Tree of Disappointment

Royal palms near our home in California

Psalm 22: 1-5

My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?

Far from my deliverance are the words of my groaning.

O my God, I cry by day, but You do not answer;
And by night, but I have no rest.

Yet You are holy,
O You who are enthroned upon the praises of Israel.

In You our fathers trusted;
They trusted and You delivered them. 

To You they cried out and were delivered; 

In You they trusted and were not disappointed.

 
I claim to be no expert in these things, but I think the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil produces the fruit of Disappointment. I invite you to meander through my rather hodgepodge garden of thinking on the matter.

Remember the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Genesis story of Adam and Eve?  Whether or not you believe that the story is literally true or is a creation myth, it's highly symbolic of human nature, and worthy of contemplation.

As a reminder of the plot setup: Adam and Eve, the prototype of human beings, are created in a delightful garden where life is idyllic. They are given work to do, and they get to walk and talk with their Creator every evening. But they are forbidden one thing in the garden, per God's instructions to Adam (and mind you, these instructions are given before Eve is ever created): Don't eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, for in that day you will certainly die.

So what happens? We can see this plot event coming a mile away. A serpent hanging out in the forbidden tree convinces Eve to give the attractive fruit a try, and she does, and so does Adam. Then the eyes of both of them were opened to their nakedness, and their first action is to try to cover that up with loincloths made of fig leaves.

Although this story works well with children in its literal form, it carries with it a deeper symbolism that can take on reality for adults while the literal scaffold falls away.

God created us in His image, which means that however we came to be, we're creatures that are made to emit some reminiscence of Him. It reminds me of those clouds that look like a picture of something for a few moments, or a shadow cast on a wall as I walk by in bright sunlight. What we forget is that "in His image" does not mean that we are just like God. Thinking of it in that way leads us to believe that we actually might think our way into being as knowing and powerful and good as God, being able to stand on our own two feet and take His place.

Lots of people have done that, I think, because they have either perceived their Creator to be as small as they can become in their best moments, or because they have jettisoned the idea of God altogether. They believe that intrinsically and by their efforts they are good people, that they are Enough. And they come to believe that, compared to the horrible image of God they see in religious people around them, they are not just Enough, but they are Better. Here's how it is: we are all judgmental and demanding of one another, and we can all justify it to ourselves in seemingly airtight ways.

Truth is, now that we have eaten of the proverbial fruit--however that happened--we are all bound to taste disappointment. We have, in our arrogance of knowing, built up our perception of who God should be (if there is a God), of who His children should be and how they should behave, and most of all of who we are. We are masters of deceiving ourselves as to our own goodness. There it is, the symbolic loincloth of fig leaves.

The truth is, we're naked, and despite what today's culture might convey about "naked" being rather attractive, it is also at the same time pretty funny-looking. "Naked" is ugly, if you try on certain lenses or look at some parts of it. Seen in some situations, "naked" can even be extremely threatening; women tend to understand this better than men do. And I think everyone, seeing themselves naked, at some point looks and is disappointed.

Paradoxically, recognizing one's nakedness can be a saving grace. Once you see yourself as you really are, it's humbling. When you are humbled, oddly enough, you have a prime opportunity to become more teachable, more accepting, more loving.  Once you see your family as it really is, once you see your community as it is, once you see your church or country as it really is, you must at some point face utter disappointment and shame. We all, having eaten of the symbolic fruit, are cause for our own disillusionment. Deep, deep disappointment.

At this point, I would suggest, we are sorely tempted to look at someone else grabbing at the edges of their pitiful loincloth and trying to cover their nakedness, and point fingers at them. "You're a mess." "Your family is full of jerks and criminal behavior." "Your church/mosque/temple or religion perpetrates hideous evil on the world." "Your government isn't as good as mine, and you need to be like us."   And all the while our own fig leaf loincloths are gaping and a crackly leaf drops to the ground from time to time.

We want something better. We've lost the garden and can't find our way back to it.

This is what amazes me every time I see it or experience it: that in tasting the bitter fruit of disappointment (which at its core must be disappointment in ourselves), we can either choose to live in Disappointment, or we can take that leap of faith to believe that there is a better Tree, and that it is available to us even though we are still locked out of the Garden. Disappointment and shame are crucial steps on the way to understanding our need for and the availability of saving grace.

I observe this, but I really don't understand it all. I keep thinking about it, and maybe that's because I have experienced it, and it opens up a much bigger universe to ponder and explore.