Coiled around a high branch in the center of the Garden, the snake studies the man and his wife closely, their heat signature held in two black and narrow slits of bottomless eyes. He is absolutely still but for a forked tongue that slips in and out of his mouth, each pass delivering to him the savory scent of his unsuspecting prey. He hungers for this couple in every way but especially for their holiness, for in their holiness is the likeness of God.
This snake is unlike any other creature in the Garden because this snake is no animal at all, but the enemy himself in the form of his true essence as manifest in the physical world. His essence is as it truly is in this place, because this is the Garden of Eden, a zone where the physical perfectly articulates the spiritual. In this place, he has no choice but to manifest as a venomous cobra, a cold-blooded constrictor, or some combination of the two.
From what heights he has fallen! The enemy was once ordained to be a guardian of heaven, the seal of perfection, a creature full of wisdom and perfect in beauty. He was adorned with precious stones on the day he was created. He was blameless in his ways until “wickedness was found in him.” His heart became proud on account of his beauty. Self-indulgence corrupted his wisdom. Intoxicated with pride, the mantra of his heart so became:
“I will ascend to the heavens;
I will raise my throne above the stars of God;
I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly,
I will ascend above the tops of the clouds;
I will make myself like the Most High.”
He recognizes that the created world is the sole avenue by which he can achieve his aims. But God has given the dominion of the world to man (Genesis 1:26). The snake cannot seize it; he can merely receive it if man chooses to give it over. The snake is not afraid of a bet; he has already taken a few himself. He bets now that man is gullible enough to give away all dominion of the earth. As he beholds this man and his wife on their first full day of existence––they are giggling and splashing naked in a shallow riverbed––more and more he likes his odds.
As the Sabbath Day goes on, he watches from a distance and takes notes. He sees that the man and his wife are invited to eat freely from any tree they choose, and there are miles upon miles of fruitful trees from which to eat. The variety of options exemplify the diversity of choice within God’s blessing. So long as they eat from the buffet that God has prepared, they will feast forever in true freedom, exercising their free-will every day without end.
There is but one prohibition: the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. This tree is expressly off-limits. God warned Adam in no uncertain terms: “...you must not eat from the Tree of Knowledge, for when you eat of it you will surely die” (Genesis 2:17). The tree itself (though off-limits) is still a good tree. After all, it was seeded on Day 3 of creation, and at the end of Day 3, God looked at everything He had made and called it good. The forbidden tree contributes a special dynamic to the Garden. It is like the surprising radical that makes the whole equation for free-will balance out in the end. Without this variable, humanity is a bride locked away inside her husband’s castle. Without free-will in place she cannot leave, and if she is not allowed to leave, the framework of genuine love and relationship cannot exist. But having the freedom to leave––coupled with the bride’s choosing to stay––that expresses meaningful commitment on her part, and the mutual trust invested by both parties. As it’s been said: to have the freedom to say yes, one must also have the freedom to say no.
But to say no to the source of life is problematic. To say no to God is to stray from Life. It is to sin and accept the slavery associated with the fear of death (Hebrews 2:15). Thus, the freedom to eat from the Tree of Knowledge is the freedom to sell away your freedom. It’s the end of freedom, as it were. So God prohibits the tree because he wants the very best for humanity. He forbids it to protect your freedom, yet He includes it to protect your freedom to choose.
What’s even more, God plants the Tree of Knowledge boldly! He sets it down in the center of the Garden! He doesn’t set it in some far-off corner; He doesn’t hide it behind some Truman-Show-like barrier. It’s not the hard-to-find Shrub of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Instead, it’s the distinguished Tree of Knowledge standing counter to the Tree of Life itself, all other trees being placed on their periphery. It’s God’s declaring to man: if you want to leave, you have the right to do so. If you choose to venture beyond My presets, by all means have it your way. I’m not afraid to leave the door unlocked. You are my Beloved, and your partnership with Me with this ministry is a choice that you must make for yourself every single day. I am not afraid of your free-will.
