Experiencing God's Curiosity and Compassion by Chuck DeGroatMuestra

A few years ago, an acquaintance’s infidelity in his marriage was revealed. The exposure was jarring - for him, for his heartbroken and betrayed wife, for his confused kids, and for those of us who attempted to pursue him as he fled in shame.

He literally fled, hiding in hotels and not returning calls. But it was a temporary escape from shame. He couldn’t drive far enough to evade the tearful face of his youngest daughter, the devastation of his devoted wife, or the empty eyes of his teenage twin boys. Nothing inside him expected good to come from reconnection.

When Adam and Eve grasp for the fruit, their eyes are opened. Realizing that they are naked, they sew fig leaves to cover themselves. Hearing God’s footsteps, they hide. The masks they wore – and we wear – help us cope for a time, but they keep us alone, alienated, and ashamed. And this is exactly what that slithering serpent wants.

Adam and Eve hide, a very human response. Perhaps God’s footsteps triggered an anxious surge of adrenaline, an automatic urge to flee, to self-protect. Regardless, they hide – and so do we. I wonder what they felt as they sewed fig leaves. I wonder what stirred within as God approached. Did shame overwhelm, as it did for my friend? Did it feel like fleeing was the only safe option? Can you relate?

God designed us to bear his image – full of worth, belonging, and purpose. And God also designed us with nervous systems, designed to foster deep connection between us. But these nervous systems are also designed to intuit danger whenever it arises. It’s tragic that, in that fateful moment narrated in Genesis 3, Adam and Eve experienced God’s footsteps not as a sign of imminent reconnection, but of danger.

None of us is immune from the reverberations of this story into our lives. We’ve all known the shame-filled sting of a bad decision and its painful cost in a relationship. We’ve all experienced the inner tug toward self-protection, that native urge to cope through fight or flight, that instinct to evade, to avoid, to numb, to hide. It’s so very human, as we can see in this ancient story and in our lives. What comes next, however, is so very important to notice.

Before his voice is even heard, God is walking in the garden in the cool of the day – that not-as-hot, late-in-the-day time when they would’ve gone on their evening walks together. God misses his children. A walk isn’t the same without them. His steps are the steps of a heartbroken and searching father. And the questions he’ll ask reveal his curiosity and compassion. God’s heart is always for reconnection.