Exposure
II. Exposure
God had forbidden them
to eat of the tree
of the knowledge of good and evil.
To eat was not enlightenment,
but death.
But in the quiet perfection of Eden,
an adversary slipped into paradise.
While the man stood at a distance,
the serpent drew near
to the innocent woman.
And there,
in the stillness of the garden,
a deadly conversation began—
evil speaking softly
to goodness.
The temptation was not merely
to taste a forbidden fruit.
It was to reach for what had been refused,
to take what was not given,
to eat what God had said
would kill.
And beneath the offer
was the deeper lie:
that God was not generous,
but restrictive;
not good,
but withholding;
that the One who had given them everything
was selfishly keeping something back.
Then the woman saw
that the deadly tree was good for food,
a delight to the eyes,
desired to make one wise.
Then desire outran trust.
Hands reached.
Fruit taken.
She ate.
She offered a bit to her husband,
and he dreadfully ate.
Then, in one bite,
innocence cracked.
In one act of rebellion,
peace vanished.
In one moment,
shame became the norm.
Then the eyes of both were opened—
opened not into wisdom,
but into exposure.
Opened not into glory,
but into shame.
Then they knew
that they were naked.
No shame.
No inward flinch.
No self-consciousness.
Guiltless.
Crowned with honor.
Alive in the world God made,
without fear,
without suspicion,
without a reason to hide.
Weary.
Heavy laden.
Bruised and broken by the great rebellion.
Now guilt and shame feels overwhelming.
Now the heart feels restless.
Now their own skin feels unfamiliar.
Now their own gaze feels cruel.
Now being seen feels dangerous.
Now being known feels unbearable.
Fearless before God.
Safe in their own innocence.
Satisfied in soul.
Able to bear the light
without wanting the shadows.
No longer standing free in the garden,
but shamefully searching for a hiding place
from guilt,
from shame,
from the awful realization
that something inside them
is broken.