The Tree of Knowledge represents opportunity to the serpent. Whereas God views it as man’s way out, the enemy views it as his way in. So the snake stations himself among its branches. He trains his eyes on the man and his wife from a special vantage point atop the tree. As he watches them, he beholds the image and likeness of God, a sight which makes drool slip between his fangs. He knows, though, that today is not the opportune time to strike. He will wait until the Sabbath ends.
Currently there is no sin and death in the world. Man still holds the key to the world; he has not yet opened the door to darkness, so sin and death have not crossed its threshold. But sin and death do exist within the enemy. Within the enemy, already there is separation from God; already there is the authorship of evil. So long as these stay contained within the enemy, their effects will do no harm to man. Sin and death will remain like a venom unreleased, a toxic agent never activated in the world.
To be clear: the enemy’s fate is already bound to sin and death. No longer is he the seal of perfection; no longer is he blameless in heavenly splendor. Now he manifests as a serpent because that form best articulates his fallen essence. Sin and death being in him, he will make the most of what he has. He will weaponize death to his advantage, and he will utilize his mouth to pass the toxin.
The serpent has but one original idea: the idea that words can differ from intention. The outside doesn’t have to match the inside. Using this dark discovery to his advantage, he will use his words to convey a beautiful message. He’s come for man’s sake. He is an advocate for human rights. Being so considerate, he will reveal what God has been keeping from them. That is, that the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge offers not death but freedom! It’s the pathway to enlightenment, knowing good and evil. It’s the chance to be like God! After all, they are created to be like God, right?
The more truth you can mix with a falsehood, the better the falsehood sells.
With his strategy prepared, the snake slithers downward at nightfall. His tongue slides in and out, its fork foreboding a cosmic split which his tongue will soon inspire. He takes a tactical position upon the tree’s lowest branch. He will wait here until morning. He is optimistic and starving.
The galaxies fade as morning dawns in the Garden of Eden. A mist goes up from the ground to water the vegetation. The man and his wife awaken to a cacophony of new sounds that cascade from the lush greenery encircling them. What’s for breakfast? Some fruit from the Tree of Life. When they bite into it, they feel a surge of energy, a pulse of eternity, entering every fiber of their being. Having been created in the image of God they were made to be immortal. Via the Tree of Life, they connect to the everlasting. Without death and sin, they are naked but they feel no shame.
It is Day 8 and they are eager to begin their ministry in the Garden. They are eager to go and walk through the Garden in every direction, knowing that wherever they set their feet, that land will be theirs. But then, just before the two of them get going, a whisper from the mist catches their attention.
The serpent speaks. He targets the woman because, if his calculations are correct, she is the glory of man (as 1 Corinthians 1:13 will confirm). If he can compromise the woman––the crown of God’s great creation––then the man who is enamored with her will follow suit. Besides that, the enemy has a sweet tooth, and there is something especially delectable about her holiness.
The serpent’s first words to her––his first recorded words in history––are off-key. Literally.
“Aph kiy-amar elohim lotokh’lu miKol etz ha’gan?” That is, “Has God indeed said you shall not eat of every tree of the Garden?
“Aph kiy...” he begins, the words that launch the serpent’s attack. These Hebrew words are phonetically identical to “off-key” in English. A linguistic coincidence for sure, but nevertheless instructive because everything the enemy says is a measure off-key.
To elaborate, when an instrument––a piano, for instance––is played by itself, it may sound perfectly in tune when actually it is off-key. This is because the instrument is tuned to itself, meaning each string inside the piano is tuned relative to the other parts of the same piano. Our ear is therefore betrayed into thinking it is properly tuned. But the truth will be heard when that piano is played alongside an orchestra performing at concert pitch. Concert pitch is the standard pitch to which all musical instruments are tuned for a performance. It is the universal frequency at which all instruments are supposed to play. As other instruments tuned to concert pitch begin to play, that piano––which once sounded so lovely––will sound painfully out of place with the orchestra. And so it is with the serpent’s words. When heard in isolation they sound in tune with truth, but when brought before the orchestra of God’s Word, the disharmony is abruptly obvious.
Apart from this orchestra, the serpent’s opening question makes its way to the human race. And after hearing the woman’s response, the enemy knows it is done. He’s already got her.
