Coiled around a high branch in the center of the Garden the snake studies the man and his wife, their heat signature held in the narrow slits of his black eyes. He is absolutely still but for a forked tongue that slips in and out of his mouth, each pass delivering to him the scent of his unsuspecting prey. He hungers for this couple, the first human beings. But it is, more specifically, their holiness that fires his appetite, 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 most fundamental essence. His essence is revealed in the Garden of Eden because Eden is a zone wherein physical reality perfectly articulates the spiritual reality unpinning it. In this place, the enemy has no choice but to manifest as a cold-blooded snake, some mix between a viper with a venomous bite and a cobra ready to encircle and strangulate its prey.
From what heights he has fallen! The enemy was once ordained to be a guardian of heaven. He was the seal of perfection, one 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 (Ezekiel 28:11-17). Self-indulgence corrupted his wisdom. Intoxicated with pride, the mantra of his heart so became:
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 most fundamental essence. His essence is revealed in the Garden of Eden because Eden is a zone wherein physical reality perfectly articulates the spiritual reality unpinning it. In this place, the enemy has no choice but to manifest as a cold-blooded snake, some mix between a viper with a venomous bite and a cobra ready to encircle and strangulate its prey.
From what heights he has fallen! The enemy was once ordained to be a guardian of heaven. He was the seal of perfection, one 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 (Ezekiel 28:11-17). Self-indulgence corrupted his wisdom. Intoxicated with pride, the mantra of his heart so became:
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.”
(Isaiah 14:13-14)
He recognizes that the created world is the sole avenue by which he can achieve his aims. Because God gave the dominion of earth to man, the snake can merely receive it from man if man will relinquish it. The snake is betting that man is gullible enough to take his bait. As he beholds this man and his wife on their first full day of existence––they are playfully laughing and splashing in a shallow riverbed on the Sabbath––more and more he likes his odds.
As the Sabbath 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 choose. The variety of options exemplify the diversity of choice within God’s blessing. So long as they eat from the open buffet that God has prepared for them, 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. It is the radical that makes this free-will equation work. Without it, humanity is a bride locked inside her husband’s castle. Because, is in any love relationship, the worth of yes is contingent on the freedom to pass on it. The Tree of Knowledge is God granting man the freedom to say no so that a real and true love relationship has a leg to stand on.
God is bold and unafraid. He showcases the Tree of Knowledge in the center of the Garden. He doesn’t set it in some far-off corner; He doesn’t hide it behind some massive boulder. It’s not the hard-to-find Shrub of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Rather, it’s the distinguished Tree of Knowledge standing counter to the distinguished Tree of Life, with all other trees relegated to their periphery. Giving it such prime real estate is God’s way of telling man: if you want to leave, you have every right to do so. The castle door is unlocked. The decision to stay is yours.
To the serpent the Tree of Knowledge represents a salacious opportunity, so he stations himself among its branches. He trains his eyes on the man and his wife and, as he watches them, he beholds the image and likeness of God, a sight which makes him salivate.
The snake slithers downward at nightfall, his long body weaving between the branches. His tongue goes in and out, its forked tip foreboding a split which his tongue will soon inspire. He settles into a strategic position upon the tree’s lowest branch. With excitement, he waits until morning.
Less than a day later his victory over man is complete. Having consumed their holiness as his main dish, their fear as his dessert, he is bloated and swollen beyond previous size. There is so much to digest! For now, he meanders back up the Tree of Knowledge, its highest branches well above the fog line. Reaching its highest perch, he takes in the view of the Garden like a glutton king surveying his newly acquired territory. At the same time, the sun comes up behind him.
