Genesis 3:1-13: The Ruin of Eden

Call to Worship

Psalm 99:4–5 ESV

4 The King in his might loves justice. You have established equity; you have executed justice and righteousness in Jacob. 5 Exalt the Lord our God; worship at his footstool! Holy is he!

Prayer of Adoration - Justice

Sovereign Lord,

As we heard in the Psalm, you love justice. We come before You in awe of Your perfect justice. You are the righteous Judge, whose ways are true and steadfast. Your justice is neither arbitrary nor cruel, but holy and wise— a reflection of Your pure and unchanging character.

You do not overlook sin or allow wickedness to go unpunished, yet Your justice is always tempered by mercy and truth. You uphold what is right, defend the weak, and bring justice to the oppressed. Your judgments reveal Your holiness and Your zeal for righteousness.

You do not overlook sin or allow wickedness to go unpunished, yet in Your justice, You have revealed boundless mercy through Jesus Christ, who bore the full weight of Your righteous wrath on our behalf. In Him, justice and grace have met— for while He was condemned for our sins, we are declared righteous through His sacrifice.

Father, we worship You because Your justice is sure and righteous, and because Your grace in Christ secures our forgiveness and restores us to You. We praise You for holding us accountable, and turning Your justice to face us as well, and for the grace that meets us even as we stand guilty before You

May Your justice bring peace to our hearts, confidence in Your perfect rule, and hope that all things will be made right. You are just, O Lord—and we bless Your name forever.

Amen.

Pastoral Prayer

Gracious and merciful Father,

We come before You this morning with hearts both heavy and hopeful. You are the God who sees us, who knows our sorrows, and who walks with us through every valley. In Your steadfast love, You have not left us to suffer alone—but have given us Christ, our Savior, our Shepherd, and our sure Hope.

Today we lift before You the members of this body who are burdened—those carrying physical pain and emotional sorrow. For those whose loved ones lie in hospital beds, and for those who have recently been there themselves, we ask for Your healing hand. For the caregivers—tired, tender, and often overwhelmed—grant strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow. For those spouses who are slowly fading, and those watching the one they love slip away, we ask for comfort in the ache, and grace to remain faithful in love even as they grieve.

We remember those who carry the weight of brokenness in their homes—where words cut and peace is hard to find. For families fractured by strife, for children and parents who do not understand one another, for spouses walking through seasons of silence or sorrow—Lord, bring Your peace. Bring Your healing.

And Father, we pray especially for those whose loved ones are not just distant, but antagonistic—those who mock or resist the faith of Your people. Keep these faithful saints from despair. Remind them that Jesus, too, was rejected by those He loved, and that nothing done in Your name is wasted. Grant them perseverance and a gentle, unwavering witness.

O Lord, in all these burdens, let Your people not lose sight of Christ. Fix their eyes on Jesus, the Author and Perfecter of their faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross. May their suffering not be in vain, but serve as the furnace of sanctification. Refine their hearts. Deepen their trust. Strengthen their hope. Let them see—even faintly—that You are at work, shaping them into the likeness of Your Son.

Keep them from bitterness. Keep them from despair. Fill them with Your Spirit, that they may overflow with grace and truth. Surround them with Your people, that they may never suffer alone. And when the night feels long, remind them that morning is coming—and with it, the joy of seeing Christ face to face.

And now, Father, as we open Your Word, prepare our hearts to receive it. Let it not return void. Give our preacher boldness, clarity, and compassion. Let every word spoken today be true to Your Word, empowered by Your Spirit, and fruitful in our lives. May the seed of Scripture fall on good soil—convicting, encouraging, and transforming us to be more like Christ.

We pray all of this in the name of Jesus, our sympathetic High Priest and Risen King, Amen.

Sermon

Scripture Reading

Genesis 3:1–13 ESV

1 Now the serpent was more crafty than any other beast of the field that the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God actually say, ‘You shall not eat of any tree in the garden’?” 2 And the woman said to the serpent, “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, 3 but God said, ‘You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden, neither shall you touch it, lest you die.’ ” 4 But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not surely die. 5 For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” 6 So when 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, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate. 7 Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths. 8 And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. 9 But the Lord God called to the man and said to him, “Where are you?” 10 And he said, “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked, and I hid myself.” 11 He said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten of the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” 12 The man said, “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate.” 13 Then the Lord God said to the woman, “What is this that you have done?” The woman said, “The serpent deceived me, and I ate.”

