The Judge pronounced with definitive authority to the snake: “You will bruise the woman’s Child, but He will bruise your head.” The snake-man ignored that “but,” an all-important word to be sure, but the snake had no interest in matters of eternal importance hanging on a single word.

God sovereignly directs the destruction of the evil one and the deliverance of the woman’s seed through the victory of his Incarnate, bruised Son (Genesis 3:14-15).

Trial Background

The world had never seen a trial like this trial. It was a trial not of the year, the decade, in our lifetimes, or even of the century. It was the trial of trials, the trial of the ages. As we pour into the courtroom, we see three figures: a man and a woman rather poorly dressed. What is that for clothing? Are those leaves? Odd. Are their heads bowed? Surely, the Judge got the right people. Just look at their faces. They read guilt all over them. We see also a strange-looking creature. He sits up straight. He’s the best dressed one in the room, his suit is a crisp black with a shiny veneer that dazzles the viewer’s eyes. Not a single hair on his head is out of place. Surely, the Judge got the wrong man. When this attractive foreigner breathes, we wonder if we see a forked tongue. Another oddity.

These three figures are sitting on the seats of the accused, about to hear a word of judgment. And by the looks of the figures, we, being fine judges ourselves, know what’s to come. The judgment word is sure to come from the Judge’s bench. We don’t exactly see this Judge. There’s a brightness filling the room, but it’s not the light of the sun. Its source is clearly the Judge’s bench. The shine of the strange character’s suit and face appears to be a radiant light, light like the refulgence of an angel, but upon closer inspection, this is a false light, a false beauty. The light of the judge exposes this lesser light to be no true light at all. And we begin to see the reason why the Judge is the Judge. His holy justice fills every crevice in the courtroom. We begin to tremble ourselves, because we sense that the doom of woe is moments away. We sense that what’s about to be uttered isn’t going to affect the lives of the accused alone, but somehow we’re joined to the ones seated to hear a word of punishment.

And so, we struggle to bear what we are sure to hear, and as the accused wait for this judgment, the Judge reminds everyone in the courtroom of what crimes have been committed. The Judge speaks to the man as if the man were the most responsible of the three.

Judge: “The law of the land is clear. You had everything you needed to live in my domain. You were offered full life and freedom in the land. But you did the one thing I told you that you could not do. You stole from my Garden. It was not yours to have. You took from me. Do you deny this?”

Sure enough, the man did deny this, but his face denied him.

Man: “You set me up for failure, Judge. You gave me this woman. If I had been given someone better to help me, then I would have obeyed this one law.”

Judge: “I seem to recall, O man, that you were literally singing my praises just yesterday, or did I imagine that? Enough. You stand condemned.”

Turning to the woman, the Judge asked: “And what about you? The man is right. You did take from my Garden. You stole from that one tree that’s off-limits, and gave it to him. Do you deny this?”

The woman replied: “This is true, Judge. I did take from your Garden the one thing you told my husband that we couldn’t have. But this is the first I’m hearing of this. To be honest, from my mouth to God’s ears, I was led astray. I didn’t know. I plead ignorance. There was a serpent, and he lied to me. How was I to know?”

The Judge settled her case: “Your deception is no excuse. Enough. You stand condemned.”

The Judge finally turned to the well-dressed, black-suited bright one. But the Judge silenced him. The snake knew better. He denied the Judge’s law, denied the Judge’s good will, and fed the woman the lie: “You won’t die if you steal from him. The Judge actually doesn’t want you to become the Judge. He’s afraid and evil. Isn’t the tree a good tree? This ‘good’ Judge doesn’t want you to have it.” The snake wore the guilt on his face. He would’ve coiled up himself and slithered into a hole if he could, but the Judge’s Word caught him by the tail.

Trial Sentencing

The Judge opened his mouth with ominous words too hard to hear. The Judge looked at the snake, had no eyes to pity him, and sentenced him to a lifetime of imprisonment without the possibility of parole. This creature was not capable of good behavior. His death sustenance will be the dust of the earth, as he slithers on his belly to and fro in chains. What we see of this snake’s life, then, intrigues us all. How can he be mobile yet chained? The food he is apportioned tells us about the end at the beginning, but this snake, crafty but too foolish to see, will spend his life always on the move, and always in vain.

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