Who Told You
Photo Credit: Ryan Roth-Klinck
By Andrea Lingle
The Lord God called to the man, and said to him, “Where are you?”
He said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.”
[God] said, “Who told you that you were naked?
The story of the beginning of the Hebrew people is two-fold. First there is a sweeping poem about vast spinning chaos called into verdant life, beginning, not with the production of day, but with the restful, tucked-in-ness of night.
Evening. Morning. It was good and good and very good.
A Rhythm of resting in the great satisfaction of the creator. Love as being bringing forth without requirement. At the center of this poem lies the heart throb of the Creator—before you rise in the morning, I loved you into being. Before you peeled back the quilt and stumbled to the bathroom, before you brushed your teeth, even before you got a good night’s rest or had your coffee or filled out your planner, you were loved. Rest there. Stay there.
The second story is a bit earthier. A bit more incarnational. This story has skin and bones and hair and teeth. This one has a place. The story tellers are very specific about that. Oddly specific. There is an entrenchment in location. A dug-in-ness. This story reminds us that every story begins in a place. Not there by the river. Oh no. That isn’t nearly good enough. There by the Rivers Pishon, Gihon, Tigris, and Euphrates. It was by those waters that God churned up the earth to plant. It is only in planting that we can stay awhile. It is only through digging in that we can commit to a place and a people.
There, in the coolness of mornings and rhythms of evenings and mornings, community began and broke. There among the dew drops, God found God’s own image hiding in shame. What was created caught sight of itself and felt unfinished. Naked.
And what did the Creator do? Storm off angry that the creation had not understood that perfection does not bring forth that which is shameful? Insist that very good meant very good?
No. God made clothes. God, the spinner of nebula and dahlias, took up a needle and thread and clothed God’s Image. God, who had carpeted the prairie and arranged the leopard’s spots, looked at what the man and woman had made out of fig leaves and twine and, with a single nod of understanding, reskinned them.
Why?
Perhaps God knew that when life gets four-rivers-specific, it gets hard. Perhaps, God is a God who listens. Perhaps, God is so vastly compassionate that God would be willing to make clothes for those created in the image of perfect love.
Whatever the reason was for the Divine-tailoring, there is a great deal of hope in knowing that God knows that the conflict you are living with is hard, hears your shame and frustration, and is willing to tinker a bit.