The woman says, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’”
Eve misquotes the commandment. God did not say you must not touch the forbidden fruit. Prior to Eve’s creation, God told Adam, “...of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you will surely die” (Genesis 2:17). He mentions nothing about touching the tree. So where does Eve get this extra information from?
She got it from Adam! When Adam passed it down to her, this thing about making no contact with the tree was Adam’s addition to God’s Word. Adam, with good intentions, had “built a fence around the Torah” (Ethics of the Fathers 1:1) so as to guard the law from being trespassed. But the addition––when not properly rooted and understood––confuses tradition with commandment. Here the lines blur, and in that blur the enemy finds a foothold. The serpent now realizes: all he has to do is get her to touch the fruit, and in that “sinful” moment, she will find that nothing bad happens. She will then doubt the commandment has any teeth, and she will find enough confidence to step out of the boat.
The serpent smiles inwardly. “You will not certainly die,” he replies. His reptile body tightens around the bottom branch that props him up. “For God knows that when you eat it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”
You’re missing out is the thrust of his temptation, the unspoken hook of his sales pitch. And now he stops selling. He knows that, at this point, whoever speaks first loses. Salesmen are taught this: to keep quiet after delivering the close. So the serpent holds his tongue. He stays confident and watches the woman’s eyes as curiosity calls them upward. Halfway up, the tree and its foliage recedes into the mist, giving it the appearance of a bridge reaching into the heavens. It’s perfect; the product sells itself! The snake lets the product take the lead and do the talking.
Everything he told her is factual. Upon eating the fruit, her eyes will indeed be opened to knowing good and evil. And, as he promised, she will not die! At least in a certain sense, because she will go on living for hundreds of years after the fruit is consumed. It goes to show that the words of the salesman serpent are factually accurate in and of themselves. This is a telling insight. It is why his pitch is so often convincing. He laces his lies with facts. But facts can be misleading and off-key. Facts can be untruthful.
In truth, the forbidden fruit will send Eve on a path that veers away from Life. The process of death will begin this very day. Her eyes will be opened to knowing good and evil, but in truth she will go blind to the spiritual realm, to the very light which emanates from her body. Her entire perception of the world will itself become off-key to the heavenly reality she has heretofore known in the Garden. Reality will bifurcate. A split will occur between reality as God intended it versus reality as she experiences it. In truth, her eyes will be more shut than opened, and she will surely die. Of course, hindsight is 20/20. Gazing up at the tree now, she isn’t considering the downside anymore.
The woman concludes the fruit of the tree is “good for food.” But no, more than edible it is delicious––“pleasing to the eye.” But no, more than enticing it is edifying––“desirable to make one wise.” She looks over at her husband and he is silent. He makes no objection, no show of masculinity, no “hold on a second.” Here occurs the man’s failure: a relinquishing of delegated authority. His failure to act will be mankind’s first sin.
Eve’s attention returns to the tree. Reaching upward, she tears a piece of fruit from the branch. Ah ha! The serpent here has his victory moment. It is akin to a customer taking up the pen to sign the order. It’s over. It’s done. Someone pop the Champagne! Cradling the fruit in her hand, she sees that nothing happens. She thinks she’s already transgressed the commandment yet she observes no change, no consequence. She now doubts the commandment altogether. Without any reluctance, she pulls it in and takes a bite.
She is greeted with a momentary euphoria, sin’s pay-off, a temporary high. But she doesn’t have time to describe it, for within a moment, the Garden adheres to the truth of the matter. Her light goes out. The incandescence of her being powers down, level after level, a nauseating free fall, a generator gassing out. Startled, she turns and squints into the light of her husband as he stares back at her in disbelief. Although she is right beside him, suddenly they are worlds apart.
Crossing the chasm from her world to his, she proffers the fruit to him. In so doing, departure from God is plated with increasing appeal: from a tree’s thoughtless branch to a beloved wife’s open palm. It is harder to resist...
The man is not deceived because the truth has been revealed. The man knows exactly what will happen if he eats the fruit because he just saw his wife undergo a wilting transformation. He is now faced with a difficult decision: he either refuses the fruit (which separates him from his wife) or he accepts the fruit because it’s not a paradise if she is absent from it.