Intro

We’ve spent the last four weeks in Genesis 1 and 2, and what we’ve seen is beautiful. God created a world filled with light, order, life, and purpose. A garden was planted, a man formed from the dust, a woman built from his side. They were naked and unashamed, walking with God in the cool of the day. There was no pain, no fear, no conflict, no death. Just God and His people—together. It’s the world we were made for.

But it’s not the world we live in.

Now, as has become my MO with this series, I have discovered that what I wanted to cover in one sermon needed to be split into two sermons because there is just so much to learn in these verses.

After the perfection of the first two chapters,

Genesis 3 opens with a new voice and a subtle question, “Did God actually say...?”

This whisper in the garden is more than curiosity—it’s the start of a deception that leads to humanity’s ruin. It’s the moment the perfect harmony between God and His creation fractures.

In these verses, we see three key moments unfold: The lie that deceives—the serpent’s subtle twisting of God’s Word; The sin that destroys—Adam and Eve’s choice to trust the lie and disobey; And the confrontation that exposes—their guilt, shame, and the brokenness now laid bare.

This chapter reveals how temptation works—not with loud rebellion, but with quiet doubt. It shows the deep consequences of that first sin: not just guilt, but shame that fractures relationships—with God, with each other, and with the world.

Now friends, these chapters are vital for understanding all of Scripture.

Until we understand what went wrong in the garden, we won’t understand what Jesus came to make right. Until we understand the bad news we will never understand the good news.

I. The Lie That Ruins (Genesis 3:1–7)

The serpent doesn’t come roaring with an outright denial of God’s goodness. He begins with a question:

“Did God actually say…?” (Genesis 3:1)

It’s a subtle probe—a whisper, not a shout. The serpent’s craftiness (arum in Hebrew) isn’t loud or brash; it’s calculating and cunning. This lie creeps in like a slow poison, not a shotgun blast.

Shotgun blasts are usually reserved for those Satan has already won over. But his primary strategy is always the same: sow doubt—don’t shout down the truth.

Notice: he doesn’t deny God’s command. He twists it into something harsher, something unreasonable:

“Did God actually say you must not eat from any tree in the garden?”

He exaggerates the prohibition, reframing God as controlling and withholding.

This is the first move in every rebellion: Make God’s Word sound restrictive and suspicious.

And why does this lie work so well? Because it sounds almost true.

It appeals to our desire for wisdom… our hunger for autonomy… our fear that God might be holding something good back. The lie slips past our defenses. It doesn’t shout, “Rebel against God.” It whispers, “Maybe God isn’t as good as you think.”

The serpent says: “You deserve more. You deserve to know more. You can decide for yourself what’s good.”

And temptation still works exactly the same way today. It doesn’t begin with a declaration of war against God—it begins with a quiet undermining of His character. It’s not the roar of rebellion. It’s the murmur of suspicion.

Temptation rarely says, “Turn away from God.” It says, “That command isn’t really for you.” It invites us to weigh God’s Word in our own scales—to place ourselves in the judgment seat—to trade trust for control.

And in our hearts, that process often feels more like a slow drift than a sharp turn. We entertain a little doubt. A small compromise. A gentle redefinition of what God meant. We second-guess His boundaries and reinterpret His commands through the lens of our desires.

And we listen to the hiss of the ancient lie: “Did God really say…?”

Modern Echoes of Eden

We still hear this whisper in countless ways:

Did God really say He’ll provide? Shouldn’t you take control before things fall apart?” Temptation masquerades as responsibility—urging us to grasp, hoard, or manipulate instead of trusting God’s provision and timing.

“Did God really say that sin leads to death? You’ve done it before, and you’re fine.” This whisper dulls our conscience, suggesting that if judgment isn’t immediate, then perhaps it won’t come at all.

“Did God really say you’re forgiven? Then why do you still feel so ashamed?” Satan accuses the believer even after confession—blurring the difference between conviction and condemnation.

