Genesis 2:4-25 · Adam and Eve
Must We Have All the Answers?
Gn 2:9 · Deut 30:19-20 · Job 52:5
Sermon
by Robert Noblett
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The young man and his father were headed into New York City for a Saturday outing. It had been some time since they had spent much time together, and the father reasoned that a day such as this was just what was needed. As they crossed The Tapanzee Bridge into Fun City, the son asked, "Dad, what is the name of this bridge?" The father answered, "Son, I don’t know." Later they were driving along Fifth Avenue and the son asked his father, "Dad, is that the Empire State Building?" Replied the father, "Son, I don’t know." Later still, they were driving along Riverside Drive and the son asked his father, "Is that Grant’s tomb?" And replied the father, "Son, I don’t know." Nevertheless, they had a grand time of it and their closeness was restored. As they headed home in the evening, the son felt a bit remorseful about asking his father so many questions and said, "Dad, I’m sorry I bugged you with so many questions." Answered his father, "Oh that’s okay, son, how else are you going to learn?" Undoubtedly, the father would answer in the affirmative the question around which we want to build our talk together: Must we have all the answers? In short, I think the answer is now, but let me tell you what makes me answer the question in that way.

First, it would be impossible for any one of us to come even close to a state of omniscience and to even attempt that is an exercise in rank arrogance. I am not advocating ignorance; I am, though, advocating a sense of limits with respect to what we can understand and comprehend and with respect to our management of what we can understand and comprehend; and particularly am I thinking of those limits with respect to religious truth. Most of us probably have a built-in resistance to the so-called "know it all," and perhaps that is nature’s way of holding check on human arrogance. I remember hearing a man once preach on the theme, "All You Always Wanted to Know About God," and from the point of view of humility, his presentation left something to be desired.

The conviction that we can and should have all the answers to life’s every question is really the main theme of the Genesis story, and the issue is focused on the tree laden with the forbidden fruit.

He made all kinds of beautiful trees grow there and produce good fruit. In the middle of the garden stood the tree that gives life and the tree that gives knowledge of what is good and what is bad. (Genesis 2:9, GNB)

God’s garden ground rules call for restraint in eating the fruit of that one tree, while the fruit from all other trees is acceptable. That one rule proves too much for Adam and Eve; disobeying God, they go ahead and partake of its fruit. It is then that the trouble begins. In essence, they wanted to become one with the tree of life; the root of God’s insistence that they refrain from doing that lies not in God’s wish to keep his creation stupid, but rather in God’s wish to keep his creation creaturely. Gerhard von Rad writes:

With a father’s disposition God had purposed every conceivable kindness for man; but his will was that in the realm of knowledge a limit should remain set between himself and mankind ... By endeavoring to enlarge his being on the godward side, and seeking a godlike intensification of his life beyond his creaturely limitations, that is, by wanting to be like God, man stepped out from the simplicity of obedience to God. He thereby forfeited life in the pleasant garden and close to God.1

What keeps the Bible alive is the accuracy of its perceptions, and not only is this sequence from the Book of Genesis a statement about antiquity, it is also a statement about contemporary life. We, too, participate in the desire to be one with the "tree of life," and just as it was devastating for Adam and Eve, so it is devastating often for you and for me.

There is, of course, no question about the fact that human technologies have greatly improved the quality of life for us all. Certainly we can have no argument with the originator of the wheelchair or with the medical personnel who have done so much to eradicate the lethalness of tuberculosis. One wonders, though, whether our various technologies have moved from being our servants and are now instead our masters. That is to say, they have duped us into thinking that we are more knowledgeable and masterful than we really are. Just this theme is sounded, and sounded well, by David Ehrenfeld, a biologist who teaches at Rutgers University and who has authored a book entitled The Arrogance of Humanism. Ehrenfeld looks at three areas where we have assumed omniscience - mind, body, and environmental control - and shows in each case how we have erred in assuming omniscience. Writing of the body, Ehrenfeld says:

