This morning I was reminded of the drunkenness of sleep. Of when the body is mesmerized by dreams and comfort and darkness, and is reluctant to accept any other reality. Only those who have tasted the honey of God’s presence want to abandon the dark comforts of this world in order to wake up.
I love Eve for the heavy burden of sorrow she carries because her naïve curiosity thrust mankind into oblivion. Without wisdom, or experience of death how could she have resisted temptation? I also love her for her determination to follow Christ back to her birthplace.
This is no ordinary journey; this is no ordinary Lent.
Eve appeared melancholy this morning. “Tell me what it’s like to have a mother?” she asked.
It suddenly dawned on me that Adam and Eve are the only humans who never had a mother, not even a kind step mother, not even a bitter bio-mom. God was both Mother and Father to these original persons that He created in His awesome image and likeness. No wonder Eve’s curious quest for wisdom, no wonder God’s tender but strict response.
I answered, “Eve, I can’t tell you what’s it’s like to have a mother because each person is unique and so every mother/child relationship can be different, but genetically the umbilical cord cannot be severed. I think that the subconscious memory of oneness is never erased. Even if a person lives five hundred years morsels of his heart hold the memory of unity with another soul. Life’s basic quest to bond is not an adventure but rather a restoration of the primal condition. This is something you never experienced; this explains to me why you are so determined to rejoin God by whose Will you were born.”
It occurred to me that my words saddened her more, so I added, “Eve, I shouldn’t go on. I am sorry that you never had a mother, but of course it had to be that way.”
Changing course I continued, “Many people have never known their mothers, or knew them only for a short time. Sometimes they grow to mother others and vicariously enjoy being mothered. Look at how you cared for Cain and Abel, and little Seth.” Immediately I wanted to take back my words.
“You’re right. I loved my boys. Was it wisdom I found when my son murdered his brother?” with that memory Eve collapsed. She didn’t cry; she just appeared exhausted.
“Eve!” I shouted, “Don’t eat evil! Trust God who received Abel’s sacrifice before he died. You wanted wisdom. Pain and suffering are its key ingredients.”
I truly felt sorry for Eve, first the separation from God, then her son Abel shows her what God’s death-warning meant. How she suffered. Unhappy with the plummeting direction of this conversation, I had to refocus Eve or we would never wake up to Eden, “I have good news!”
“What?” She cried, looking for relief!
“Eve, you do have a mother who cares for you.”
“Was I adopted?” She laughed at the absurdity of a mature woman being adopted.
“Remember when you saw Jesus?”
“Yes, He shined like the sun in my heart. He was God incarnate.” Eve glowed in the warmth of this joyful memory.
“Right! Then as God incarnate He represented your Father in the flesh, right?”
“I suppose so.” She said wondering where I could possibly be going with this.
“Christ has a Bride, the Church! She is your mother and mine too! Her baptisms are births of children like you who are born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man but of God! She is beautiful; She teaches and nurtures; She can even heal your wounded heart.”
Eve cheered up. “Explain?”
“The Church is the Bride of Christ, our True God. Like Christ she is human and divine. Eve, she is my mother too. Our mother knows of our quest. She will help us wake up in Eden. Come, let’s go to Her whose doors are opened wide during Lent.”