Letter to Father Adam

Adam & Eve in Eden

Until we meet…

Adam! Adam! Father of all mankind! You it should be who is remembered as first and foremost in everything good. But it’s not so: we recall you as being with Eve our parents first in sin!


How could your spirit – remembering still the perfection experienced here on earth – bear the crushing fetters of sin tightly binding up your guilty conscience?

So you desired to know what constituted good and evil? Fool! And now you know (as much do we): and are all the worse for knowing. Better by far that you had retained your ignorance and remained unsullied and unstained by evil knowledge. For God never condones sin: whether found in angels or in sons of men.

And I – lineally descended through unrecorded generations – I am a lowly scion, a shadow fallen from what God planned to be a high-born race: planned to rule the earth like gods, not like the senseless slaves we are today.

My heart so crushed and chained by sin – just one more son sired in the now-sinful race of men – how could I wit true freedom? For I have not looked into God’s face as you did, Adam.

But you knew truth! You talked with God! You saw Him face to face and walked by His side in Eden in the cool of evening. And so you then threw it all away. Why? For in one moment of unutterable folly is birthed the bondage of all future aeons of the earth. O wretched man born after Adam’s fall!

Did your heart break as you remembered Eden: laboring each day to force the cursed dust of earth to yield its fruit? Did you feel then – what we, your descendants know too well! – the first pangs of doubt gnaw painfully; stab through your entrails with the anguish memories of all you’d lost? Regret! Too late!

When you meet me in heaven, what will you say? Will you hang your head in shame? Oh yes – my frame is feeble compared to those who once bore centuries of years so lightly upon their shoulders before the flood swept all away. But what of that? Can I choose the year in which I’m born? Or pick and choose which parents will yet rear me? Such is not my destiny.

But can you bear the untold magnitude of suffering brought upon all races of mankind back (then unborn) by your one act?


Perhaps – I think it yet – that you, like me, will likewise rejoice humbly in the grace and mystery of Christ: the second Adam, who so outshone the first. Christ, our Savior: whose advent was promised even while the earth still reeled; stunned with shock at your transgression, unknowingly fearful of what this portentous act heralded.

God’s word: “For from your offspring yet will come one who will crush the serpent’s head!” A promise dearly bought – and dearly held, as you were expelled from Eden.

Your nigh one thousand years of life on earth must have weighed heavily upon your bones: the frame designed to live in Eden, perfectly in peace with God, for ever.

Valé, Father Adam. Your son who shares your doom will greet you reverently at the Judgement Day. For I – like you – merit nothing of God’s love: it is His gift to me, and mine, and yours.



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