The most popular news story on bbc.co.uk at the moment is this one – a pretty comic tale of a three-woman strong convent that has now been reduced to one remaining member after the other two attacked her. I suppose the reason that it’s heavily clicked on is because it’s funny, unusual, and pretty ironic.

The article dubs the nuns as from ‘the most austere order of the Roman Catholic Church, devoted to a life of prayer, penance and quiet contemplation.’ The theory of a special sacred life may look nice and spiritual but the practice, three nuns not being able to get on without physically attacking one another, kind of shows up what life, and even the Christian life, really looks like. You can live in a convent for 44 years but you can’t escape the flesh, the world, and the devil.

I reckon the temptation’s there for all of us – especially with blogs – I want to point out the sacredness of my routine, the holiness of my actions, but in reality I’m only kidding myself. I might not use the garble of ‘devoted to a life of prayer, penance, and quiet contemplation’, but I’m equally as likely to spin on about how often I’m captivated by God, ham up the prayerletter to make my exploits look extra devout. Maybe the balance is hard to strike – we are pressing on towards the goal, trying to let go of every hinderance, and we are living in hope that day by day we are being changed by God, and made more like his Son. But with that comes the brutal truth that we are sinners crying out for rescue.

Back to the nuns’ story… now the local Archbishop has got involved and written to the Pope to get his permission to call the bailiffs in to force the last nun to take down the barricades. The remaining nun’s response? “She has written to the Pope telling him she will only leave when God decides it is time to go.” Can’t leave this story without questioning the seeming madness of that comment (if the press quotation is accurate).

She’s nailed the issue in one sense; God is sovereign and when He decides it’s time to go, then it definitely will be (and that could be in the shape of the local authorities banging on the door and forcing her out!). But the manner in which she seems to be using that phrase gives me the creeps. Maybe I’m taking her out of context, but I reckon it’s symptomatic of what Christianity looks like all too often in our culture – all too easily reckoning God’s will is this or that without giving much time to what God has declared his will to be in his written word. We have to rescue the foundational truth that God has ordained what pleases him and what doesn’t. Without even getting into whether or not being a nun is a good thing to do, the point in question seems to be whether I can defend my actions on the basis of what God has said to me personally, with little thought to what’s he’s spoken in Scripture.

Reading Genesis 3 again this evening with pizza and brothers.

It simply sums up in narrative form the absolute arrogance of human rebellion, the casting aside of the Creator God and the willed decision to become gods ourselves. Sin is in essence an act of revolution: to replace God with myself.

The woman, knowing that the serpent had outlined that eating the fruit will make them ‘like God’, still chooses to eat of the forbidden tree. That’s despite both the implications laid out by the serpent and it being an act of straight-forward disobedience to God. The narrative also picks out the subtle exchange of authority from what God has said, to what humanity judges to be right; the woman sees the fruit looks good, ‘a delight to the eyes’ (3.6) and that it is able to make one wise, and it is this that takes preference over obeying God’s word.

The clear difference between the actual command God gives in 2.16-17 and the woman’s version of what God said (3.3) is peculiar (the lack of ‘neither shall you touch it’ in the original). Sure, woman hadn’t been created when the command was given, suggesting man had passed the command on, but either he’d got it wrong, or she’d not paid enough attention to it. Either way, God’s words are not as familiar to the couple as they need to be, considering they are the very words of the God who created them, the very words that previously spoke life into nothingness. Consequently the serpent is able to cause mass confusion by first questioning God’s word (3.1: ‘Did God actually say…’) and then casting doubt on the reality of God’s judgement (3.4: ‘You will not surely die…’).

He’s made God out to be incoherent, twisted in intention, and a liar. To read this passage is to see graphicly in a snapshot moment how sin works. And it’s easy to point the finger and throw our hands up at this evil anonymous passerby, whom we call ‘sin’. But in reality it is us, our hearts, it is me who does this. And then I remember that moment this afternoon when I doubted whether the real world actually needs the gospel. Or that time yesterday when I was reluctant to believe God’s desire that I be sanctified was true, rather fancying my own will for myself. Or when I questioned whether the Bible was clear in what it said.

I love that closing line from Chris Tomlin’s song ‘Indescribable’, it speaks so simply of the wonder of Jesus’ death for sinners, sinners like Adam, and sinners like me.

‘You see the depths of my heart and you love me the same; you are amazing God’

“The greater the problem, the greater the gospel.
The smaller the problem, the smaller the gospel.

“We need to be very clear on the problem, and its magnitude, to understand and be thrilled by the gospel that solves it… many heresies stem from having the gospel without a problem. To have a Jesus who is the ultimate answer, but to not understand the problem, means we come up a problem resembling whatever we think the world’s greatest problem is.”

Michael You