“Did God really say to love your enemy? Surely He didn’t mean that person.” The whisper appeals to our sense of justice, justifying bitterness, gossip, or vengeance in the name of what feels right.

“Did God really say we’re not to judge the world, but rather those in the church?”

The whisper sounds pious: “Aren’t Christians supposed to stand for truth? Shouldn’t we call out sin in the culture?”

There’s some truth there—but Satan deals in half-truths. He doesn’t erase Scripture. He misapplies it.

“What have I to do with judging outsiders? Is it not those inside the church whom you are to judge? God judges those outside.” (1 Corinthians 5:12–13)

But the enemy flips it. He stirs outrage at the world’s rebellion while we ignore compromise in our own ranks. We grow bold in public condemnation and quiet in personal accountability. We burn bridges with those who need the gospel—and lose integrity among those who already believe it.

So he whispers: “Judge the world for their unrighteousness. Compared to them you are so righteous.” “Ignore the sin inside the church—it’s messy, and they might decide to reveal your own sin that you wanna keep covered up.”

And in doing so, he reverses God’s call. Sin no longer looks ugly. It looks justified. Rebellion dresses up like maturity.

This is how temptation works: By casting shadows on God’s goodness… By making His truth seem negotiable… By convincing us that life apart from Him might be better.

But beneath every whisper is the same ancient goal: To separate us from the God who made us, the God who loves us, and the God who has never once lied.

The Danger of Half-Knowing God's Word

Notice something else: Eve hadn’t heard the command directly—Adam had. He was the covenant head, given the role to protect and “guard” (shamar) the garden. But here he stands silently by.

The man who was meant to lead and protect lets the enemy speak unchecked. His silence is his failure. This is not just Eve’s sin—it’s Adam’s abdication.

Eve’s reply shows the danger of half-remembered truth:

“We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, but God said, ‘You shall not eat of the tree… neither shall you touch it, lest you die.’” (Gen. 3:2–3)

But God never said they couldn’t touch it. Whether it was a misunderstanding or a precaution, it reveals this: Unclear truth leaves us vulnerable.

Adding to or subtracting from the truth of God and His Word is always sin.

So friends, the first line of defense against temptation is not willpower. It’s clarity about what God actually said.

The Serpent’s Full Strategy

The serpent then takes the next step:

“You will not surely die…” (v. 4)

He denies the consequence. He casts doubt on God's truthfulness:

“For God knows that when you eat… your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God…” (v. 5)

Here’s Satan’s full strategy:

Deny the penalty of sin. “Sin won’t really cost you. Look how much you’ve gotten away with already.”

Cast doubt on God’s character. “If God were good, wouldn’t He want you to enjoy this?”

Distort God’s intention. “God doesn’t want to limit you. He just wants control. Be true to yourself.”

Ironically, the serpent promises they’ll become like God—when they already were. Made in His image. But Satan twists that truth into rebellion. Obedience becomes slavery. Freedom gets redefined as autonomy—literally, self-rule—life apart from God.

Sin Promises Much—Delivers Little

Sin always promises more than it delivers. It flatters the desires God planted in us—pleasure, beauty, wisdom—but disconnects them from their true Source.

Eve looks at the fruit and sees:

Good for food (bodily pleasure),

A delight to the eyes (aesthetic beauty),

Desirable to make one wise (intellectual pride).

This pattern—see, desire, grasp—is how sin unfolds in every generation. It’s repeated all throughout Scripture.

So she takes the fruit—choosing death over the fruit of life. And she gives some to Adam, “who was with her.” Adam, present and passive, takes it without a word.

The one meant to crush the serpent says nothing. The one meant to protect his wife protects his pride instead. His silence curses not just her—but the whole creation.

The Unraveling of the World

Their eyes are opened—but not to glory. Not to godhood. To shame.

Where once they walked with God in the garden, now they hide. Where once they were naked and unashamed, now they cover themselves with fig leaves.

Sin doesn’t feel evil at first. It often feels like freedom… progress… discovery… or even protecting, conserving, and righteousness.

But the moment the fruit is eaten, the ruin begins.

This is where the unraveling starts. Paradise cracks. Innocence vanishes. Shame floods in like a bursting dam.

And for the first time, humanity hides from the God who made them.

The Weight of This Moment

Friends, the weight of this moment cannot be overstated.

