FIG LEAVES OR LAMBSKINS
Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves aprons. Gen. 3:7, R.S.V.
Fig leaves and nakedness--they seem such quaint concepts, the kind of thing medieval artists would like to paint in dark tones. But what might they mean to us today? Did Adam and Eve's sin suddenly make their bodies unfit to behold? Is there a deeper meaning to these symbols?
Do you know what it's like to feel naked in the presence of another? Do you ever wish that you could hide all the secret fears and regrets, all the past failings and foolishness, that surely would embarrass you should others find out about them? None of us enjoys having our soul exposed and vulnerable to the eyes and judgments of others.
And so we sew fig leaves together. They come in all shapes and sizes too. There is the young woman who has become a skilled flirt. She craves the attention of the opposite sex because down inside she is fearful she may by unnoticed, unloved, unclaimed, Flirtation becomes her attempt to hide the hurt, to cover the lonliness.
There is the young man who punctuates his language with slang and oaths, hoping in this way to make his words more powerful, his impact on others more stunning. Yet he does not see that he is poorly covering his naked fear of being regarded as of no account.
The devil has a thousand fig leaves, each one promising to cover some nakedness, some gaping fear that is rooted in our separation from the Lover of our souls. They all promise immediate safety from the gaze of others. But they are all ill-fitting and awkward. And we spend all our energies trying to keep them from slipping.
Our God, who is not scandalized by our nakedness, knows the inner longings of our souls. He knows that our dread of exposure arises from Satan's lie that God will be disgusted with our weaknesses--and that we will be rejected by others should they see us as we are. And so the Father comes to us bearing a smile and a hand-tailored garment, prepared at great expense.
"And the Lord God made for Adam and for his wife garments of skins, and clothed them" (Gen. 3:21, R.S.V.). There is only one way you can obtain a lambskin, and that is by sacrificing the lamb. The cross first covers, and then heals, our nakedness!
Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves aprons. Gen. 3:7, R.S.V.
Fig leaves and nakedness--they seem such quaint concepts, the kind of thing medieval artists would like to paint in dark tones. But what might they mean to us today? Did Adam and Eve's sin suddenly make their bodies unfit to behold? Is there a deeper meaning to these symbols?
Do you know what it's like to feel naked in the presence of another? Do you ever wish that you could hide all the secret fears and regrets, all the past failings and foolishness, that surely would embarrass you should others find out about them? None of us enjoys having our soul exposed and vulnerable to the eyes and judgments of others.
And so we sew fig leaves together. They come in all shapes and sizes too. There is the young woman who has become a skilled flirt. She craves the attention of the opposite sex because down inside she is fearful she may by unnoticed, unloved, unclaimed, Flirtation becomes her attempt to hide the hurt, to cover the lonliness.
There is the young man who punctuates his language with slang and oaths, hoping in this way to make his words more powerful, his impact on others more stunning. Yet he does not see that he is poorly covering his naked fear of being regarded as of no account.
The devil has a thousand fig leaves, each one promising to cover some nakedness, some gaping fear that is rooted in our separation from the Lover of our souls. They all promise immediate safety from the gaze of others. But they are all ill-fitting and awkward. And we spend all our energies trying to keep them from slipping.
Our God, who is not scandalized by our nakedness, knows the inner longings of our souls. He knows that our dread of exposure arises from Satan's lie that God will be disgusted with our weaknesses--and that we will be rejected by others should they see us as we are. And so the Father comes to us bearing a smile and a hand-tailored garment, prepared at great expense.
"And the Lord God made for Adam and for his wife garments of skins, and clothed them" (Gen. 3:21, R.S.V.). There is only one way you can obtain a lambskin, and that is by sacrificing the lamb. The cross first covers, and then heals, our nakedness!
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