There’s a moment in the reading from Genesis(2:15-17;3:1-7) that always makes me think. It’s the moment just before everything seems to fall apart - Adam and Eve are standing in a garden overflowing with possibility, with beauty, abundance, freedom. God has given them everything they need, and more besides. And yet, in the middle of all that goodness, there is one tree they are told not to touch.
It’s a strange detail, isn’t it? Why put the tree there at all? Why allow the possibility of failure?
But perhaps the point is that love always involves freedom. You cannot have a real relationship without the possibility of choosing otherwise. God doesn’t create robots, God creates people. And people, as we know from our own lives, have a remarkable capacity to choose our ownthing even if that isn’t always good for us!
Back in that garden, the serpent’s question is subtle: “Did God really say…?”
It’s the kind of question that doesn’t need an answer. It simply plants doubt. It nudges Eve to look at the one thing she doesn’t have, rather than the countless things she does. And that is a very human temptation.
We can be surrounded by love, friendship, opportunity, and still find ourselves drawn to the one thing that seems withheld. We can have a life full of gifts and still fix our minds on the one frustration, the one disappointment, the one unanswered prayer. The serpent’s whisper is alive and well in us sometimes, “Surely God is holding out on you. Surely there’s something better if you just reach for it.”
And so in the garden, the fruit is taken, and eaten, and shared. And suddenly the world looks different. Their eyes are opened, but not in the way they hoped. They see their own vulnerability, their own shame, their own capacity to hurt and be hurt. They sew fig leaves together, trying to cover what they cannot fix.
It’s a story that feels ancient and modern all at once. The garden seems distant and yet aren’t there times when we want to hide away, where we feel slightly exposed or vulnerable, and where we know what it is to look at our lives and think, “How did I end up here?”
Paul, in his letter to the Romans (5.12–19) takes that ancient story and stretches it across the whole of humanity. He says that what happened in Eden is not just a moment in history - it’s a pattern. A pattern of mistrust, of turning away, of trying to live life on our own terms. A pattern that leads to brokenness, even to death - not just physical death, but the death of joy, the death of peace, the death of our sense of who we are meant to be.
But fortunately, Paul doesn’t leave us there.
“The free gift is not like the trespass,” he says….
Where Adam’s choice brought death, Jesus’obedience brings life… Where Adam’s act spread brokenness, Jesus’ act spreads healing... Where Adam’s story ends in hiding, Jesus’ story ends in resurrection…
Paul wants us to see that Jesus is not simply a teacher or a moral example. Jesus is the beginning of a new start, a new life. A new way of being human. A new way of living in relationship with God.
And that brings us to the wilderness in our gospel reading (Matthew 4: 1-11)… Before Jesus begins his public ministry, before the healings, before the parables, before the crowds, he is led by the Spirit into a place of emptiness, a place of hunger, a place where the temptations of The Garden of Eden appear again.
The devil’s voice is not so different from the serpent’s.
“If you are the Son of God…”. “If God really loves you…”. “If God is really trustworthy…”
Turn stones into bread. Throw yourself from the temple. Take the kingdoms of the world.
Each temptation is an invitation to take a shortcut- a way of being the Messiah without the cross. A way of grasping power without surrender. A way of avoiding the vulnerability of love.
But Jesus refuses. Not because he is playing a game of spiritual oneupmanship, but because he knows who he is. He knows the Father’s heart. He knows that real life, abundant life, comes not from grasping out but from trusting.
“One does not live by bread alone.” “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.” “Worship the Lord your God and serve only him.”
Where Adam snatched, Jesus lets go. Where Adam doubted, Jesus trusts. Where Adam hid, Jesus stands firm. And in that moment, the whole story begins to turn.
Lent is often considered as a season of giving things up - chocolate, wine, social media… And there’s nothing wrong with that. But the deeper invitation of Lent is not about giving things up; it’s about getting closer to God. It’s about seeing ourselves honestly, without the fig leaves. It’s about recognising the places where we have listened to the wrong voice, or reached for the wrong fruit, or tried to live life on our own terms.
Lent is a season for stepping into the wilderness - not to punish ourselves, but to rediscover who we are and whose we are.
Because the wilderness is where the noise quietens, where the false comforts fall away. The wilderness is where we learn again that God is enough.
And perhaps that’s the gently challenging question for us today: What voice are we listening to?
The serpent’s voice is still around. It says thingslike:
“You’re not enough.”
“God doesn’t really care.”
“You’d be happier if you just had that.”
“You can sort your life out on your own.”
But the voice of God sounds different. It sounds like:
“You are my beloved.”
“You are forgiven.”
“You are called.”
“You are held.”
“You are worth dying for.”
“Do not be afraid.”
Lent invites us to tune our ears to that second voice… In Genesis, Adam and Eve hide from God…. In the wilderness, Jesus stands with God…. And on the cross, Jesus is there for us.
Paul says that Jesus’ obedience - his faithfulness, his trust, his surrender - opens the door to a new kind of life. A life where we don’t have to hide anymore. A life where shame doesn’t have the last word. A life where forgiveness is not a theory but a gift. A life where we can start again.
That’s the heart of the gospel. Not “try harder.” Not “be better.” Not “fix yourself.”
But: “Come home.”
Come home to God who walks in the garden calling your name. Come home to God who meets you in the wilderness. Come home to God who, in Jesus, has undone the power of sin and death.
Maybe it means taking five quiet minutes each day to sit with God, honestly, without pretending.Maybe it means thinking of something you’ve been carrying - guilt, fear, resentment, regret - and offering it to God.
Maybe it means choosing to trust God in one small area where you’ve been trying to stay in control. Maybe it means coming back to church after drifting or inviting someone else to come.
Maybe it means letting yourself believe, perhaps for the first time, that God’s grace really is for you.
Lent is not about proving our worth, it’s about remembering our worth. It’s about letting God speak a truer word over our lives than the serpent ever could.
At the end of the wilderness story, angels come and minister to Jesus… Strength comes. Hope comes. Companionship comes.
And the wilderness is not the end of the story. It is the place where the story begins again.
And that is God’s promise to us this Lent. If we dare to step into the wilderness with Christ, we will not walk it alone. And on the other side, there is life - real life, abundant life, resurrection life.
So may this Lent be a season of honesty, of courage, of rediscovery. May we hear again the voice that calls us beloved. May we trust God again, God, who never stops seeking us.
And may we find, in Jesus, the new beginning we long for. Amen.
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