This isn’t just the fall of Adam and Eve—this is the fall of everything.

All sorrow, all death, all violence, all disease, all brokenness—every time you have shed blood, every tear you’ve ever cried, every moment of despair you’ve ever felt—can trace its lineage back to this.

To the moment they believed a lie instead of trusting the God who had only. ever. been. good. To the moment when the promise of wisdom became a gateway to death. To the moment when the world cracked under the weight of disobedience.

And here’s what you need to understand: this wasn’t just their sin—it’s yours too. The serpent’s whisper didn’t stop in Eden. It echoes still. The ruin of Eden is repeated every time you and I choose our way over God’s. Every time we join our parents in their rebellion.

So what do we do in a world like this, in a world wrecked by rebellion and still echoing with the hiss of the serpent?

Application

Watch for the whisper. Temptation rarely screams. It whispers. Be alert when you hear yourself asking, “Did God really say…?”

Know God’s Word clearly. Half-truths leave you exposed. The best defense is a heart and mind anchored in Scripture.

Men, lead and protect. Adam’s failure was in his silence. Don’t let your passivity be the door through which sin enters your home, your marriage, or your church.

Beware flattering lies disguised as wisdom. Sin appeals to good desires—but severs them from God’s design. Ask: Am I chasing something God has forbidden?

Recognize the fruit of sin: shame, hiding, and distance. No fig leaf—no excuse, no distraction—can cover sin. Don’t hide. Drag it into the light and kill it.

Transition

The tragedy of Genesis 3 doesn’t begin with a bite. It begins with a whisper. The serpent’s lie strikes its blow—and the devastation begins.

What seemed like a personal choice becomes a cosmic catastrophe. The sweetness of fellowship is shattered. And the very first human emotion in a fallen world… is shame.

II. The Shame that Follows (vv. 7–9)

Sin doesn’t just cause guilt; it brings shame—a deep, external, relational rupture that cannot be covered by our own efforts.

“Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths.” (Genesis 3:7)

A. The Nature of Shame in an Eastern Framework

In biblical culture, shame is not just something you feel—it’s something you carry. It’s not merely “I did something wrong”; it’s “I am wrong. I am exposed. I am unclean. I am unworthy.” And worse, everyone else now sees me that way.

Shame is relational: it alienates us from others.

Shame is sticky: it clings to you even when you try to move on.

Shame is transferred: the disgrace of one can stain many—family, tribe, even one’s God.

When Adam and Eve eat the fruit, their eyes are opened, but not to glory or wisdom. They see their nakedness.

But their physical nakedness mirroring a deeper spiritual exposure. They are now vulnerable, uncovered, and painfully aware that they cannot stand as they once did—not before each other, and certainly not before God.

The fig leaves are not just about modesty; they are an act of desperation—an instinctive attempt to cover not just skin, but shame.

B. Our Modern Fig Leaves

We today haven’t moved beyond that instinct in Eden. we’ve just found more sophisticated ways to sew fig leaves.

We cover ourselves with Achievement

We pour ourselves into school or work, hoping success will silence the voice that says we’re not enough.

We try to be the perfect parent or the rock of the family, hoping our responsibility will redeem us.

Even in the church, we lead, serve, and strive—not just from love, but sometimes to feel lovable.

We think if we do enough, achieve enough, serve enough, maybe we’ll finally feel good about ourselves.

We cover ourselves with Public Perception

We carefully curate what people see—what we post, how we dress, what we drive.

We manage our image with exhausting precision, afraid someone might see the cracks beneath the surface.

We speak in ways that impress, project confidence, or win approval, not just to be liked—but to feel safe.

The opinions of others become our fig leaves. If we can just look put together, maybe no one will see what’s underneath.

We cover ourselves with Busyness

We fill every hour, every calendar block, every waking moment with something to do.

We can’t stop, because slowing down might expose the shame from sin that covers us—to ourselves, to others, to God.

So we stay busy, not just to be productive, but to stay hidden.

If we’re always moving, no one—including us—has to face the shame beneath the surface.

We cover ourselves with Humor

We joke about our flaws before anyone else can weaponize them.

We make light of sin so no one sees how heavy it truly feels.

We turn everything into sarcasm because vulnerability feels dangerous.

