In the Garden of Eden, everything was perfect. Man and woman lived in harmony with God, in innocence, without shame or fear. But they were not alone. Among them, in the Garden, was a majestic being — the covering cherub — the same one Ezekiel 28 describes.

This cherub had been entrusted with a sacred role: to overshadow, to guard, and to serve humanity, God's second family. When Eve and Adam interacted with this being, they were not speaking to a stranger. They were speaking to a trusted guardian. Someone who had been assigned to protect them. Someone who moved among them with apparent authority, wisdom, and honor.

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In those early days, the relationship between the cherub and the human pair was likely full of trust, openness, and confidence. Eve had no reason to doubt him. He was there, moving freely in the Garden, speaking without fear, with the dignity of one given a high position. Thus, when the cherub approached Eve — he did not come violently, nor obviously rebellious.

He came as a familiar voice. He spoke gently, strategically, and seductively, planting questions that appeared harmless.

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"Did God really say...?" Notice how Eve responded.
She did not resist. She did not recoil.
She answered. She entered a conversation — as you would with someone you

knew and trusted. There was no initial fear. No sense of danger.

The Garden was still a place of security — or so she thought. It is extremely important to understand: Eve obeyed the cherub because he still occupied a place of perceived authority over her. He had not yet been unmasked as a traitor. He had not yet been judged. At that moment, to Eve, he was still the guardian, still the covering, still the servant assigned to her care.

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Thus, his suggestions did not immediately appear as rebellion against God — they appeared as wisdom from someone entrusted to help her grow. It was only after the act of disobedience — after the eating of the forbidden fruit — after God's voice thundered in judgment — that the true nature of the serpent was revealed.

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At that moment of divine judgment in Genesis 3, everything changed. The covering cherub, once honored, was now cursed. The nachash — the serpent — was no longer a figure of beauty or trust. He was now the symbol of treachery, corruption, and degradation.

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God cursed him more than all cattle and beasts of the field (Genesis 3:14). He was cast down, humiliated, transformed from a shining guardian to a crawling deceiver. From walking with men, to being trampled underfoot by them in prophecy. At that same moment, humanity also fell. Adam and Eve, who had been crowned with glory and honor, were stripped of their innocence. Their eyes were opened to shame. They were expelled from the presence of God, clothed with animal skins, and sentenced to mortality.

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The two great falls happened together:

• The fall of the rebellious cherub into final judgment.

• The fall of humanity into separation, death, and exile from the Garden.

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Both were judged. Both were expelled. Both were sent away from the immediate presence of God — from the garden of life into the wilderness of suffering.  Sin entered humanity not through fear or coercion, but through misplaced trust. The betrayal happened under the cover of friendship. The fall happened not through violence, but through conversation. The authority trusted became the authority corrupted. And because of that, the restoration must involve a new authority —the authority of Christ, the true Guardian of our souls (1 Peter 2:25).

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Deliverance today is not just casting out demons —it is undoing the ancient betrayal. It is restoring trust, authority, and dominion back to God's sons and daughters. This is how Adam and Eve obeyed the cherub: through trust that was misplaced, through a friendship that was betrayed, under a covering that turned corrupt. And this is why Jesus had to come not only with love — but with authority to confront and crush the ancient serpent.​​

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"I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed."

(Genesis 3:15)

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Why was enmity necessary?

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In the aftermath of the Fall, everything was confused, broken, and distorted. Adam and Eve had entered into a terrible new relationship — not just with sin, but with the deceiver himself. Through their act of obedience to the serpent's voice, through their acceptance of his suggestion and authority, they had fallen into a kind of fellowship with him. They trusted him. They listened to him. They obeyed him.

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In that moment, the relationship between the cherub and humanity — once designed to be guardian and protected — had perverted into a new, terrible alliance: the deceiver and the deceived, bound together under the rebellion. Now — and this is critical to see — left to itself, this relationship would have continued.

Man and woman, attached by loyalty to the serpent, would have remained under his dominion, partners in rebellion, forever slaves to the usurper. Thus, a radical intervention was needed. And so God, in His mercy, pronounced not only judgment, but separation:

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"I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed."

