EPHword

From the Garden of Eden to the hill called Golgotha, Scripture weaves a story of sin, sacrifice, and salvation. In the beginning, the first Adam stood beneath a tree and took the fruit. At the end, the second Adam—Jesus Christ—was lifted onto a tree and became the fruit offered back to God. The first man disobeyed by taking; the Son of Man obeyed by giving. And in this giving, He reversed the curse of sin.

Two Adams

Genesis tells us that man was created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). Adam was the prototype of humanity—pure, whole, unmarred. Failing to keep the single instruction he was given to follow, Adam abandoned the covenant relationship with his Creator for a life of shame and toil. When God took on physical form and walked with Adam in the garden, the two would have appeared as twin brothers. This was not only a betrayal of God, but a betrayal of his own likeness. But God had a plan.

When the “Son of God” came two millennia later—conceived of the Holy Spirit—He would have bore the same physical appearance as Adam (the image of God). If at the very lease, they would have appeared as brothers, if not twins.

Paul calls Jesus “the last Adam” (1 Corinthians 15:45), a title that’s more than metaphor. It’s a mission. Jesus came bearing the image of Adam to stand in his stead. He was a sacrifice provided by God, of God, willingly offered as a perfect substitute for the first Adam. The punishment Adam deserved, God took on Himself

Two Fig Trees

The venue of Adam’s downfall was a tree. Not just any tree, but the tree of the knowledge of good and evil—one whose fruit Adam and Eve were forbidden to eat. After they tasted it and realized their nakedness, they sewed fig leaves together to cover themselves (Genesis 3:7). Did they run to the fig grove to make the first pair of pants? Unlikely. I submit that the fig leaves were readily available. The forbidden tree they plucked from was itself a fig tree. The concealment of their shame sprung forth from the very source of their rebellion as if to cover their sin with more sin. 

Fast forward to the first century on a busy road between Bethany and Jerusalem. Jesus sees a fig tree—leafy, promising—but He finds no fruit. He curses it (Mark 11:12-14), and by the next day, the disciples see its branches withered (Mark 11:20-21). This isn’t just a lesson in spiritual barrenness. It’s a prophetic act. The fig tree—once the place of the first sin in Eden was now cursed by the one who would soon bear the fruit of forgiveness for all sin. 

Days later, our Messiah was beaten and bruised dragging a heavy cross beam East out of Jerusalem. That withered fig tree, abandoned on the roadside, stood as the perfect stake for Jesus to be crucified upon. Public roads were a favorite location for Roman crucifixions so travelers would fear the empire. “This withered stump will do quite nicely,” thought the centurion. In a divine twist, the cursed tree became the altar upon which the Lamb of God was offered. Jesus, like Adam, stretched out His arms at the tree. But where Adam stretched his hand toward a luscious tree filled with forbidden fruit, Jesus’ hands were stretched and nailed to a fruitless trunk. Christ was the only “fruit” that barren stalk ever bore.

The Fruit Consumed

Before His final breath, Jesus uttered, “I thirst” (John 19:28). The soldiers lifted to Him sour wine—a product of fermented fruit. Only after tasting it did He declare, “It is finished” (John 19:30), and then He gave up the ghost.

Do you see it? Adam ate the fruit and lived for many more years, despite being told he would die that very day (Genesis 2:17). Jesus drank and died immediately. The death that should have come upon Adam was delayed by mercy and transferred to Jesus by design. 

Conclusion

The curse that began at a tree was nailed to a tree. Jesus bore the consequence of Adam’s sin—the greatest of all sacrifices for the first of all sins. 

• Did the Second Adam that hung on that cross physically resemble the first man? 
• Were both trees fig trees? 

I think there is enough evidence to consider these two theories as not only possible, but probable. I have more questions to consider. 

• Could the wine that Jesus drank have been fig wine? 
• Could both trees have even stood upon the same hill separated only by millennia? 

These are mysteries we may never know the answer to. But I would not put it past the perfect God to provide a perfect sacrifice to weave the most perfect story of redemption possible.

• What Adam broke in a garden, Jesus restored in a garden.
• Where Adam hid among the leaves, Jesus hung exposed.
• Where Adam grasped for godhood, Jesus, God in the flesh, emptied Himself (Philippians 2:6-8).
• Where Adam was cursed to thorns and toil, Jesus wore a crown of thorns and labored unto death.

The Gospel is not random. It is poetic justice written in blood and wood. The cross is not just the end of Jesus’ life—it is Eden in reverse, the curse undone, our story rewritten. The arms of Christ stretched wide bridging the rift we made between us and our Creator. He went to the very place of our failure and repaired the breach.

It is finished.

The garden is open again.