Here, too, we believe in the inevitability of control - control over our physical inheritance and destiny, a control that liberates us from many of the physical ills of the body and will ultimately free us from most if not all Of them. More than that, a control that will erase the normal defects of form and function to which we have grown accustomed, and help us approach the perfection that was once attributed only to machines and the gods themselves.2

Ehrenfeld points to two recent telelvision programs that give evidence of the credence we give to the concept of "inevitability of control," one being "The Six Million Dollar Man" and the other being "Star Trek." In each instance there is a projection of future dominion over our bodies involving, among other things, "bionics" or replacement parts. Some of this is reality already. What concerns Ehrenfeld is the degree to which we buy into the myth that one day we will have complete dominion over ourselves, and in the interest of restoring counterpoise to this situation, he avers:

Our civilization is coming to equate the value of life with the mere avoidance of death. An empty and impossible goal, a fool’s quest for nothingness, has been substituted for a delight in living that lies latent in all of us. When death is once again accepted as one of the many important parts of life, then life may recover its old thrill, and the efforts of good physicians will not be wasted.3

They are deeply religious words and they come to us, mind you, from the secular world!

We are not capable of omniscience and to the degree that we can find peace and meaning in creatureliness, we will be happy and contented people.

Reading Ehrenfeld reminded me of a recent trip I made to the oculist. After the examination, he told me that with glasses my vision was better than 20/20. Naturally, that made me feel good, but it does not alter the fact that my eyes are slowly deteriorating. Without my glasses everything beyond a foot is a blur, and the oculist tells me that sometime after forty years of age I may have to wear bifocals. Technological improvements have made sight available to many of us who otherwise would have but little, but those improvements do not change the fact that our eyes, as well as every other organ in the body, are subject to the process of decline.

Not only, though, are we incapable of omniscience. Ironically, we often do not use what we already know. Frequently we know the answer but resist following its dictates.

An individual, for example, wakes up in the night with a toothache and tries to alleviate the pain by taking Excedrin. In the morning upon waking, that individual again senses the pain and again takes an Excedrin. The answer to the problem - and the individual knows this - is a trip to the dentist, but this individual doesn’t like going to the dentist and so prolongs that visit.

John knows he shouldn’t eat chocolates, but does so anyway. Harry knows that cigarettes exacerbate his emphysema, but he smokes anyway. Mary knows that she should avoid fatty foods, but every morning fries up a pound of bacon. Knowledge is not a panacea. Knowledge alone will not save us. The only serviceable knowledge is knowledge that is lashed firmly to will. "He has shown you, oh man, what is good," proclaimed the prophet Micah. The problem for the people of Micah’s day was not one of knowledge, it was one of will. We don’t need more answers; we need more will with which to respond to the answers we already have.

From all of this we can only deduce the presence of a destructive force within each of us with which we must reckon. In most cases we know the direction indicated and it remains for us to muster the will to move in that direction. To that end the Christian church has a message for people, and it is the message that God, our creator, wants us to live; in the Scriptures and in the traditions of the church, the way to that life is made clear.

We know that forgiveness and not unending disdain is the way to life, and if we really believe that God requires that of us, it is ours to forgive today. We know that in the final analysis we live only by grace, and if we really believe that, it is ours to stop punishing ourselves today. We know that "nothing in all of creation can separate us from the love of God," and if we really believe that, it is ours to trust God today. We know that forbearance is preferable to intolerance, and if we really believe that, it is ours to be forbearing today.

The stakes are no different now than they were in the Israel of Moses’ day. Before his gathered people, near the end of his time with them, Moses lays the choice:

"I am now giving you the choice between life and death ... and I call heaven and earth to witness the choice you make. Choose life. Love the Lord your God, obey Him and be faithful to Him, and then you and your descendants will live long in the land that He promised to give your ancestors, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob." (Deuteronomy 30:19-20, GNB)

We are not capable of omniscience. Ironically, we often do not move on what we already know. In the process of being religiously mature people, we become more concerned with meaning than with mechanics. To ask the how of Jesus’ miraculous birth, the how of his resurrection, the how of the bread for the many, the how of the water into wine - and not the why of Jesus’ miraculous birth, and not the why of his resurrection, and not the why of bread and wine for the many - is to miss the religious point. How productive, I ask you, is it going to be for a group of supposedly mature Christian adults to sit around and try, from a scientific standpoint, to understand how it was that Jesus walked on the water?