We become the class clown, the quick wit, the one who never gets serious—because if we ever dropped the act, people might see the brokenness we’re trying to make ourselves forget.

We cover ourselves with Moral Performance

We try to be the “good person,” the responsible one, the ethical one.

We keep the rules, say the right things, show up when we’re supposed to.

But deep down, it’s not always about love—it’s about trying to earn what grace freely gives.

We obey, not just to honor God, but to convince ourselves we’re still worthy of being loved.

We carefully curate the image. But the ache of the shame of sin remains.

Something’s broken—not just inside of us, but between us and others.

Between us and God.

You feel it in the silence. When you feel alone. When you lay awake at night and feel unworthy, unseen, or unacceptable.

And no matter how much we hustle or hide, the shame sticks to us.

C. Because the Shamed Cannot Remove Their Own Shame

Here’s the crushing truth: shame cannot be self-resolved. In the biblical world, only someone outside of the shame—someone righteous, someone untainted—can lift it.

This is why at the end of Job, God has Job intercede for his friends who wrongly spoke presumptuously on behalf of God.

You cannot cleanse yourself.

You cannot restore your honor.

You cannot declare yourself forgiven or shameless because you choose to no longer acknowledge the shame.

Because that’s not how shame works.

Adam and Eve couldn’t put the world back together. They couldn’t unsee their nakedness. They couldn’t climb their way back to Eden.

And neither can we.

Their sin did not just tarnish them—it fractured everything. The shame was only the beginning.

In the next breath from God's mouth, we hear more than sorrow. We hear judgment. We hear that sin does not sit still.

It does not stay private. It spreads. It multiplies. And it poisons the very ground beneath their feet.

But this is not the end of the story.

D. Gospel Hope in the Midst of Shame

Though shame clings and judgment looms, the story does not end with despair.

Even in this moment of exposed nakedness and fractured fellowship, God’s heart is pursuing His fallen people.

God doesn’t leave Adam and Eve to drown in shame or run from Him.

Instead, He comes looking for them, calling out:

"Where are you?" (Genesis 3:9)

This question isn’t a condemnation but an invitation.

It’s the voice of a loving Father reaching into the darkness, offering a chance to return, to confess, to be known even in brokenness.

The God who asks “Where are you?” is the God who promises restoration.

The God who exposes sin also covers it—with garments of grace (as He will later clothe Adam and Eve with skins).

The God who confronts is the God who pursues.

Our shame may be deep and our guilt heavy, but God’s mercy is deeper still.

The God who made us in His image is already working to restore that image, to heal that relational rupture, and to cover our nakedness not with fig leaves but with the righteousness of Christ.

So as we move to the next point—The Confrontation that Exposes—let us see that God’s confrontation is not simply judgment.

It is the first step toward grace, repentance, and renewal.

It is the voice of hope in the midst of ruin.

III. The Confrontation that Exposes (10-13)

After Adam and Eve’s rebellion, they do what every sinner since has done—they hide. Shame-covered, fear-filled, fig leaves trembling, they retreat into the trees, hoping their Creator won’t see.

But God comes looking.

“They heard the sound of the LORD God walking in the garden…” (v. 8)

He doesn’t come storming. He comes walking. Calling. Seeking.

“Where are you?” (v. 9)

Not because He doesn’t know. But because He wants them to know. This is not a question of location—it’s a question of relationship. “Where are you... now that you’ve walked away from Me?”

God’s confrontation is not cold judgment—it is compassion clothed in holiness. He doesn’t ignore their sin, but neither does He abandon them in it.

He exposes the truth:

“Who told you that you were naked?” (v. 11) “Have you eaten of the tree…?” “What is this that you have done?” (v. 13)

Each question is a scalpel, cutting through the excuses and blame. But not to shame them—to invite them to repent. To come clean. To return home.

And yet, instead of owning their sin, they scramble:

“The woman You gave me…” (v. 12) “The serpent deceived me…” (v. 13)

Adam blames Eve—and God. Eve blames the serpent. No one confesses. No one repents. The ruin is now relational—between man and woman, between humanity and God.

Still, God does not walk away.

