The Sword of Mercy

Then the Lord God said, “Behold, the man has become like one of Us, to know good and evil. And now, lest he put out his hand and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live forever” – therefore the Lord God sent him out of the garden of Eden to till the ground from which he was taken. So He drove out the man; and He placed cherubim at the east of the garden of Eden, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to guard the way to the tree of life. – Genesis 3:22-24

This passage was read as part of a recent sermon on the Fall (available here), and in a way I’d not considered before. Without going into all the details, consider the short history that predates this passage: man’s creation and fall. After God lovingly warns His creation of the danger of a tree in the middle of the garden, they succumb when they are told that eating of its fruit will make them like God – not like God in the sense of a child seeking to imitate a good father, but like God in the sense of being in control, living on their own terms. (Isn’t that still the very heart of every rebellious thought and sin?)

A grieved Father soon reveals the consequences of their actions, cursing the world for their strange mutiny. But lovingly, He also acts in their defense. Read the above passage again. Why was the tree of life put under providential lock and key – even more, a sword? Why would man’s wicked choice to partake of what God had forbidden be limited to the tree of the knowledge of good and evil? Was God afraid of what would happen if man ate of the tree of life?

Afraid, but not in any sense of the word as we usually understand it. Afraid like a parent who sees their toddler running toward a busy street – but infinitely more. Our pastor reflected that the consequences of Adam and Eve eating of the tree of life in their fallen state would have been a sentence they could not have comprehended at the time. As he put it, “to live forever as an unredeemed sinner is the very definition of Hell.” Not that God couldn’t or wouldn’t find a way to redeem His loved ones if they had somehow achieved a physical “immortality” – but in His tender providence, He made sure it was no longer an option. I doubt our first parents understood – in the sudden terror of their fallen state and the change it encompassed, they could not imagine why God would place such a terrible creature in the garden, and with such an awful weapon. (I suppose that was the first sword seen on earth?) But He knew why (as if God needs to justify Himself!), and acted on their behalf. He placed an impenetrable sentinel on guard, armed with a sword not of judgment, but of mercy.

As our Maker, He knew we were already immortal. He knew, and I think He has impressed deep down in every heart, that we were made for eternity. But so many people see death as contrary to that sixth sense, so they write the instinct off as nonsense. How little even we Christians realize what a mercy death is – that to be rid of the mortal coil, in Christ, is the final release into a flawless freedom that even we cannot mess up. There, He reigns, and there we are told we will be like Him for we will see Him as He is (1 John 3:2), in a way we probably can’t even begin to wrap our minds around now.

There is a theme to be gleaned here: God knew, and God acted.

Since hearing this sermon, I’ve reflected not only on God’s graciousness in that first intervention, but on His innumerable interventions in my own life. Of course, I don’t recognize these intercessions until they are at least recent history. They are, more often then not, painful – those instances where my heart has rebelled and I made a wrong choice (or a series of them), and I headed down darkened paths. I thought I knew what was best, and my Shepherd’s voice was more of a recommendation than anything else. I saw what looked like green pastures to me; what’s wrong with a sheep wanting good grazing? So the crook has to come out, and it feels more like asphyxiation than rescue at the time. No further; no more. It is done. You cannot return.

But oh, hindsight puts it in such a different light. Like the cherubim in Eden, circumstances lovingly engineered by God are swords of mercy that keep me from my own stupidity or just plain ignorance that could’ve landed me somewhere I couldn’t imagine. Not a question of salvation, perhaps, but a question of how He would have me reflect Himself while still in the Halfway House of Earth.

I have come to thank God for so many prayers answered in the negative. I’m positive there are many more instances I can’t even recognize as His handiwork for my own lack of long-term vision. Other times, I have been well aware of my trouble and cannot see my way out of a situation. Then He shows up and provides a way for me to stand up under it, just like He said He would (1 Corinthians 10:13). Imagine that.

Should I be this surprised that God is good as His Word?

Ah, well. Perhaps “I believe; help my unbelief” will always be my prayer this side of eternity.

And in the meantime, deo volente, I’ll learn to be even more grateful for the swords of mercy in my own life.