The man arises from the water of the Jordan. The Spirit of God descends like Noah’s final dove and lands, finally. The people around him are astonished when a voice from the sky bellows, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” The new world upon whom the Spirit now rests is a man named Jesus. He is the Son of God, the last Adam. He is at the cusp of 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 become very weak, fasting for 40 consecutive days. He senses the serpent watching him from a distance. The serpent studies him day after day as if to monitor his strength as it dwindles week after week. 20 days go by. 30 days go by. By Day 40, Jesus is very near the physical limit of human capacity, perhaps 50 pounds lighter than when he began. Having gone 40 days without food, Jesus can barely balance himself. He slips in and out of consciousness. The line between what is and what isn’t blurs. The enemy, then, sees his edge and deems that the time is right. In full strength the snake emerges from hiding and strikes in total realness.
Having been loosed from the Garden, the enemy has gained a new power: the ability to manipulate the way in which he is perceived. When the outside doesn’t reflect the inside––when something isn’t what it pretends to be––a mockery of God’s design is on display. And so, out here in the wilderness, the tempter capitalizes on such power. He approaches Jesus not in his true essence (which is that of a serpent) but as a person who 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, he isn’t sure if he is seeing a childhood memory brought to life or if, perhaps, the enemy’s delayed arrival has finally come.
The old, familiar rabbi sits down across from Jesus. Seeing Jesus so drawn and emaciated, a look of concern spreads across the rabbi’s face. He speaks up for Jesus’ sake. He pleads, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread!” In other words, Jesus, come on! You are the Son of God so turn these rocks into bread! Why are you denying your own potential, my son?
Tuning his thoughts to concert pitch, Jesus responds with a verse from Deuteronomy: “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. Was 40 days of starvation not long enough? Still, the enemy knows he has an angle; he knows what Jesus wants even more than food. He knows that Jesus most wants his people to recognize the truth. Knowing this, and seeing Jesus so weakened, the enemy remains undisturbed and seated. His advantage is not lost. For a long while, there is silence between them. The two of them remain in total quiet minus the ever-present howl of wind ripping between the arid mountains east of Israel. Jesus, slumped against a large stone wall, eventually lays his head back. He struggles to remain coherent and engaged. Inwardly his mind is adrift. His focus is blurred. The rabbi’s bushy eyebrows are the last thing he distinguishes 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, he knows, that the priest would regularly watch and wait for dawn, eager to give the signal to commence the Temple services, the morning sacrifice always set to occur precisely 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 suddenly surrounds him.
There is, standing beside him, a man dressed in the holy garments of a Levitical priest. The priest stretches out his hand as if to invite Jesus to step forward. The dignified priest 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.’” The statement conveys the following: If, in fact, you are the Son of God, then show your people! Show them who you are in a way that 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 as the Messiah! It’s perfect; it’s poetic; it’s pleasing. It accomplishes what you want. Don’t miss this opportunity, Jesus. Shortcuts get you to the goal faster.
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 it? The passage is missing a verse. Verse 13 goes unsaid because Psalm 91:13 reads, “You will tread on the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent.”
The redaction is not missed by a master-rabbi. Jesus, calling up Deuteronomy 6:16 in response, turns to the enemy in priestly garments and says, “It is written, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God on trial.’”
The priest raises his shoulder with a hand poised to slap Jesus across the face. It comes in quickly and Jesus winces, bracing for impact. But instead of swiping his face, 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 overwhelms his sun-burnt face.
He has been transported to the summit of a colossal mountain, its flanks so steep and rigid that a man could not scale them. Jesus sees that he shares the summit with someone else, the sight of whom would bring a lesser man to his knees. In front of Jesus towers a magnificent archangel buttressed on both sides by mighty wings. He is adorned with precious stones of every color, his splendor and radiance transcending the limits of the physical world. This goliath angel, tall, scary and striking, holds a pose that accentuates his most stunning and wonderful features. When the angel looks down his nose at Jesus, he does so with surprise for the man, this man, seems unimpressed.
