I once heard the most beautiful allegory taken out of Genesis 3. God has adopted us, His children, but when we turned against Him, we gave our adoption papers to Satan. In order to get His children back, Jesus had to die for us.
Once lived a Father who had one boy and one girl in his house. Because he loved these children, the Father adopted them that he might call them Son and Daughter. This Father gave his children everything they could desire. He provided a beautiful home for them, and talked with them, and loved them dearly. This house had many rooms, beautiful rooms that looked as if they were being prepared for something momentous. To the children, each of these rooms seemed like mansions, so large they were in grandeur. They could enter any room their hearts desired, but they could not leave the beautiful grounds of the house.
Much of the Father’s time was spent in talking to his children, showing his love for them. For a time the children lived happily in their new home, enjoying each other’s company, and listening to their father. But no story is a story which continues in such blissful perfection. And so, just as with all that we know in this life, sadness entered the home.
But it did not begin with tears. It began with laughter and joy. The children, romping about their beautiful house, ran from place to place with smiles and delighted shouts. They stopped in one room, a mahogany paneled chamber. Before them, on the wall, framed in shining gold, two pieces of paper, signed, gave proof to their adoption. Together, they stood, in awe at how tenderly and proudly these papers were displayed.
Soon they grew tired of gaping at the papers and left. But just as soon, they grew tired of hurrying through the rooms. Finally they entered the gardens, vast and beautiful. The longer they played, the more a desire grew in them to see beyond the walls of the garden. Drawing near to the gate, they peered through the bars and saw a person, sitting, smiling.
“Hello dear children,” this person called with silky words. “Why don’t you come and play with me? I do so love children, but have none of my own. . . .”
“But our Father has required that we stay within our home.” Answered the children, “And that we not talk to strangers.”
“Me?” Asked the person, “But I am not a stranger, I know your Father well, and I have known you long, though you have not known me. My name is Lucifer. I watch you play, and I do so long to play with you.”
“You seem a very nice person, and, in truth, I cannot see how our Father would not wish us to speak to you, especially since he has known you.” The son decided.
“But your Father hasn’t really told you not to leave your house, has he?” Lucifer asked now, concern mingling into the drip of his voice.
“We are not to leave, lest we die.” The daughter answered though her eyes stared with longing.
“You will not surely die.” Lucifer chuckled merrily at the children. “For your Father knows that once you step outside this gate, your eyes will be opened to see the world, the whole world, just as he can see it. So come, play with me, and see the world.”
So the children, desiring so to see the world, sought leave their home. But Lucifer stopped them. “No my children, you cannot enter this world without becoming children of it.”
“But, how can we become children of the world?” The son and daughter asked together.
“You must have papers of adoption. I may sign them for you, but you must have them.”
With no further pause, the children returned to the great mahogany room to where their papers of adoption hung so proudly from the wall. Not even did they pause to gape at the beauty of these papers, but hurriedly snatched them away. Lucifer, so pleased to see the papers, lost not a moment in scrawling over the Father’s name with his own.
“And now, dear children, enter the world, see what there is to see, and never look back, for you shall never go back.”
The world into which the children embarked looked nothing like that which they left. Weeds grew up to choke out the flowers. Pain hung thick about the air in place of fog. The clouds rained tears instead of water. No sooner had the children left the gate than they wished to return. But they could not. Never before had they known sorrow, but now they cried, they cried for their true Father. Even as they cried for him, they were ashamed to hear his footstep draw near to them. They sought to hide, yet, no place would shelter them from his eyes. He came, with sorrow in his eyes.
“What have you done my children?” He called to them.
Though they tried, they could not hide the sinful product of their desires, and soon confessed all. Yet, their hands still clutched the adoption papers, now covered with the scrawl of Lucifer. They could not blot his name from the page; they could not erase their sin. Without their Father’s name on the papers, they could not return to his house.
“My children, you may not renter my house. The wages of sin is death, and you shall surely die. But, my children, I will give you a gift.”
So saying, the Father sent his children into the world, to live there, to labor, to bring forth food from the ground, to bear children, and to sweat in toil. But he did not leave them there alone. He gave them his gift and brought forth his precious Lamb, perfect, and white. He killed the lamb, and spread the blood upon the adoption papers. And so, over the blood of the Lamb who was slain, he could write his name.