In Search of Eden

Reflections on Genesis 2:8-25, and Acts 2:44-47, 6:1

And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed.”

Photo by k_myers@flickr.com

When I was in college and things got tough, I would take a walk … a walk off campus.  I attended a small liberal arts college in a sleepy, little, western Pennsylvania town.  One side of the campus rubbed shoulders with main street, while the other side transitioned easily into a quaint, tree-lined neighborhood.  When I missed home, when I was overwhelmed by academic pressure, when the drama of campus life seemed too much, I always chose to walk the tree-lined streets.  I was attracted to the picket fences and manicured lawns, the front porches and bicycles in the driveway.  I was attracted to what life could be, but wasn’t yet for me.  When I was at odds with my own life, when I felt lost, confused, and out of place, I went in search of home. 

Then the Lord said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make for him a helper as his partner.” … And the man and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed.

I was in my late teens and early twenties in college.  I was in my late twenties and heading for thirty when I attended seminary.  I was still single.  I had yet to establish myself.  I was still working toward a career, still discerning a call, rather than living one out.  I had returned to dormitory life and there were times then too, when I felt at odds with myself.  Not so much lost or even confused, but impatient, as if life hadn’t truly begun for me yet.  In those moments of frustration and disappointment, I would go for a walk.  And just like my college days, my feet didn’t turn toward town, but headed east, in search of tree-lined streets, with well-worn homes and toys in the front yard.  I went as one on the outside looking in.  Looking for what had continued to elude me, in search of a sense of home.  I was looking for some idealized place where I could be my bathrobe and slippers self, my true self, not the self my professors expected or I assumed the church would demand.  I was looking for connection, vulnerability, trust, partnership and a common call.  I was looking for home.  I was looking for Eden.    

All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.  Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God …

I have long since passed through my thirties and my forties and have recently welcomed fifty.  I am well into my career and trying each day to live within my call.  Still, occasionally I feel at odds with my life.  There are still goals and dreams I have yet to reach and I am at times very impatient.  But I live on a tree-lined street, in a quaint New Jersey town, in a neighborhood with bicycles in the driveways and manicured lawns.  I share my home with a family that I love dearly, who sees me at my best, but just as often at my worst. And still on occasion, I feel lost and confused.  There are bills to be paid and decisions to be made and demands on me and my time and attention that I often fail to fulfill.  Perfect is always just two steps beyond my reach.  It is home, but it isn’t Eden.  It is reality not fantasy.   

Now during those days, when the disciples were increasing in number, the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected …

Those first believers, who gathered together sharing everything in common; life, faith and mission, must have felt that they had rediscovered Eden, a perfect world of connection, vulnerability, trust and a common call.  A world that looked at first well manicured and protected by a picket fence of God’s design.  But soon reality came to call.  Those who had so freely shared all they had with one another began to questions whether they and their people were receiving their fair share.  There was complaining and grumbling and finger pointing.  It was still home, but it was no longer Eden.  Or was it?

We will never know how the Eden of Genesis would have faired if Adam and Eve hadn’t gotten themselves thrown out.  Would it have remained all sweetness and light forever?  An unbreakable connection, rooted in mutual vulnerability and secured in total trust, the perfect partnership sharing a divine call.  Maybe fifty years have jaded me, but I don’t think so.  I think that they would have found something to quarrel about, demands made and demands ignored.  Eventually there would be complaining and grumbling and finger pointing, because we are human and that is how we roll … even in Eden. 

Home isn’t perfect and it isn’t a place.  It doesn’t require tree-lined streets and front porches or even 2.5 kids and a dog.  Home is a community of people, family in one sense or another, who share a common faith, a common commitment to love in the face of difficulty from without and even more so from within.  Home is the place where we can grumble and complain and point fingers, trusting that at the end of the day we will still be loved, forgiven and valued. 

I had a home in college and one in seminary too, I just didn’t always recognize it for what it was.  And at fifty I have stopped looking for the fantasy, because the reality of home is by far better still.