The man takes and eats the fruit, and crash lands on the other side.
With his joining her, their eyes are both opened. First comes shame as they scrutinize one another, their connection diminished, their light extinguished, their rawness in full view. But shame is pushed aside by fear when they turn and behold the enemy for the first time. With new awareness, they perceive an evil so tangible and sinister that they flee from it (like Moses will do in Exodus 4:3). They don’t stop running from the serpent until they are deep in the jungle of Eden. Little do they realize, evil and its inclination goes right along with them.
As for the serpent himself, he doesn’t even begin to chase them. He is far too full for that! Having consumed their holiness as his main dish, their fear as his dessert, he is bloated and swollen beyond recognition. So much to digest! For now, he meanders with lazy movements up the trunk of the Tree of Knowledge, its top well above the fog line. Once there he takes in the view, a glutton king surveying his newly-acquired territory, the sun quietly coming up behind him.
* * *
The man arises from the water of the Jordan. The Spirit of God descends like a dove upon him, like Noah’s final dove finding a place to land, finally. The people nearby are astonished when a voice from above bellows, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” The man upon whom the Spirit now rests is Jesus. He is the Son of God, the last Adam (Luke 3:38, 1 Corinthians 15:45). He is about to begin his ministry on earth. But before he begins, he knows what he has to do.
Venturing out like a trapper, Jesus disappears into the wilderness. Alone, he makes himself the bait. He lets himself wither into a thing very weak, fasting for 40 consecutive days. He senses the serpent watching him from a distance, monitoring his strength as it dwindles week after week. 20 days go by. 30 days go by. By Day 40, Jesus is very near the limit of human capacity, 35 pounds lighter than when he began (source). Having gone 40 days without food, Jesus can barely stand. He slips in and out of consciousness. The line between what is and isn’t blurs. The enemy sees an edge and deems the time is right. In full strength the snake emerges from hiding and strikes.
Having been loosed from the Garden, the enemy has gained a new power, an ability to manipulate the way in which he is perceived by man. When the outside doesn’t reflect the inside––when something isn’t what it seems––a mockery of God’s design is done. But in his post-Garden spending-spree, the enemy cashes in on this liberty without end, oftentimes prowling around like a roaring lion (1 Peter 5:8). Today he dawns a different mask to buy and sell the performance.
The enemy likes to mock what is holy and good. So, out here in the wilderness, the tempter approaches Jesus not as a snake but as someone Jesus already knows and trusts: a rabbi from his youth, a friend of his father’s, an old man with bushy eyebrows and a warm smile. When Jesus notices the rabbi approaching, Jesus isn’t sure if he is seeing another memory come to life or if, perhaps, the enemy has finally arrived.
The old, familiar rabbi seats himself across from Jesus. Seeing Jesus being so drawn and emaciated, a look of concern comes over the rabbi’s face. He speaks up for Jesus’ sake. He says, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.” Jesus look! These stones are good for food. It’s a fact that, if you’re the Son of God, you can turn these rocks into bread! So why are you doing this to yourself, my son?
Tuning his thoughts to concert pitch, Jesus responds with a verse from Deuteronomy (Deuteronomy 8:3): “It is written, ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God.’”
The rabbi looks away, disgusted.
Did he not wait not long enough? Still, the enemy knows what Jesus desires more than food. Jesus wants his people to recognize the truth. The enemy, knowing this and seeing Jesus in his weakened state, remains seated. The advantage is not lost. Not a word is said for a long while, the two of them in total quiet except for an ever-present howl of wind ripping between the arid mountains. Jesus, slumped against a large stone, eventually lays his head back. He struggles to stay coherent and awake, but his mind is adrift. His eyelids are heavy. His focus is in and out. The rabbi’s bushy eyebrows are the last thing he sees before everything fades to black.
His eyes shoot open. Abruptly alert, Jesus finds himself in the middle of Jerusalem! He is perched high above a crowd of hundreds of people. He is peering down at them from the pinnacle of the Temple. It is from this position that the priest would regularly watch and wait for dawn, eager to give the signal that would commence the Temple services, the morning sacrifice set to occur exactly at sunrise. This position at the pinnacle of the Temple is a place of anticipation, a place of new beginnings. Jesus knows this intuitively as he beholds the setting that surrounds him.
