In Genesis 3, Eve’s sin occurs when she takes the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the tree God had forbidden his image-bearers to eat from. Note the language in 3:6: the woman “saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise,” so “she took of its fruit and ate.” In 6:2, the sons of God “saw” that the daughters of man were “attractive,” so they “took” as their wives any they chose. In Genesis 3 and 6, there was a “taking” of what someone “saw” as “desirable,” and this “taking” was something that should not have happened.

In Genesis 6:1–4, the reader encounters one of the most challenging passages in all of Scripture to interpret. I’d like to spend some posts exploring this passage. In this first article, let’s get our bearings. Here’s the passage in the ESV.
1 When man began to multiply on the face of the land and daughters were born to them, 2 the sons of God saw that the daughters of man were attractive. And they took as their wives any they chose. 3 Then the Lord said, “My Spirit shall not abide in man forever, for he is flesh: his days shall be 120 years.” 4 The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also afterward, when the sons of God came in to the daughters of man and they bore children to them. These were the mighty men who were of old, the men of renown.
Echoes from Genesis 1–3
People multiplying is an echo of Genesis 1. God made “man” (Gen 1:26–27), and then he commissioned his image-bearers to be fruitful and “multiply” (1:28). In 6:1, we read of this multiplication happening.
The reference to God “Spirit” in Genesis 6:3 reminds us of 1:2, the second verse in the Bible. There the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters, and in 6:3 the Lord’s Spirit shall no longer abide in image-bearers for extraordinary lengths of time. The limit of “his days shall be 120 years.”
Marriages are reported in Genesis 6:1–4, and marriage is rooted in Genesis 2. Adam and Eve were the first image-bearers, and they were the first married couple. Many generations later, marriages were happening in Genesis 6.
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If I’m trying to understand something in the Old Testament, then reading widely—or reading across the Testaments—means I’m allowing more authoritative and inspired texts to illuminate the passage I’m studying. Reading widely increases clarity, enriches meaning, and demonstrates the coherence of the Word of God.

The practice of biblical theology is concerned not just with the trees but with the forest—the Big Picture. Biblical-theological instincts want to read parts in light of the whole, and that means seeing specific texts within the larger context of Scripture’s progressive revelation.
Let’s take an example from Genesis 3. According to Genesis 3:1, a serpent came to Eve and began to tempt her to eat from the forbidden tree. Now this serpent isn’t named in the chapter at all. Genesis 3 has twenty-four verses, and throughout them the figure is only called the “serpent.” But who is this oppositional figure? The chapter doesn’t give more information. In fact, the serpent isn’t mentioned throughout the rest of Genesis. Moreover, the serpent isn’t mentioned in the rest of the Pentateuch (Genesis through Deuteronomy).
Yet the interpretive instinct of Bible readers is to understand the tempter in Genesis 3 as Satan. Is that because the serpent is named thus in the chapter? No. The reason Bible readers make that identification is because of later biblical revelation.
In the book of Job, for instance, the being known as Satan wants to destroy Job’s integrity and turn him against the Lord. That agenda sounds like the same goal the serpent of Genesis 3 had for Adam and Eve. In the Gospel of Matthew, Satan comes to Jesus in the wilderness to tempt him by twisting God’s words—a strategy familiar to us because of Genesis 3.
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In Mark 1, Jesus spoke and acted with divine power and authority. He could receive the diseased to himself and could send them away well. If he can overcome a man’s skin-diseased condition, what else can he do, and what greater works can he accomplish? For example, what can he do about the problem of sin and death?

A skin-diseased man approached Jesus in Mark 1:40, and approaching someone while being unclean was something you were not supposed to do. The law of God said so. In Leviticus 13, if a priest confirmed you had a skin disease, you were to dwell outside the camp until it was resolved. If you were close to crossing paths with someone, you were supposed to dishevel your hair and clothes and shout “Unclean!” so that people had fair warning.
But the skin-diseased man in Mark 1 approached Jesus anyway. He fell down before him and said, “If you will, you can make me clean” (1:40). Now that statement is especially intriguing because no unclean person would fall before an Old Testament priest and ask for cleansing. Priests could diagnose, but they could not heal. What was this man doing?
The man had heard about what Jesus could do. In Mark 1:32, Jesus healed the sick at Capernaum (1:32–34). Word continued to spread, and more people came searching for Jesus the next day (1:36–37). Later, Jesus went throughout all Galilee preaching and casting out demons (1:39). What a report! Jesus had authority over diseases and demons! The reason the skin-diseased man came to Jesus is because he knew what Jesus could do.
“If you will, you can make me clean,” he told Jesus (Mark 1:40). The clean/unclean categories were Old Testament ceremonial evaluations about whether someone was ritually fit to approach the tabernacle (“clean”) or whether someone was ritually unfit to approach the tabernacle (“unclean”). Uncleanness also impacted family and social relationships, because perpetual uncleanness required dwelling outside the camp of Israel. The man’s request to Jesus was bold and faith-filled.
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Whereas David dealt with his own sins, Jesus bore our iniquities upon his head as our perfect substitute and propitiation. The scene of the cross was not one of despair, however. The words of David in Psalm 31:5 (“Into your hand I commit my spirit”) are words of confidence, and Jesus spoke those words of confidence in Luke 23:46. The cross was the result of the obedience of the Son of God, who satisfied divine judgment in the place of sinners and who entrusted himself to the Father. 

