Her failure is well-known. No one forgets what she did. She’s the first woman in history, but she makes it into the pages of the New Testament for all the wrong reasons—because of her failure. In 1 Timothy 2:14, Paul refers to her as the woman who was deceived. Thousands of years later, Eve is still known primarily as the one who took what was forbidden, the one who listened to the serpent’s lies, the one who reached for the fruit and changed everything.
1 Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the LORD God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?” 2 The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, 3 but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’ ” 4 “You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. 5 “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” 6 When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. 7 Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves. (Genesis 3 v 1-7)
The tree of the knowledge of good and evil stood in the perfect environment as a test of obedience. In a garden where everything was provided, this one tree represented a choice: Would they trust God’s wisdom, or assert their own? But the tree also stood as a prophetic marker of the kind of life that would exist in the place of disobedience, the fundamental human desire to determine for ourselves what is right and wrong, to be our own gods.
The phrase “knowledge of good and evil” signifies experiential knowledge, the kind that comes from doing and experiencing. Eve wasn’t just reaching for forbidden fruit; she was reaching for the right to make all her own determinations about life, morality, and truth.
Eve’s fall followed a predictable progression:
First, she began to doubt what God had said (v1). The serpent’s question—”Did God really say…?”—planted seeds of uncertainty. The enemy didn’t start with outright denial but with a question that made God’s clear command seem unclear, restrictive, perhaps unreasonable.
Second, she began to disbelieve what God had said (v4). “You will not surely die,” the serpent declared, directly contradicting God’s warning. Eve found the lie more believable than God’s truth. She began to see God not as a loving Father who protected her, but as one withholding something good.
Third, she disobeyed what God had said (v6). She “saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom.” What God had marked as forbidden now appeared good, attractive, and beneficial. She took the fruit, ate it, and gave some to her husband.
In that moment, Eve claimed autonomy. She chose her own wisdom over God’s explicit instruction. And the consequences were catastrophic.
The immediate effects were devastating: shame replaced innocence, fear replaced intimacy with God, blame replaced responsibility, and exile replaced home. Sin entered the world.
How do you recover from such wilful, stupid, selfish wrongdoing?
How do you deal with the consequences when they don’t just affect you, but everyone around you? When your children inherit the brokenness you created? When your legacy is defined by your worst moment rather than your best intentions?
How do you live knowing things will never be the same again? When you can’t undo what’s been done, can’t restore what was lost?
You do your very best at covering over and pretending that nothing has happened. That is one option. One that both Eve and Adam chose to do.
Missions Paul 