Now there is standing beside him a man dressed in the holy garments of a Levitical priest. The priest stretches his hand out as if to invite Jesus to step forward. He says, “If you are the Son of God, jump off! For the Scriptures say, ‘He will order his angels to protect you. And they will hold you up with their hands so you won’t even hurt your foot on a stone.’”
If, in fact, you are the Son of God, show your people! Show them who you are in a way they would understand! They are expecting a Messiah, after all. Malachi 3:1 foretells of His coming here, and here you are! At a station of anticipation and new beginnings. Step forth and be carried down by angels; be proclaimed Messiah! It’s perfect; it’s poetic; it’s pleasing. Jesus, it’s what you want. Don’t miss this opportunity. Shortcuts still get you to the destination.
The enemy quotes Scripture to bolster the temptation. The passage he references is from Psalm 91, a well known Messianic psalm. Verses 11, 12 & 14 read this way:
For [the Lord] will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. “Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
Did you catch the omission? Jesus sure did. The referenced passage is missing a verse, verse 13. It reads, “You will tread on the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent.”
The priest’s redaction rings out to Jesus. Calling up
Deuteronomy 6:16, Jesus turns to the enemy and, looking him square in the eyes, says, “It is written, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God on trial.’”
The priest draws back his right shoulder, his hand poised to slap Jesus across the face. Jesus winces, bracing for impact, but the strike doesn’t come as he expected. Instead, the man’s hand swipes the whole scene into oblivion. Jesus is hit not by a hand but by a blast of cold wind that ices his sun-burnt face.
Jesus has been transported to the summit of a colossal mountain, its flanks so steep and rigid that a man could not climb them. He shares the summit with someone else, the sight of whom would bring an lesser man to his knees. In front of Jesus, buttressed by mighty wings on the right and left, adorned with precious stones of every color, towers a Goliath archangel whose splendor and radiance transcend anything the earth could produce. This striking angel holds a pose that accentuates his most stunning and wonderful features. When he looks down his nose at Jesus, he does so with surprise, for the emaniciated man seems unimpressed.
The angel directs Jesus’ attention to the edge of the mountaintop. Jesus accepts the direction and together they walk to the edge. It is here that Jesus’ breath is taken away, for beyond the dizzying drop-off––far, far below––is a scene so captivating it is difficult to describe.
Draped over the landscape is history distilled into a single moment. All the kingdoms of earth are represented. Stretching as far as the eye can see, they light up the sky. Each kingdom portrayed in its highest grandeur: Greece at its greatest; Rome in its prime; Persia at its best; China in its fullness; Britain at its zenith; the United States with its towering skyscrapers; first century Israel with His beloved Jerusalem. It’s all there: past, present, and future.
Cast in the glow of this glorious summation of world history, the angel lets Jesus take it in. The angel pretends to look too, but he has frankly grown accustomed to this view. Besides, the kingdom he covets most is not included in this panorama. The kingdom he covets remains safeguarded within the thin frame of the man standing beside him. This kingdom the angel eyes secretly.
He pivots toward Jesus as Jesus continues to survey the billions of people below. The angel sees their reflection in Jesus’ eyes. He is reminded of the way the light reflected in Eve’s eyes when she beheld the beauty of the Tree of Knowledge. The enemy smiles and speaks just above a whisper. “All these things I will give You,” he says, adding, “if You fall down and worship me.”
The temptation is legitimate. Jesus knows that the kingdoms of the earth are the enemy’s to give. The enemy has the authority to offer them. He acquired such power when man handed it over to him. The exchange occurred in the Garden...
God gave man dominion over all living creatures, and He commanded man to subdue the earth––to govern it (Genesis 1:28). Man’s authority was thereby established, his ruling over the earth and over all living creatures. But, when man ate the forbidden fruit, he succumbed to the will of the enemy. What occurred, then, was a trade off: the enemy gave what he had to man (the feeling of being like God) and man gave what he had to the enemy (control of the whole world). So came the dominion which the enemy––the “prince of this world” (John 14:30)––now presents to Jesus, legitimately.