According to the superscription, David is the author of Psalm 31. And overall, the message of this psalm is confidence in God. Despite physical travail and the frustration of sins (Ps. 31:9–10), and despite the conspiracy of enemies and the rejection of neighbors (31:11), David has entrusted himself to the Lord.
In verse 5, a familiar line rings out: “Into your hand I commit my spirit.” Readers may recognize that line more from the scene of Christ’s cross than from the writings of David. Whereas verse 5 uses “hand” (singular), Jesus uses “hands” (plural). In Luke 23:46, Jesus said with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” And then he died.
There are multiple sayings from Jesus at the cross in the passion scenes which the four Gospels report, but only in Luke 23:46 is there an allusion to Psalm 31:5. In fact, more than an allusion, Luke 23:46 is basically a quotation of the psalm line.
The context of Psalm 31 matters for the cross scene. In Psalm 31, David is experiencing bodily distress and the onslaught of his enemies. But David trusts in the Lord. God is his rock and fortress, his deliverer and stronghold (31:3).
Now behold the cross where the Son of David is dying. As a true and greater David, the Lord Jesus has faced the antagonism of his enemies, and he experiences the affliction of suffering in his body and heart.
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Baptism corresponds to the ark story because the arc of that story was death and life. Baptism is the Christian’s public declaration that God has brought us through the waters of judgment. Through union with Christ, we have been brought safely into everlasting life. The Lord Jesus, the true and greater ark, is our refuge. And in Christ, we are delivered and not condemned.

The account in Genesis 6–8 is about a staggering judgment on the world. Everyone who is not on the ark perishes. The flow of the account works like this:

In Genesis 6, Noah is told to build an ark.
In Genesis 7, the promised flood comes upon the earth.
In Genesis 8, the flood waters subside.

Genesis 7 is about the death of the world. We’re told, “The waters prevailed above the mountains, covering them fifteen cubits deep. And all flesh died that moved on the earth, birds, livestock, beasts, all swarming creatures that swarm on the earth, and all mankind. Everything on the dry land in whose nostrils was the breath of life died” (Gen 7:20–22).
When we imagine the world covered by water, we can recall the state of creation in Genesis 1. “The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters” (Gen 1:2). It was from this condition that God brought forth land (1:9–10). Then God made creatures for the land, including people made in his image (1:20–31).
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In order to see the power of the cross and receive the gospel as truly good news, we must understand our helpless condition, that we have sinned and fall short of the glory of God (Rom. 3:23). The road after Genesis 3 has many twists and turns, but along the way we read about the rescuing grace of God that, in the fullness of time, would take on flesh and dwell among us. Genesis 3 has explanatory power. In the familiar paradigm of Creation-Fall-Redemption-Consummation, the fall explains what happened to creation, it clarifies why we need redemption, and it leaves us groaning for the consummation of all things.

The stories of Scripture contribute to the Story of Scripture, and this Story is chiefly about the redeeming grace of God that is promised and fulfilled in Christ toward sinful creatures. But we weren’t created sinful. God made us in his image that we might commune with him, delight in his word, grow in wisdom, and experience spiritual and physical immortality. God made us to behold and reflect glory. Not far into the Story, however, we fell.
The “fall” is the term summarizing what happened in Genesis 3. From paradise to peril, from spiritual vitality to depravity, from glory to exile, we fell. If we don’t understand this story, then we won’t properly understand the Story of Scripture. Furthermore, if we don’t understand what happened in Genesis 3, we won’t see how these events affect our own lives.
Before Genesis 3
The setup to our fall is only two chapters long. God had created the heavens and the earth, and he had displayed his glory in them. He commissioned his image bearers to be fruitful and multiply and to exercise dominion as his vice-regents. And he blessed all that he had made. From his bountiful goodness, he supplied his image bearers with what they needed for life and flourishing.
Among the good gifts of God in the garden, there were also good trees in the center: a tree of life and a tree of the knowledge of good and evil. God didn’t prohibit eating from the first, but he did prohibit eating from the second: “You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die” (Gen. 2:16–17).
God gave a command, and he gave a warning if his command was violated. Before Genesis 3, Adam and Eve dwelled with one another and with God in untainted communion. The man and woman were naked and not ashamed (Gen. 2:25). But before the next chapter ends, they will be covered and ashamed.
In Genesis 3
The Bible’s third chapter is a threshold because it takes us from the blessed fellowship of Genesis 2 to the devastating events in Genesis 4. The opening verses of Genesis 3 narrate a conversation between the serpent and the woman.
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If you want to dwell among the wise, the route that takes you there goes through reproof. There is no alternative road, no scenic route around correction. There is only heeding proof and receiving life, or rejecting reproof and embracing folly. The way to wisdom is through reproof. So don’t despise yourself.

