another store has better options - and eventually the entire process of having to decide between thread-counts on sheets, colors on towels, and patterns on bathroom sets makes you, challenging, for the waitress later that night who simply asks you “soup or salad.”
So, why did our time with the price-scanner bring me to the point where I couldn’t make another decision? In 2011, New York Times columnist John Tierney wrote about this very question in his outstanding article “Do You Suffer From Decision Fatigue?” In summary, it turns out that the process of making decisions is exhausting; and it doesn’t seem to matter if those decisions are complex or not. With each decision you make, the next decision becomes slightly more exhausting, eventually draining your ability to make sound judgements, or any decisions at all. While it varies by person, we basically have a total number of decisions we can make in any given day. It seems that the process of deciding between good and bad, even on seemingly inconsequential things, just doesn’t match up with how we are wired, how we were meant to be. But how could we be any different?
On the seminary campus, where the halls and classrooms are filled with future pastors, chaplains, counselors, and professors, there is one person whose job is to look after our spiritual well-being: Jan Ammon, our minister of the chapel. Formerly a pastor at Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in Manhattan, Jan has served the PTS community for almost a decade with her calm, reassuring presence and almost magical ability to show up right when she is needed the most. About every six months, Jan will step into the pulpit and look out at us with love, and preach what she calls her “impostor sermon.” While the words are different each time, the message is the same: there are days when all of us feel like impostors, like we don’t belong; it is often manifested in comments like “the admissions committee must have made a mistake” or “I’m afraid people will find out that I’m not good enough to be here.” Unfortunately, this idea, commonly referred to as the “impostor syndrome,” isn’t limited to seminarians. Recent research in both Europe and North America has found that almost three-quarters of people experience similar feelings to some degree, with the highest prevalence among those typically ranked as successful in business or academics, especially women.
Individuals suffering from impostor syndrome often focus on traits or qualities held by peers or mentors that they feel they lack, while at the same time downplaying their own abilities and skills. Honors and recognitions are often attributed to luck or discounted as trivial, while mistakes and errors are magnified. To put it another way, we often focus on the perceived blessings of others, wishing we were in their shoes, while at the same time we shortchange our own blessings, downplaying them as subpar, unimportant, or even unworthy of our focus. It seems that it is just human nature to want what we don’t have, even when we are surrounded by so many good things. But how could we be any different?
In the first two pages of scripture we find a narrative that is central to the Christian faith; in this section right here we are told of the life God intended for humanity, the life we were created to enjoy, a life in paradise. Then we messed things up. The rest is paradise lost, and the long arc of God’s redemption.
For a long time I didn’t particularly like the story of Eden. It wasn’t that, like some of my friends, I found the idea of a lifetime of gardening to be unlike my conception of paradise; I know how good fresh fruits and veggies are, so I can get behind that. And it didn't have to do with whether or not the story was “little t” true in a provable, historic way - either way I still am convinced that it speaks “capital T” Truth to us, which is of much greater importance no matter how you measure it. I think the reason that I didn’t like Eden was that it felt like a slap in the face. You know, here’s this great place where you don’t have to be afraid, where the land is beautiful and filled with all the fresh fruit you can eat, and God just wanders through the garden for a chat now and then. Oh, and there’s talking animals, because surely by the way Eve reacts to the snake this wasn’t the first talking animal she had encountered. This is basically Narnia on a really good day. Oh, and - by the way - you can never go there.
It took me a really long time to come to terms with why this was even in the Bible. For a good chunk of my life I rationalized it this way: God wanted us to really understand what we messed up when we first turned against God. A slightly more nuanced version of a parent holding a bowl of ice cream in front of the child who has misbehaved, saying, “see, you could have had this delicious treat, but now you don’t get anything!” But, the thing is, I don’t think we need Eden to know that our world is messed up; the nightly news does a fine job of that all on its own. So, if it isn’t there simply to let us know that our world is broken, maybe there is a better reason.
Over the last few years I have come to see Eden as a gentle reminder of who I was meant to be; of who we were meant to be. In Eden, we get a glimpse of how we were created to be in relation to one another, in relation to the rest of creation, and most importantly, in relation to God. And while it is true that we can never return to Eden until the fulfillment of time, when all things are restored in Christ, I do believe that there is more for us there than a longing for what cannot be.
Take our two issues from earlier - decision fatigue and the impostor syndrome. I believe that both of these issues, and many more, have their roots in Eden - or more appropriately their roots were able to grab hold and grow deep once we left Eden. We read that Eve took and ate from the tree because the tree was desired to make one wise. The tree granted wisdom; the ability to decide between good and evil. Of course Adam and Eve were making decisions before eating the fruit of the tree - we are told earlier on the same page that Adam spent what must have been a solid chunk of time deciding on names for all the animals. Therefore, decisions themselves were not the issue. The problem comes when Adam and Eve choose that they should be the ones to decide what is right and wrong - supplanting God in their minds and trying to do it all on their own. My friends, we are not created to live this life on our own - to make all of the decisions of life on our own. Life in paradise is lived in communion with the one who alone can truly judge good from evil; relieving us of the burden so that we might live our lives more fully.
Eve tells the serpent that they can eat of any tree in the garden - expect the tree that is in the middle of the garden. In Eden, God provided blessings beyond count; Adam and Eve enjoyed sustenance, meaningful labor, and companionship. But right in the middle of all of these blessings, there is one tree. There is one tree that they are not to eat from. And it’s not like this one tree is off in a corner somewhere, so you might not think about it all the time - no, it’s right there, smack in the middle of the garden. A constant reminder that even in paradise, we were not created to have it all. I want to say that again, because it is the most important thing I will say all morning: The tree is a constant reminder that, even in paradise, we were not created to have it all.
Brothers and sisters, we each have our own tree. I know what mine is, maybe you know yours. That thing in your life that you want more than anything else; that blessing that seems to be overflowing in everyone else’s life, but is so glaringly absent in yours. We can spend our lives camped out under that tree, wanting it so deeply. And when God won’t give it to us, sometimes it feels like wisdom to reach out and take it ourselves. Only then, as we look down and see our nakedness, will we realize what we have lost. Life in paradise is meant to be lived in communion with the one who alone can truly fulfill us, relieving us of the burden so that we might live our lives more fully.
My friends, as we prepare to come to the Lord’s Table in a few minutes, I would charge you with two things. First, on a very pragmatic note, decision fatigue and impostor syndrome are very real things that can have a profound impact on not only your spiritual life, but your mental health. If you feel that you might be experiencing these, or other mental or emotional health issues, I encourage you to seek out resources that can help, whether that is through the pastoral staff here at Thompson, or somewhere else.
Second, look for the glimpses of Eden in your own life. Be on the lookout for the wide forests, rich with blessing. Dig your fingers into the rich soil of the meaningful work you have been called to in this world. Embrace the companionship that has been provided for you in this family of faith. And come to the table - where God provides sustenance for the journey to paradise, no matter how long it may be.