Is it not infinitely more productive, I ask, when mature Christian adults approach those enigmatic stories, asking questions related to significance and not structure?

Remember the first time you mustered up enough courage to kiss or allow yourself to be kissed? Remember the feelings that kiss set off, the way in which it summoned reactions both biological and emotional that galvanized your entire existence? I would be greatly surprised if any of us, after that first kiss, went home, and in an attempt to understand what had happened to us, pulled down our Random House dictionary from the shelf and read the words of definition "to touch or press with the lips slightly pursed in token of greeting, affection, reverence etc." Of course we didn’t do that (if we did, there is something wrong with us!), and I am suggesting that we shouldn’t be so quick to do it with the stories of the Old and New Testaments. A kiss is more than the coming together of two lips; the riddlesome stories of the Bible are infinitely more than the form in which they come. Mature Christian people are more attentive to meaning than mechanics.

Then finally, when all is said and done, more than answers we seek a presence, and in the presence of that Presence our questions fall away and our deepest of needs are fully met. There are so many questions for which there are no satisfactory answers. To be sure, we can make some suggestions. We can say, for example, that the death of a five-year-old child is not the will of God. But more than answers, we all need a sense of God with us.

Bernard Martin, a Genevan pastor, tells of receiving a call one morning from a family in his parish conveying word that the only son of that family - seven years of age - had died. He went quickly to the home and found the mother in a dimly lit bedroom, lying seemingly lifeless on the bed. He took the woman’s hand and remained with her:

The time passed painfully, interminably slowly. And each time I found myself mentally formulating some sentence that would break this silence, something said to me, gently but inescapably, "Be quiet!" So I continued to be silent.

Suddenly her eyes opened and her face turned toward where I was sitting. Her hand motioned me. And then I heard ... yes, I heard these words, coming from the depths of her sorrow: "Pastor, give me peace." I had not said a word. Now I replied, "Yes, Madame, that is why I have come." I knelt down beside her bed and placed my hands on her forehead, and said, "I give you peace." ... at that moment I had truly given the gift of peace to one who was dying from no longer possessing it.

I visited this mother again. We spoke briefly, simply. Suddenly she said to me, "In any event, I’ll never forget the moment when you gave me peace! I still have moments of rebellion. But then I remember what happened. I remember the gift you gave me ... and peace returns ... Thank you."4

Do we have to have all the answers? No we don’t. And what’s more, we can’t. Indeed, we often do not act on the answers we already have. In faith we move beyond questions related to "how" and set ourselves to the discovery of meaning. But when all the questions have been asked and when what answers available have been given, we seek beyond them all a presence - a presence that quiets our tortured hearts and bestows upon us a peace that is beyond our understanding.

Job, that most tortured of men - caught in the maelstrom of unending questions and unsatisfactory answers - found no satisfaction short of the peace that came when finally he could say,

"I had heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now my eyes see thee." (Job 42:5)

When God comes into view, our questions drop away and the vacuum created by this departure is filled quickly by the One whose grace and love lifts us beyond questions and answers to security and peace.


1. Gerhard vonRad, Old Testament Theology (New York: Harper and Brothers Publishers, 1962), p. 155.

2. David Ehrnefeld, The Arrogance of Humanism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978), p. 37.

3. Ibid, p. 93.

4. Bernard Martin, If God Does Not Die (Richmond, Virginia: John Knox Press, 1964), pp. 51, 52.

CSS Publishing Co., Inc., A Main Street Gospel, by Robert Noblett