Occasionally there is a kind of worldly advice that sounds like this: “Don’t worry about what others say. You’ve got to do what’s best for you. Just consider yourself.”
I want to take the essence of that idea—“Do what’s best for you”—and press on it with biblical application. There is a sense in which we must consider what is good for us. But apart from biblical instruction and sound reflection, are we reliable enough to discern what is best?
Let the wisdom of Proverbs address us: “The ear that listens to life-giving reproof will dwell among the wise. Whoever ignores instruction despises himself, but he who listens to reproof gains intelligence” (Prov. 15:31–32).
The Bible wants us to consider what is good for us, and we also need the Bible to tell us what that good is. According to Proverbs 15:31–32, here is what’s good: heeding life-giving reproof.
No one typically likes reproof (or correction) when it comes. We might be embarrassed and humbled by it. We might recoil in denial of a blind spot that another person has identified. We might insist that the instruction is overstated and unnecessary. In other words, when we hear life-giving reproof, we might respond wrongly and ignore it.
But ask yourself where you want to dwell.
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The New Testament books are about fulfillment, about promises kept. As Augustine put it, “the Old is in the New revealed.” The climax of the Old Testament is the New Testament. Mysteries are declared, and shadows are swallowed by light. Christians are New Covenant members, yes. But New Covenant believers must not be only New Testament people. We must be whole-Bible people!

A Christian reading of Scripture affirms that the biblical authors do not tell us everything everywhere all at once. Things build, and that takes time. The doctrine of Scripture includes the teaching of progressive revelation.
The Story of God’s redemptive plan is a long story, encompassing sixty-six books and unfolding across millennia. Told in two Testaments, the biblical story is from a Divine Author who has inspired the writings we read therein. Growth in understanding the Scripture will mean paying attention to how the Old and New Testaments relate. Furthermore, the relationship between the two Testaments is a major interest in the task of doing biblical theology—and you know we care about that task here at this site.
Have you ever read Augustine’s famous statement about how the Old and New Testaments connect? He said, “The New is in the Old concealed; the Old is in the New revealed” (Questions on the Heptateuch, 2.73).
Augustine’s words concisely describe what Christians call “the unity” of Scripture and its “progressive revelation.”
The Old Testament contains prophecies and patterns of Christ. It contains the mystery of the church and the plan of God to bring the nations to salvation through the work of his Son. In other words, the Old Testament conceals the New.
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The account of Jonah was the story of Israel writ large. We’re rightly bothered by one of the Israel’s prophets who didn’t care about the perishing Gentiles and who failed to be light to them. The problem with Jonah, however, was the tip of the iceberg. Jonah’s problem was Israel’s problem. And judgment was coming—to the Israelites.

When the prophet Jonah was ministering in the land of Israel, the land was already divided into a northern kingdom and a southern kingdom. Jonah lived in the northern kingdom (see 2 Kings 14:23–25), and the north would fall to the Assyrians in 722 BC.
During Jonah’s ministry, the word of the Lord came to him with instructions to go to Nineveh and preach against its great evil (Jonah 1:1–2). Nineveh was a major city in the Assyrian empire, and Jonah wanted nothing to do with helping that region. He fled to Tarshish, defying the word of the Lord (1:3).
Jonah’s flight from God’s command is a breathtaking response. The prophet pays a fare and boards a boat. Even a storm on the sea does not prompt him to cry out to God for mercy. The mariners on board were crying out to their gods (1:5), but Jonah was not (1:6). The storm had come because of Jonah, yet Jonah did not seem to care about what was happening on the boat. The captain feared that everyone would perish (1:6). Why didn’t Jonah care?
The boat scene gives insight into what’s wrong with Jonah’s ministry. Didn’t he care about the Gentiles who would perish on the sea? Didn’t it bother him that his actions had put everyone in jeopardy?
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We should consider the humbling truth that we are not invincible. We are not guaranteed tomorrow. A house of mourning will one day convene because of our death. Facing the truth of our mortality can have a sobering effect. Earthly life really ends, and earthly life really matters.

The writer says, “It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart” (Eccl. 7:2).
We should reflect on that observation, for the writer is telling us something that’s “better.” In such “better” statements, the “better” way is the wise way.
Two houses are contrasted: the house of mourning and the house of feasting. The house of feasting would be understandably appealing. Feasting denotes celebration, liveliness, fellowship, joy. Haven’t you been at a table with friends or family and thought, “I don’t want this to end. The joy is so palpable, the company so delightful”?
We are more comfortable at the house of feasting, for sure. Laughter rings in the air, and it’s contagious. The atmosphere can be relaxed, and it’s a breath of fresh air.
So how is going to the “house of mourning”…better? After all, mourning denotes sorrow and grief. There’s loss to face, and the older we get the more losses we experience. The “house of mourning” is about the reality of death.
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