Sermon for Pentecost 3, 6/10/18: Where Are You?

Pentecost 3, 6/10/18                           Genesis 3: 8-15                                          “Where Are You?”

                                                                                         

          As this story opens, I can almost hear God walking in the garden. Can you? God’s feet shuffling through the fallen leaves, or God’s toes squishing in the mud, or God’s arms brushing against the low-hanging limbs, or God’s holy breath rippling through the leafy branches. Listen….

            Imagine being in Adam’s shoes (no, wait, he had no shoes, in fact not a stitch of clothing at all). Imagine knowing God was physically close enough to see you, touch you, talk to you! For all our glib religious references to God being with us, walking with us—most of us don’t expect physical contact with God.

            But from the Baptist church of my childhood, I remember a hymn that made me think you could be that close to Jesus, one-on-one. Some of you may know it:

            I come to the garden alone,

            while the dew is still on the roses.

            And the voice I hear falling on my ear,

            the son of God discloses.

 And he walks with me, and he talks with me. And he tells me I am his own.

Beautiful hymn, but the theology? Not so sure about that. And lest I tread on your memories or butcher a sacred cow here, let me admit that I loved this song. But the idea of “Jesus and me,” well, it’s just not very realistic. Life together is more complicated than that.

            You can see that in this very story. Sin has been committed. Adam has eaten from the tree God commanded him not to eat from. But sin is never, ever a solitary act: sure enough, Adam and Eve and the snake are all in it together. And we know they know they’ve sinned, because the first thing they do (after they make fig leaf bikinis for themselves) is hide.

            It’s what children do, right? Dogs, too. We had a dog once (Polly) who couldn’t live with her own guilt. We’d walk into the house after having been outside for a while, and she wouldn’t meet us at the door—no way. She’d be hiding. And as we walked into the kitchen, there, scattered across the floor—wouldn’t you know it, was the trash. 

            All dogs and most children have that little flaw in common—they don’t think about the repercussions of what they’re doing. They want what they want. But both also have a sense, after they’ve gotten exactly what they wanted, that something has gone haywire because of it.

            The first two humans have that same sense—something has gone haywire. And they hide. So what does God do? What any loving parent would—go looking for them.

            And once Adam comes out of hiding with his new fig-leaf duds, he’s apparently acquired something else that’s new—-‘attitude.’ God says, did you eat from that tree I commanded you NOT to touch? And Adam comes back with, “The woman whom YOU gave to be with me, she gave me fruit from the tree.” Now isn’t that just so human-nature of him? He blames the woman and, in a not-so-subtle way, even blames God. And Eve is no better—she blames the serpent.

            In my family, this is the moment when my mother would send me to the woods out behind the house to snap off a switch for my own punishment. And this story of Adam and Eve—many think it’s just like that, a story of sin and punishment.

            But you see, it’s really a story of God’s love. Because even when the first humans have gone astray in a big way, and God knows it, God still walks through the garden in the cool of the evening and calls for them: “Where are you?”

            And after God banishes them from the garden, God does something wonderfully loving for them. It’s not in today’s part of the story. But it follows shortly after, so you can read it yourself. God makes them new clothes, from the skins of animals.

             The fig leaves had been their idea. But I’ve been reading about fig leaves, and they wouldn’t have made very good clothes. Apparently their texture was like medium grade sandpaper, and they exuded a substance that caused irritation and itching—think for a moment about exactly what ‘parts’ Adam and Eve wore those fig leaves to cover, and you see the problem—ouch! [Now this problem has a name—fig leaf rash. I kid you not. Check it out on the internet.] The new clothes God gave were a gesture of love, a sign that God would keep on caring for them. 

            So began the story of God and God’s people, throughout their history a dance of love, sin, exile, rescue, searching, forgiveness, return to God. Over and over in different ways God would call to them, “Where are you?” and the dance would resume. This ongoing partnership with God, renewed time and time again, could redeem any sin, correct any misstep, forgive any failure. And God never walked off the dance floor.

            God is still going round and round with the humans God created. So I’m betting that once or twice you yourself have acted in ways that gave you the old familiar feeling that something has gone haywire in your life. And you’ve heard that same God-voice deep in your spirit asking, “Where are you?”

Sin looks different to each of us, but you know it when you’ve done it:

*  a lie to your spouse;

*  a bank account you emptied with an impulse purchase;

*  a word spoken in anger to a friend;

*  the moment you said no, quite aware that you could have helped the one who asked;

*  the extra $20 you walked away with the day the grocery clerk was too rushed to count the bills twice;

*  the night you got behind the wheel of your OWN car when you shouldn’t have, after ‘that’

party. 

Whatever the sin, it’s never just about you. Whatever’s gone haywire in you affects someone else. We see that truth played out in the story of Adam and Eve’s sin, and it unfolds over and over in your life and mine.

            But the story doesn’t end with a life gone haywire, with your sin or mine taking us down and hurting others in the process. Like the story of Adam and Eve, you may suspect your story is all about sin and punishment. But you see, it’s really a story of God’s love. Because even when the first humans have gone astray in a big way, God still walks through the garden in the cool of the evening and calls for them: “Where are you?” That’s not a threat. It’s an invitation, to them and to you. 

            “Where are you?” Come out, come out, wherever you are… come out of hiding. Forget those scratchy fig leaves. God’s got new clothes for you so you can dance again. Try them on and set out once again to be God’s partner in every little thing you do. You won’t succeed every time. But you get the same forever promise that Adam and Eve got: God will never walk off the dance floor. So relax, and let ’em see you dance!

            Amen.