The supposed angel of light directs Jesus to the edge of the mountaintop. Jesus accepts the invitation and together they walk to the ledge. It is here that Jesus’ breath is taken away, for beyond the dizzying drop-off is a scene so captivating that 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 is portrayed in its highest grandeur: Greece with its columns; Rome with its roads; Persia with its statues; Arabia with its mathematics; China with its longevity; Great Britain with its sails; Central America with its towering temples; the United States with its towering skyscrapers; first century Israel with His beloved Jerusalem. It’s all there: past, present, and future.
Their two figures, cast in the glow of this glorious summation of world history, stand in mutual silence. The angel lets Jesus take it in. The angel pretends to look too, but he has quite frankly grown accustomed to this view. Besides, the kingdom he covets most is not included in this panorama. The kingdom he covets most remains safeguarded within the boney frame of the lonely man standing next to him. It is the kingdom within him that the most glorious angel ever created side-eyes in total jealousy.
He turns to Jesus as Jesus continues to survey the landscape far below. Jesus remains enamored by the storylines unfolding before him. The angel sees their light animate his eyes. The enemy is reminded of the way the light reflected in Eve’s eyes when she beheld the beauty of the Tree of Knowledge. He smiles and speaks just above a whisper. “All these things I will give You,” he says. After a pause, he adds, “If You fall down and worship me.”
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 lifetime! The course of the world, up for sale! Rule it as you see fit! Simply nod while no one is watching. Your whole body is aching to lay down anyway, right?”
No terrorism. No holocaust. No inquisition. No crucifixion. Jesus shuts his eyes and the loudness of the world quiets at the core. When his eyelids pull back, his eyes are illuminated from the inside, by the light of God’s Word. Jesus turns to the goliath angel and answers with a verse from Deuteronomy. “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 and the stars are coming out. Across from him is an unfamiliar man with black eyes as slanted as a serpent’s. 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.
As the Sabbath 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 choose. The variety of options exemplify the diversity of choice within God’s blessing. So long as they eat from the open buffet that God has prepared for them, 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. It is the radical that makes this free-will equation work. Without it, humanity is a bride locked inside her husband’s castle. Because, is in any love relationship, the worth of yes is contingent on the freedom to pass on it. The Tree of Knowledge is God granting man the freedom to say no so that a real and true love relationship has a leg to stand on.
God is bold and unafraid. He showcases the Tree of Knowledge in the center of the Garden. He doesn’t set it in some far-off corner; He doesn’t hide it behind some massive boulder. It’s not the hard-to-find Shrub of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Rather, it’s the distinguished Tree of Knowledge standing counter to the distinguished Tree of Life, with all other trees relegated to their periphery. Giving it such prime real estate is God’s way of telling man: if you want to leave, you have every right to do so. The castle door is unlocked. The decision to stay is yours.
To the serpent the Tree of Knowledge represents a salacious opportunity, so he stations himself among its branches. He trains his eyes on the man and his wife and, as he watches them, he beholds the image and likeness of God, a sight which makes him salivate.
The snake slithers downward at nightfall, his long body weaving between the branches. His tongue goes in and out, its forked tip foreboding a split which his tongue will soon inspire. He settles into a strategic position upon the tree’s lowest branch. With excitement, he waits until morning.
Less than a day later his victory over man is complete. Having consumed their holiness as his main dish, their fear as his dessert, he is bloated and swollen beyond previous size. There is so much to digest! For now, he meanders back up the Tree of Knowledge, its highest branches well above the fog line. Reaching its highest perch, he takes in the view of the Garden like a glutton king surveying his newly acquired territory. At the same time, the sun comes up behind him.
* * *
The man arises from the water of the Jordan. The Spirit of God descends like Noah’s final dove and lands, finally. The people around him are astonished when a voice from the sky bellows, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” The new world upon whom the Spirit now rests is a man named Jesus. He is the Son of God, the last Adam. He is at the cusp of 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 become very weak, fasting for 40 consecutive days. He senses the serpent watching him from a distance. The serpent studies him day after day as if to monitor his strength as it dwindles week after week. 20 days go by. 30 days go by. By Day 40, Jesus is very near the physical limit of human capacity, perhaps 50 pounds lighter than when he began. Having gone 40 days without food, Jesus can barely balance himself. He slips in and out of consciousness. The line between what is and what isn’t blurs. The enemy, then, sees his edge and deems that the time is right. In full strength the snake emerges from hiding and strikes in total realness.
