To truly understand the Bible, you have to see it through the lens of covenant. Not just as a recurring theme, but as the thread that holds the entire story together—from the first page to the last. It is the account of a holy God who formed mankind, watched His creation rebel, and then moved Heaven and Earth to redeem what had been lost. Covenant is not casual. It is costly. It is sealed in blood. And it changes everything.
The storyline of Scripture begins in a garden, with the Tree of Life. God forms Adam from the dust of the earth and breathes His own breath into him. Adam doesn’t come alive by the work of God’s hands alone, but by the very breath of God. That’s how life begins—and that’s how it’s meant to be sustained: by daily dependence on the power and presence of the Lord. In the beginning, man was covered—not with clothing, but with glory. He walked with God, fully alive, fully known, fully covered.
But everything changes with the second tree—the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. When Adam and Eve chose to eat from that tree, they didn’t just disobey a rule; they broke covenant. In that moment, they decided they wanted to call the shots themselves. They chose their own way over God’s way. They became, in their minds, their own god.
That same temptation still governs the world today. The pull to determine right and wrong based on feelings or desires is nothing new. People will twist the Word, justify compromise, and claim grace as a license to live however they want. But every time we eat from that tree—every time we go our own way—we lose something. The glory fades. The access to life is diminished. And we are left trying to cover ourselves with the same fig leaves of self-justification Adam and Eve used.
But God didn’t walk away. Because He is not just the One who makes covenant—He is the One who keeps it.
Abraham shows us that. God called him out, gave him a promise, and waited until Abraham was well beyond natural ability before fulfilling it. Isaac—the son of promise—was born to a man who was one hundred years old. And then one day, God asked for that promise back. Take your son, your only son, and offer him on the mountain.
Abraham obeyed. He carried the wood, climbed the mountain, and laid his son on the altar. And just before the knife fell, God provided. A ram caught in the thicket. A substitute. It was there that Abraham discovered one of the great names of God: Jehovah Jireh—The Lord Will Provide.
It was a picture of what would come.
That brings us to the fourth tree—Calvary’s tree. The cross. The place where Jesus, the Son of God, bore the sin of the world. He didn’t just die—He became the bridge back to the Tree of Life. The one who knew no sin became sin for us, so that we could be restored. At Calvary, the Covenant-Maker became the Covenant-Keeper. Jesus is the Lamb, the sacrifice, the forerunner who opens the way.
And the invitation is this: come and live.
But don’t misunderstand—grace was never meant to let you live however you please. Grace is the open door that leads you into a new way of living—God’s way. It doesn’t remove the boundaries. It reveals the beauty of walking within them. The Tree of Life is once again available, but only on God’s terms.
This covenant is not just for eternity. It is for today. It restores relationship, renews purpose, and reclaims identity. It invites you to walk away from the Tree of Good and Evil—the tree of self—and to walk in the way of the Lord.
At the end of the book, in the final chapter of Revelation, we see the story come full circle. “Blessed are those who do His commandments, that they may have the right to the Tree of Life.” That’s not poetry. That’s covenant language. What was closed is now open. What was lost has been found. And what was broken has been restored—because God keeps His promises.
The question is simple: Will you live on His terms or yours?
The Covenant has been made. The price has been paid. The tree is still standing. And the invitation remains:
Come and live.
