The garden. The man. The woman.

And the serpent — described by the text as "more crafty than any other creature."

It comes to the woman. It does not threaten. It does not promise riches.

It asks one question.

"Did God really say… you must not eat from any tree in the garden?"

It is the first question in the Bible asked not to know — but to plant doubt.

The woman answers. "We can eat from the trees. But not from that one. If we eat it, we'll die."

The serpent leans in.

"You will not die. You will become like God. Knowing good and evil."

She looks at the tree. The fruit looks good for food. Pleasing to the eye. Desirable for becoming wise.

She takes one. She eats.

She gives one to her husband, beside her. He eats too.

The first thing they feel is not pleasure.

It is shame.

They make clothes for themselves out of leaves. They hide among the trees.

The voice of God walks through the garden in the cool of the day, calling for them.

"Where are you?"

The man answers. "I heard you. I was afraid. I hid. Because I was naked."

The voice asks one more question.

"Who told you that you were naked?"

That question is the moment the chapter turns.

Until the serpent, the man and the woman did not know they were naked. They lived. They tended the garden. They obeyed without knowing they could disobey.

Now they know.

And the cost of knowing — is exile.