Having been loosed from the Garden, the enemy has gained a new power: the ability to manipulate the way in which he is perceived. When the outside doesn’t reflect the inside––when something isn’t what it pretends to be––a mockery of God’s design is on display. And so, out here in the wilderness, the tempter capitalizes on such power. He approaches Jesus not in his true essence (which is that of a serpent) but as a person who 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, he isn’t sure if he is seeing a childhood memory brought to life or if, perhaps, the enemy’s delayed arrival has finally come.
The old, familiar rabbi sits down across from Jesus. Seeing Jesus so drawn and emaciated, a look of concern spreads across the rabbi’s face. He speaks up for Jesus’ sake. He pleads, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread!” In other words, Jesus, come on! You are the Son of God so turn these rocks into bread! Why are you denying your own potential, my son?
Tuning his thoughts to concert pitch, Jesus responds with a verse from Deuteronomy: “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. Was 40 days of starvation not long enough? Still, the enemy knows he has an angle; he knows what Jesus wants even more than food. He knows that Jesus most wants his people to recognize the truth. Knowing this, and seeing Jesus so weakened, the enemy remains undisturbed and seated. His advantage is not lost. For a long while, there is silence between them. The two of them remain in total quiet minus the ever-present howl of wind ripping between the arid mountains east of Israel. Jesus, slumped against a large stone wall, eventually lays his head back. He struggles to remain coherent and engaged. Inwardly his mind is adrift. His focus is blurred. The rabbi’s bushy eyebrows are the last thing he distinguishes 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, he knows, that the priest would regularly watch and wait for dawn, eager to give the signal to commence the Temple services, the morning sacrifice always set to occur precisely 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 suddenly surrounds him.
There is, standing beside him, a man dressed in the holy garments of a Levitical priest. The priest stretches out his hand as if to invite Jesus to step forward. The dignified priest 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.’” The statement conveys the following: If, in fact, you are the Son of God, then show your people! Show them who you are in a way that 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 as the Messiah! It’s perfect; it’s poetic; it’s pleasing. It accomplishes what you want. Don’t miss this opportunity, Jesus. Shortcuts get you to the goal faster.
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 it? The passage is missing a verse. Verse 13 goes unsaid because Psalm 91:13 reads, “You will tread on the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent.”
The redaction is not missed by a master-rabbi. Jesus, calling up Deuteronomy 6:16 in response, turns to the enemy in priestly garments and says, “It is written, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God on trial.’”
The priest raises his shoulder with a hand poised to slap Jesus across the face. It comes in quickly and Jesus winces, bracing for impact. But instead of swiping his face, 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 overwhelms his sun-burnt face.
He has been transported to the summit of a colossal mountain, its flanks so steep and rigid that a man could not scale them. Jesus sees that he shares the summit with someone else, the sight of whom would bring a lesser man to his knees. In front of Jesus towers a magnificent archangel buttressed on both sides by mighty wings. He is adorned with precious stones of every color, his splendor and radiance transcending the limits of the physical world. This goliath angel, tall, scary and striking, holds a pose that accentuates his most stunning and wonderful features. When the angel looks down his nose at Jesus, he does so with surprise for the man, this man, seems unimpressed.
The supposed angel of light directs Jesus to the edge of the mountaintop. Jesus accepts the invitation and together they walk to the ledge. It is here that Jesus’ breath is taken away, for beyond the dizzying drop-off is a scene so captivating that 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 is portrayed in its highest grandeur: Greece with its columns; Rome with its roads; Persia with its statues; Arabia with its mathematics; China with its longevity; Great Britain with its sails; Central America with its towering temples; the United States with its towering skyscrapers; first century Israel with His beloved Jerusalem. It’s all there: past, present, and future.