This moment is heavy with justice—but it’s also dripping with mercy. Because just after this confrontation comes a promise:

“I will put enmity between you and the woman… He shall bruise your head…” (v. 15)

Before the sword of judgment falls, a spark of hope is lit. Even as God exposes, He begins to restore. Even as He pronounces the curse, He promises a Savior.

God's confrontation, then and now, is not to destroy—it is to redeem.

It is as if God says:

“I see what you’ve done. I see how you hide. But I’m still coming. And I’m not done with you.”

So let me ask you, friend: Where are you hiding?

Are you covering your guilt with fig leaves of self-justification, image management, or religious routine?

Are you blaming others—your spouse, your past, even God Himself?

The God who confronted Adam still confronts us—not to humiliate us, but to heal us. He calls us into the light, not to destroy, but to deliver.

Come out of hiding.

Because the same God who asked, “Where are you?” is the God who would one day come all the way to Calvary, saying, “Here I am”—naked, shamed, exposed—for you.

He was pierced for your transgressions. Crushed for your iniquities. So you could be restored to the God who still comes walking—still calling your name.

Conclusion

Friends, Genesis 3 is not a myth. It’s a mirror.

This is not just the story of how sin came into the world. It is the story of why everything hurts.

Every broken family, every funeral, every diagnosis, every restless night, every angry word, every moment of guilt… traces its way back to this garden.

This is why minds decay. Why bodies fail. Why parents bury children. Why spouses sleep back-to-back, cold and quiet. Why addictions return like familiar chains. Why loneliness lingers even in a crowd. Why churches have lost their witness in the world.

And this is why you feel what you feel.

Some of you are watching loved ones slip away. Some of you feel like you’re the one deteriorating. Some of you are carrying guilt you can’t scrub off. Some of you are clinging to fig leaves—covering shame with religious effort, curated personas, or numbness.

The ruin of Eden didn’t stay in Eden—it’s in us. What happened there still echoes everywhere.

And yet, even in this chapter of devastation, God’s mercy is already on the move.

God doesn’t wait for Adam and Eve to climb their way back to Him. He comes looking. He walks into their shame. He speaks into their fear. He exposes what they want to hide—not to crush them, but to redeem them.

Because the God who sees all—the God who could justly destroy—moves toward sinners with both truth and tenderness.

That same God is here. Today. Calling.

Not, “Where are you?” because He doesn’t know. But because He loves you. And He’s calling you out of your hiding. Out of your pretending. Out of your shame.

You don’t need to cover yourself. You don’t need to fix yourself. You don’t need to run anymore.

There is a Savior who walked another garden in agony, so you could walk in grace. He was stripped, so you could be clothed. He was cast out, so you could be brought in. He died, so you could live.

What we have done—our pride, our silence, our selfishness, our rebellion—cannot keep us from His mercy, if we will only come. Not with your merit, but with your need. Not with excuses, but with honesty. Not to earn mercy, but to receive it.

So come. Come weary, come wounded, come honest.

Come to the God who still walks into ruined gardens and calls His people by name. Come and find mercy.

Let’s Pray

Father, You are holy, and we are not. We have doubted Your goodness, twisted Your Word, hidden in shame, and blamed others. Yet You still come—calling, seeking, showing mercy.

Lord Jesus, You were exposed so we could be covered. You were crushed so we could be healed. Thank You for walking into our ruin to bring us back to God.

Holy Spirit, help us come out of hiding. Search us. Cleanse us. Restore us. Give us grace to confess, strength to repent, and joy in being forgiven.

As we go, let Your Word stay. Make us a people who walk in the light—honest, humble, and healed. We pray in the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Repentance

Assurance of Pardon – Isaiah 1:18

Leader: Hear now the word of the Lord: "Come now, let us reason together," says the Lord. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool."

Church, this is the mercy of our God—He does not abandon sinners in their shame but invites them to be made clean. In Christ, your scarlet guilt is washed white.

In Jesus Christ, you are forgiven.

People: Thanks be to God.

Benediction:

Go now in the grace of the God who sees you, even in your hiding. Walk in the light of Christ, who bore your shame and covered your guilt with His righteousness. And may the Spirit keep you from the deceitfulness of sin, strengthen you in every sorrow, and lead you ever closer to the God who calls, “Where are you?”— not to condemn, but to restore. Amen.