The enemy wants to make another trade. The enemy will give Jesus control of the whole world if Jesus will submit and worship him in return. If Jesus bows down and worships him, the enemy effectively becomes the Most High, and thereby achieves his greatest desire and satisfies the mantra of his heart! The enemy is trading up: from feeling like God to being God! It’s an astounding progression if he can pull it off. But of course, the enemy holds his cards close to his chest. He doesn’t show his desperation.
“All these things I will give You, if You fall down and worship me,” the angel says to Jesus. Underneath his calm demeanor, the enemy screams: “Jesus, no one will notice! It’s just you and me out here! I’m offering you the deal of a thousand lifetimes! The course of the world––up for sale! You can have it; you can rule it as you see fit! It’s yours, if you’ll simply do the smallest action in this private place. Your whole body is aching to lay down anyway. Come on, isn’t my offer desirable?”
No terrorism. No holocaust. No inquisition. No crucifixion. Jesus shuts his eyes and the world’s brilliance ceases to reach to his pupils. When his eyelids pull back, his eyes are illuminated from the inside, by the light of God’s Word. Jesus turns to the angel of light and answers with a verse from Deuteronomy (8:3). “It is written,” he says, “‘You shall worship the Lord your God and serve Him only.’”
The angel’s countenance falls through his feet and tumbles down the mountainside. He knows there’s nowhere left to go; he’s heightened the temptations as high as he can take them. And still, despite the odds, Jesus––this man of God––has prevailed.
There is a sudden whirl and Jesus lowers his head to avoid being disoriented. When he raises it up, he finds himself slumped against a rock on the desert floor. The sun is going down; the stars are coming out. Across from him is a man with the eyes of a serpent. The man is staring back at Jesus, motionless and crouching down. His expression is solemn and intense. No words are spoken. Jesus coughs once, twice, and the man is gone.
Jesus, now left to the birds and the wild animals, is in a dangerous situation. His weakened body is all but paralyzed; his mind is unsteady and spent. He is starving and bordering death. If God doesn’t rescue him somehow, he will die right here in this vast and unforgiving wilderness. He is not demanding an angelic dispatch, nor expecting it, but their appearance at his remote location is more than welcomed. They come and attend to him (Matthew 4:11), pulling him back from the brink of death.
With the enemy’s departure, the showdown between the best of man and the worst of heaven would seem to be over. But the curtains have not yet closed. A cryptic verse from Luke 4:13 states, “...when the devil had finished every temptation, he left Jesus until an opportune time.” This opportune time will not arrive until later, when Jesus (again delirious, again very near death) hangs on the cross. The enemy, then speaking through those in the crowd, calls out, “If you are the Son of God, come down from that cross!” (Matthew 27:40).
Recollect the temptations: “If you are the Son of God...” “If you are the Son of God...” and now: “If you are the Son of God, come down from that cross!” This is the fourth great temptation, the opportune time that the snake has been waiting for. But this time, Jesus’ response is quite different than before.
In the wilderness, Jesus relied on the Torah to do battle. There are five books in the Torah he could have chosen from, but a single book––Deuteronomy––was enough to put down the enemy.
In another great showdown, David went against Goliath at the end of 40 days. David “chose five smooth stones from the brook and put them in his shepherd’s pouch. His sling was in his hand, and he approached the Philistine . . . David put his hand in his bag and took out a stone and slung it and struck the Philistine on his forehead. The stone sank into his forehead, and he fell on his face to the ground” (1 Samuel 17:40, 49).
David relied on these stones to do battle with Goliath. There were five stones in his bag he could have chosen from, but a single stone was enough to put down the enemy.
But there again, the showdown wasn’t over yet. After dropping him with a single stone, David stood over Goliath and drew Goliath’s sword out of its sheath. Using Goliath’s own weapon against him, David cut off Goliath’s head.
In like manner, Jesus now responds. Hanging on the cross, he looks down at the enemy. Before this, he had struck down the enemy with a single book, but now Jesus will use something else to finalize his victory. Death is drawn up into his hands. Using the enemy’s own weapon against him, Jesus dies on the cross––and with that death, he crushes the serpent’s head.