Their two figures, cast in the glow of this glorious summation of world history, stand in mutual silence. The angel lets Jesus take it in. The angel pretends to look too, but he has quite frankly grown accustomed to this view. Besides, the kingdom he covets most is not included in this panorama. The kingdom he covets most remains safeguarded within the boney frame of the lonely man standing next to him. It is the kingdom within him that the most glorious angel ever created side-eyes in total jealousy.
He turns to Jesus as Jesus continues to survey the landscape far below. Jesus remains enamored by the storylines unfolding before him. The angel sees their light animate his eyes. The enemy is reminded of the way the light reflected in Eve’s eyes when she beheld the beauty of the Tree of Knowledge. He smiles and speaks just above a whisper. “All these things I will give You,” he says. After a pause, he adds, “If You fall down and worship me.”
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 lifetime! The course of the world, up for sale! Rule it as you see fit! Simply nod while no one is watching. Your whole body is aching to lay down anyway, right?”
No terrorism. No holocaust. No inquisition. No crucifixion. Jesus shuts his eyes and the loudness of the world quiets at the core. When his eyelids pull back, his eyes are illuminated from the inside, by the light of God’s Word. Jesus turns to the goliath angel and answers with a verse from Deuteronomy. “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 and the stars are coming out. Across from him is an unfamiliar man with black eyes as slanted as a serpent’s. 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 alone and 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 on death. If God doesn’t rescue him somehow, he will die right here in this vast and unforgiving wilderness. Jesus is neither demanding nor expecting an angelic dispatch, but their appearance at his remote location is more than welcomed. They come and attend to him, pulling him back from the brink of death.
The enemy watches from a distant mountain. He isn’t breathing; he isn’t blinking. He recognizes the angels who are ministering to Jesus, but his focus remains on Jesus alone. An hour goes by like this, until suddenly, without a flinch of movement, he disappears from the landscape. He will pay Jesus another visit. But he will wait until an opportune time presents itself (Luke 4:13).
* * *
The opportune time has arrived. Jesus (again delirious, again near death) hangs on the cross. Crowded around him is an audience of people, and among them is a strange face that Jesus recognizes. It is the enemy weaving through the crowd, his face set on Jesus as he walks across. He says nothing directly to Jesus but his voice comes out as he jeers at the Christ through anonymous characters in the crowd. They call out, “If you are the Son of God, come down from that cross!”
Jesus recollects the enemy’s temptations in the wilderness: “If you are the Son of God...” “If you are the Son of God...” and now again: “If you are the Son of God, come down from that cross!” He sees this for what it is: it is the fourth great temptation, the opportune time that the snake has been waiting for. But this time, Jesus’ response will be 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.”
David relied on those stones to do battle with Goliath. There were five stones in his bag that 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 then 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.
* * *
The serpent has no power of his own to sprout arms and legs, so he leans on the subservience of humanity to make him into the dragon he is at the end of time.
His growth doesn’t change the outcome, though. The reptile is seized and led like a criminal to the edge of the lake of fire. Its bubbling, billowing heat scorches his scaly skin as he stands at the lakefront, unable to back away. This ancient serpent––this one who shook the earth and made kingdoms tremble, this one who turned the world into a desert and destroyed its cities, this one who refused to let the captives return to their homes––hides his fear with a scowl of indignation. It will be the last mask the enemy ever wears.
The lake in front of him is churning with fire. This lake is not separation from God; it is just the opposite. It is a concentrated and uncensored experience of God’s holiness. Even death and hell will succumb to its reality! And Jesus, presently seated in full strength at the right hand of God, will sound the order.
In the seconds before his sentence is carried out, the enemy glances back at Jesus who sits enthroned above the assembly as the Most High. The two of them lock eyes one more time. And with a subtle look, Jesus signals to the serpent a farewell message: “I know you sought to feed on man’s holiness, so here, try Mine.”
The serpent is never seen again.