(Genesis 3:15)

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God forced a division where there had been alliance. God interrupted the friendship. God broke the ungodly fellowship. Enmity was necessary because otherwise, the natural trust Eve and Adam had shown toward the cherub would have remained, and humanity would have willingly remained enslaved. Enmity — hostility, hatred, deep division — was God's gift to humanity. It was a wedge driven between the deceiver and the deceived.

It was a declaration: "You will not stay allies. You will not walk together forever. I will awaken a war between you." This is absolutely vital to understand: God’s sentence of enmity was not simply punitive toward the serpent — it was protective toward humanity.

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He was guaranteeing that mankind would never feel fully at peace with evil again. That there would be a gnawing, aching, spiritual war inside human history — the continual struggle between light and darkness, truth and deception, God and the serpent. God did not allow the serpent to permanently possess humanity. He split the allegiance. He ignited a holy war.

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​Why is this important?

Because it explains why spiritual conflict is built into the human condition. We are not neutral beings wandering through life. There is a war in the bloodline of humanity — a war that rages between those who seek God and those who continue to follow the serpent's lies.

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It also explains why deliverance is necessary today: because the ancient friendship between man and rebellion must be continually broken, generation after generation. Every act of deliverance is an act of enmity — an act of divine warfare that rescues a human being from false allegiance to unseen powers.

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Enmity was God's mercy. Without it, humanity would have been forever chained in willing servitude to the serpent. With it, the stage was set for redemption: for the ultimate seed of the woman — Jesus Christ — to come, to crush the serpent’s head, and to restore humanity to the family of God.

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Crushing the head of the serpent?

Right there, in the moment of judgment, when everything seemed lost, God spoke words that broke through the despair with a flash of unstoppable hope. To the serpent, He said:

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"And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed; he shall crush your head, and you shall bruise his heel." (Genesis 3:15)

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This is the Protoevangelium — the first Gospel, the first direct prophecy of a Redeemer. What does it mean? First, notice carefully: God speaks of "the seed of the woman."

In ancient times, offspring (seed) was almost always traced through the man. But here, the promise is attached to the woman’s seed. This hints, even here, at a miraculous birth — a birth that would happen without the intervention of a human father — a virgin birth, God’s own doing.

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It is the first whisper of the coming Messiah, born of a woman alone, beyond human help, sent directly by divine initiative.

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Second, the prophecy describes a conflict: The serpent would not be passive. He would strike — he would "bruise the heel" of the seed of the woman. The imagery is powerful:

• The serpent, always low to the ground, striking upward, targeting the heel.

• A blow that is painful, but not fatal.

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This is a clear prophecy of the suffering of Christ: the cross, the humiliation, the wounds inflicted — real pain, real suffering — but not final defeat. Third — and most importantly — God promises that the seed of the woman will crush the serpent’s head. Not the tail. Not the body. The head — the seat of authority, of intelligence, of rulership.

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To crush the head is to deliver a fatal, irrecoverable blow. God is announcing here, from the beginning: there will come a human — born of a woman — who will deal not just with the symptoms of evil, but who will utterly destroy the authority of the serpent, and reclaim what was lost.

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This crushing would not be partial. It would not be symbolic. It would be real, visible, historical, and final. On the cross, Jesus took the bruising — the serpent struck His heel. But in His resurrection, Jesus crushed the serpent's head, disarming him, stripping him of authority, and publicly exposing him (Colossians 2:15).

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The cross is where the prophecy of Genesis 3:15 exploded into fulfillment. The serpent bruised  but Christ crushed.

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Why is this important?

Because it shows that from the very beginning, God never surrendered humanity to the serpent. He planned redemption from the moment of the Fall. He proclaimed a Savior before Adam and Eve left the Garden. And because it shows that deliverance today is not a random ministry — it is a direct extension of the serpent's crushing. Every act of casting out demons, every soul set free from darkness, is a manifestation of the crushed head of the serpent. It is a living fulfillment of Genesis 3:15 playing out in history.

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