Based on a sermon on Genesis 3 by Pastor Michael Leader of Beverly Hills Baptist Church

It’s the question that echoes through all of human history: Why is the world so broken?

We read the first pages of the story and see a world bursting with purpose, crafted by a God of power. A world made for our enjoyment, where a loving Father walks with his children in a garden. Everything is in harmony. We are known, we are safe, and we feel no shame.

And then, it all goes horribly, horribly wrong.

The story of how it all fell apart is found in Genesis 3. It’s a sad story, full of loss and blame. But buried in the wreckage is a stunning truth about God’s character—perhaps the most important truth of all. It’s a truth that hinges on a single choice made in a garden, and it leads directly to a new choice offered to every one of us today.

A world without shame

The story of the fall picks up where Genesis 2 leaves off: “Adam and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.”

This isn’t just about a lack of clothing. It’s about a lack of fear. Think of a small child, completely at ease in their own skin, running around without a care. They live in a state of perfect trust. They haven’t yet learned that the world can be a dangerous place, that people can hurt them, or that they have anything to hide. They are innocent, living in complete harmony with the ones who love and provide for them.

This was Adam and Eve. Not children, but adults living under the complete care of their Father in a world built for them. They were naked, and they were unashamed. Their intimacy with God and with each other was unbroken.

Until a new voice entered the garden.

The serpent’s ‘wisdom’

“Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the LORD God had made.”

The word “crafty” here is fascinating. In other parts of the Bible, the same Hebrew word is translated as “prudent” or “shrewd”—and it’s seen as a good thing. A prudent person sees danger and avoids it. A simple or naïve person walks right into it.

The serpent wasn’t just a talking snake; it was a creature that possessed a kind of wisdom Adam and Eve lacked. It had an experienced knowledge of good and evil. They were innocent; it was not.

The serpent begins its attack with a clever question, designed to sow a seed of doubt. “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?”

It’s a distortion, of course. But it works. It forces Eve to defend God’s rule, and in the process, she adds to it, saying they weren’t even supposed to touch the tree. The conversation has already shifted. Suddenly, God’s one boundary feels less like a loving protection and more like a restriction.

Then comes the direct lie, wrapped in a half-truth. “You will not surely die… For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”

The real temptation

Here is the heart of it all. The temptation wasn’t to do something inherently evil. After all, gaining wisdom and the knowledge of good and evil is something the Bible later praises. God himself has this knowledge.

The temptation was about how and when that knowledge was gained.

Satan only ever tempts us with good things, doesn’t he? But they are good things taken at the wrong time, or from the wrong source. It’s the desire for intimacy outside the commitment of marriage. It’s the hunger for success at the cost of our integrity. It’s stealing what we want now instead of waiting patiently for the Giver of all good gifts to provide.

God wasn’t holding out on Adam and Eve. But they weren’t ready for that kind of knowledge. They chose to grab for wisdom on their own terms, listening to the voice of a creature instead of their Creator. Had they trusted God and rejected the serpent, they would have learned their first, real lesson in discerning good from evil – God’s way.

Instead, they took, and they ate.

The blame game

“Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realised they were naked.”

They grew up in an instant. But it was a traumatic, painful kind of growing up. Their innocence was shattered, replaced by shame. Their first instinct? To cover up and to hide. From each other, and from God.

It’s what we’ve all been doing ever since.

I remember when my son was little, he got into trouble at school for hitting. When I asked him about it, he spun an elaborate tale of self-defence. He wasn’t afraid of being punished again; he was already in trouble. He was afraid of the shame of admitting he’d done something wrong. The humiliation of it.

That’s the feeling that sent Adam and Eve hiding among the trees.

And then, God does the most amazing thing. He doesn’t come with a sword. He comes with a question.

“Where are you?”

He calls them out of hiding, not to crush them, but to give them a chance to come clean. Instead, the blame game begins.

“The woman you put here with me—she gave me some fruit,” Adam says. He points the finger at both his wife and God.

“The serpent deceived me,” Eve says, passing the blame down the line.

Excuses. Finger-pointing. A refusal to own the choice they made. What would have happened if they’d just said, “I’m sorry”? We’ll never know.

A glimmer of hope in the ruins

The consequences were devastating. A curse fell over creation. Hardship, pain, and death entered the story. They were banished from the garden. An angel with a flaming sword now guarded the way back to the tree of life. The path to eternal life, on their own terms, was closed forever.

They chose to be like God, but their choice left them looking less like him than ever before. Broken. Shameful. Afraid.

And yet. That’s not where the story ends.

Even in this moment of judgment, God reveals his greatest attribute: grace. The first death in this chapter isn’t Adam or Eve’s. It’s an animal’s.

“The LORD God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them.”

They tried to cover their own shame with flimsy fig leaves. It wasn’t enough. So God himself provides a covering. He does for them what they could not do for themselves. It required a sacrifice. Something had to die so that they could live. It was the first, faint echo of a greater plan.

A new invitation

That first choice – to take and eat from the wrong tree – led to separation and death. It’s a choice we have all inherited, a brokenness that runs through the heart of the world.

But God wasn’t finished.

He stepped into our story as a new Adam, Jesus. At the very start of his work, he faced the same serpent and the same temptation. To take the good things of God the wrong way, to seize power without the path of suffering. Jesus said no.

And then, on his last night, he offered us a new choice. He took bread, gave thanks, and gave it to his friends. His invitation echoes through the centuries, turning the first tragic choice on its head.

“Take and eat; this is my body.”

He offered them a new tree to eat from: the tree of his own life, given for them. He offers a new covenant, poured out for the forgiveness of sins.

Coming to him is scary. It means we have to come out of hiding. We have to show up naked, with no excuses and no flimsy fig leaves. It means dropping the pride and the blame game, and simply saying, “I’m sorry. I got it wrong. I need you.”

It leaves you completely vulnerable. But you are vulnerable before the God of grace.

The God of second chances.

He invites you to take and eat again – but to choose the right tree this time. To choose him. To let him cover your shame and be your guide. To finally enjoy this world, and the next, the way you were always meant to.

He’s already done the hard part. All you have to do is stop hiding, and ask.

Will you take and eat?