In the garden.
“By Adam’s fall we sin all.”
In the garden humanity fell, Adam and Eve, gave into temptation, trying to blame some one else for taking what was not theirs to take.
Here we are in the garden again.
The humanity of God, the word made flesh, Jesus, tempted but not falling.
Unlike the first humans who took what was not theirs, Jesus surrenders and gives up what is his.
He willingly is arrested, he takes up the cup that he is to drink, he warns off his followers, especially Peter, from pursuing violence.
And once again in the garden we take what is not ours to take, blaming each other, always finding excuses, good reasons at the time to take him away in chains…we bite into the forbidden fruit once again, with a kiss…every damn day.
And so Jesus is betrayed, abandoned, denied, mocked, scorned, humiliated, tortured and executed. Blood everywhere.
Ours is not a religion for the squeamish.
It is not for those who disdain the physical world, those who look with disgust on the raw physical sensuality of our corporeal bodies, who view with distaste the human condition of suffering, sickness, withering flesh and death.
Ours is a physical faith, the body of Jesus, the blood of Jesus… this is where we live, this where life in the Spirit is found, in this flesh, in this blood.
Blood.
God breathed his life into the man made of dust and he lived.
Now blood pours from the God made man that all we walking dead may live once again, a transfusion.
But not yet.
Now is the hour of humiliation, naked bleeding scorn, derisive laughter.
Now is the hour of finally finding our hearts desire and then losing, we throw it away. In our grasping desperation we destroy what is most fragile, most precious to us.
Now is the hour of death and darkness, as the heart slows and stops, as the bleeding pulse grows faint and fails, as the blood crusts over and the flesh grows cold.
Once again we take what is not ours to take.
We take basic dignity, we take common courtesy, we take patient attention, we take compassion, we take generosity, we steal hospitality, we take it all and hoard it to our sin sick hearts, devouring everything in our hungry angry pain.
We laugh at and destroy what is truly beautiful and delightful.
We trample the garden under foot, for no real reason.
Every day, ever damn day, we take what is not ours to take and we trash it.
Our laughter turns to crying, for we can’t help our selves, we can’t stop ourselves.
Death follows us everywhere, like running from our own shadow.
Is there any hope that this dead body, this dead soul, this dead life will ever be worthy of the wonder of creation, the wonder of love, the wonder of beauty, of delight, of God’s attention, of God’s blood.
We pollute it all so quickly.
We are the walking dead.
We have no hope.
Look what we have done.