Sermon by Tom Are Jr. | February 9, 2025 | Fourth Presbyterian Church

Fifth Sunday after Epiphany
February 9, 2025

I Have a Better Idea

Tom Are Jr.
Interim Pastor

Philippians 2:5–11
Genesis 3:1–21

It is said that Dr. Karl Barth, an elite theologian of the twentieth century, was once asked, “Dr. Barth, how can you trust a book with a talking snake?” To which Barth replied, “As to whether or not the snake could talk I have no interest or concern; I am only interested in what the snake said.” As am I.

This is no ordinary story. It is a story of trees that have powers, a snake that talks, and a God who loses her children in the garden like a parent loses track of a toddler in a department store. It is a story of Eve, the mother of us all. Not in a genetic sense, but in a spiritual sense. She shows up in us all.

Theologians who read these stories as history often refer to this as the story of the fall. God created the world good. But anyone who pays attention knows this good world is also broken, as are we all.

So the theological historians say things were great until Eve ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. And once she did that, well, things were irrevocably broken, no going back, can’t get the toothpaste back in the tube. We can all wish Eve hadn’t been hungry that day.

This is an attractive reading, because this way this is a story about a couple people a long time ago but it’s not about us. Once they are caught, they start blaming everyone else. Eve blames the snake. Adam blames both Eve and God, actually. Well, the church has been doing that for generations. It was Eve’s fault. The world fell apart on that Tuesday afternoon when she had to have a snack. Everything would have been perfect if Eve had just shown some dietary restraint.

It’s the fall.

Well, I think reading this story as the fall, as a moment in time when the world moved from paradise to sinfulness, is terrible theology. This is not about a moment that happened long ago; this is about every moment. This is not about the actions of the first persons; this is a story about every person.

Which means, like Dr. Barth, we should pay attention to what the woman said, and what the man said, and what the snake said. In Dr. Kris Kvam’s book, Eve and Adam, she points out that interpreting the serpent as Satan is really a post-biblical interpretation. In the ancient world, serpents were symbols of many things, including life, death, fertility, and even wisdom (Kris Kvam, Eve and Adam, p. 32). The serpent is not described as evil but crafty.

The serpent asks, “Did God say, you shall not eat from any tree in the garden?”It’s worth noting that there is nothing in the story to suggest that the woman is surprised that in God’s garden serpents have the gift of speech. She engages the conversation. But the serpent is crafty. As Tom Long has said, everything the serpent says is “kind of true,” in the same way many television commercials and product warranties and press releases are “kind of true” (Tom Long, Testimony, p. 95). That is unless they are completely false. God didn’t say you can’t eat anything; God said eat this, don’t eat that; if you do, you will die.

I love how clear the will of God is here. It’s not always that clear, is it? But here the word of God is clear: eat any of this; don’t eat that. If you do, you will die.

The snake says, “You will not die.” God has just told you that because, if you eat of the forbidden tree, you will be as wise as God. You will know good and evil.

Knowing good and evil seems like a good idea. Why wouldn’t God want us to know what’s good and what’s evil. We just celebrated baptism a few moments ago. These parents know it’s their responsibility to teach their children what is good and what is evil. That’s a good thing. So why is God afraid of our knowing good and evil?

When our kids were small, we lived on a rather busy street corner, so we had to teach them that they couldn’t play in the street. That was the rule. You could play in the yard, but you can’t play in the street. Play here, don’t play there, for if you do, you will die. (I didn’t tell them that part, but the truth is that’s what I was worried about.) The street was a dangerous place. The rule wasn’t arbitrary. It’s not like you can’t leave the table without trying the Brussels sprouts, or you have to finish your homework before playing outside. Those are good rules, but don’t play in the street is different. It speaks to the reality of the world: the street is a dangerous place.

But rules can be broken, and for one of my children — and I’m not going to tell you which one, because I wouldn’t want to embarrass my son — but one of my children seemed to delight in breaking this rule. This drove me crazy, because you can break the rule and play in the street, but what he didn’t have the power to do was to make the street a safe place. The rule isn’t arbitrary; it defines reality.

If I understand the text, God says, “I am telling you what is real. I am telling you how to live.” But Adam and Eve believe they know better: “I know God just told us we can’t play in the street, but I think it’s OK.” This is what I mean.

The serpent says, “God said you will die, but you will not die. No, you will be like God and be wise.” And when she 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 —oh, I know God said this is a bad tree, but look, it’s really good. That’s when they eat. But eating wasn’t the real sin. It’s assuming the creature knows more than the creator — that’s the sin.

I think this is the universal human action. We seldom do bad things. No, we justify why our actions are good and then we do them. Before she eats, she redefines what is good and what is evil.

God may say this is evil, but she knows better than God. She is saying, “You say children can’t play in the street, but I say the ball bounces better here than in the yard. I will determine what is good and what is evil.”

And the serpent proved right; when we do that, we take the place of God.

But we are often more subtle than that. We don’t deny the way of God. We just justify why it doesn’t apply in the moment or apply to me like it does to others.

I was in Starbucks, and the line was long. I had worked my way near the front, but the guy in front of me was ordering for a family reunion or his high school class or something. It took forever. Grande latte with oat milk. A grande Frappuchino with two packets of raw sugar. A tall skinny latte with chili. He was going on and on and I was thinking, “When you are ordering for thirty-five you really should call ahead. To take this much time is just rude.”

I was thinking how rude he was and was grateful that I’m not rude like that. Oh, I have a bad day sometimes, but that’s different. I am under stress sometimes, but that’s not the same. I am in a hurry sometimes. I’ve not been my best self sometimes, but I’m not rude.

You hear it?

I don’t do evil. Other people are rude, but I have special circumstances.

Why do we do this? Read the Bible from cover to cover and you come face-to-face with the reality that we are self-centered. That is the biggest struggle for human beings. In a speech given in 2005 David Foster Wallace said, “Everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute center of the universe. … We rarely think about this sort of natural, basic self-centeredness because it’s so socially repulsive. But it’s pretty much the same for all of us. … Think about it: there is no experience you have had that you are not the absolute center of” (David Foster Wallace quoted in David Brooks, The Road to Character, p. 10).

Jesus says, “Let me tell you how to live in God’s garden: love your neighbor because your neighbor matters as much as you do.” I nod at that teaching. I agree with that teaching, but when push comes to shove, I assume I am more important than my neighbor. Now I don’t want to say that out loud, so I construct my reasons. I am more important because I am not a rude person. I am more responsible. I’m better educated. I am an American. I am a Presbyterian. You hear what I am doing: I am saying, “I know what God says, but that fruit is good for food, a delight to the eyes, and will make me wise. I hear you God, but I have a better idea.”

I will create my own rules for good and evil. And they will always benefit me.

We are celebrating Black History Month here at Fourth Church. That’s a bit more countercultural than it used to be. Some are saying we should not lift up some folks over others, even if we have a long history of putting some folks below others; we should be a nation of merit.

Merit is a good thing. Talent and discipline and hard work are good things. But we should not forget the universal temptation to self-centeredness. And when self-centeredness is accompanied with power, then it can be dangerous.

So I wonder if this appeal to merit really says, “Look it is good for food and a delight to the eyes and desired to make one wise.”

The thing about our justifications for evil is they only take us so far, because God has told us what is good and real and true, and I think deep down we know.

To thrive in God’s world, in God’s garden, we need to remember the promise of our baptism, which is I am a child of God, but I am not God. I can pretend that I determine what is good and what is evil; I can pretend that I define what is ultimately right and what is ultimately wrong; I can pretend, but I can’t make it so. Because God has determined what is real and true and good.

And deep down I know it. No matter how much I try to tell myself otherwise, deep down, way down where God’s word whispers with honesty in my soul, I know, we all know, what God has said is good, don’t we?

Notes

I do not remember where I have heard the Karl Barth story about the snake, and I am not certain that the details are correct, but I have maintained the point of the story, even if details