PRAYER PT 2: REINHARD BONNKE   |   REINHARD BONNKE PRAYER PT 3: How to Intercede

[Music]

In the aftermath of the Adenic default,

Adam and Eve, weighed down by sorrow and

humility, led their loyal followers

eastward. They did not flee in fear, but

withdrew in dignity, choosing peace over

conflict. When the hostile Nodite tribes

threatened war, with the original garden

no longer tenable, and divine support

withdrawn, the Adenic company turned

toward the only open route, the lands

between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers.

Their long journey was marked by

hardship and resolve.

The caravan moved slowly across the

Mesopotamian plains, burdened with

children, livestock, seeds, and the

aching memory of lost purpose.

When they reached the flooding

Euphrates, they waited 6 weeks before

crossing into a territory that had once

been considered a possible sight for

Eden itself.

Providence, it seemed, had preserved a

second chance.

The indigenous tribes upon hearing that

the sovereigns of Eden were approaching

had fled in fear, abandoning their

settlements.

Adam and his company entered unopposed.

There, in the fertile cradle of

Mesopotamia, the second Garden of Eden

was born, not a paradise prepared by

celestial hands, but a land to be tamed

through sweat and toil. The soil was

unyielding, the thorns real, and every

gain hard one. Yet from this raw land

they carved farms, raised herds, and

planted orchards using the preserved

life forms of the original Eden. A wall

56 mi long was constructed to protect

the valley's northern edge where the

rivers converged, securing their new

homeland.

In the second garden, Adam's sons and

daughters continued the mission, though

now humbled and mortal.

Adamson journeyed north to establish a

secondary center.

Everson became his father's chief

administrator, while Seth, born after

the default, took up the spiritual

mantle, founding a priesthood rooted in

health, education, and worship.

These Sethite priests became physicians,

teachers, and moral guides, a beacon of

truth and service in a world largely

primitive. Here, family life flourished.

Children were nurtured with care, taught

skills of living and ideals of spirit.

Women held honored roles, and knowledge

was treasured. The community preserved

literacy, metallurgy, agriculture, and

architecture that surpassed anything of

their age. The arts and sciences, though

wounded, were not lost. The tragedy of

Cain and Abel cast a dark chapter over

their early years. Cain, son of Eve and

the Nodite Cano, slew his younger

brother in a moment of rage. The murder

shocked the community. Cain stricken

with guilt left the garden and

eventually became a leader among the

nodites forging peace between his two

lineages.

Though born of disappointment, the

second garden bore fruit.

Adam and Eve implemented a final mission

to share the superior genetic legacy of

the violet race with the world.

Over 1,500

women were selected from surrounding

tribes and with divine consent bore

children by Adam.

These offspring carried Eden's legacy

far beyond the garden, seed in what

would become the Andite peoples. Adam

and Eve lived for centuries in the

second garden, guiding, teaching, and

laboring. Eve died of heart failure.

Adam some 19 years later of age. They

were buried beneath the temple of

worship, the sacred heart of their new

homeland.

The civilization of the second garden

endured for millennia, its influence

rippling outward through migrations and

cultural exchanges.

Though eventually diluted by time and

mingling with the evolutionary races,

the light of Eden continued to shine

through the Andites who carried its

legacy into Europe, India, and the

cradle of Sumerian civilization.

In the end, the second garden of Eden

was not a failure. It was a bridge.

Through sacrifice, perseverance, and

quiet triumph, the children of Eden

passed their torch to humanity,

leaving the world forever changed.

When the dust of exile had settled, the

children of Adam and Eve did not vanish

into the wilderness. They built a new, a

civilization between the rivers,

luminous and deliberate.

The Adamites, descendants of the violet

race, brought with them the remnants of

paradise,

order, knowledge, and the memory of a

higher way of life. In the centuries

that followed, their settlement flowered

into a beacon of culture.

Within their walled valley, the air was

alive with craft and learning. The

potter's wheel turned beside the smith's

furnace. Scribes etched symbols into wet

clay, shaping the world's third

alphabet. The flicker of lamps

illuminated woven tapestries, bronze

tools and polished vessels. Echoes of

Eden refined through human hands.

The Adamites became the keepers of

civilization's first light. From the

arts of metallurgy, pottery and weaving

to the birth of architecture itself,

their touch transformed the plain into a

living city. Their home stood in ordered

rows. Gardens flourished with cultivated

vines, and the temple rose at the

confluence of the two great rivers, a

structure of symmetry and reverence,

built not to worship idols, but to honor

the source unseen.

Family life in the second garden was

sacred. Children grew in the warmth of

enlightened homes where both father and

mother were teachers, not masters.

The hearth was a classroom, the field a

living lesson. From the time they could

walk, the young learned to plow, to

heal, to read the stars, and to pray.

The Sethite schools became the pride of

Mesopotamia,

courts of learning where faith,

medicine, and science intertwined.

In open halls shaded by fig trees,

pupils studied the cycles of the moon,

the curing of herbs, the laws of balance

and breath.

These were not superstitions, but the

first sciences of civilization.

Their system of education, the book

tells, has never since been surpassed.

And at the heart of it all stood the

understanding that health, knowledge,

and worship were one.

Three paths to the same divine center.

Yet even the brightest flame cannot burn

forever against the winds of time. The

civilization of the second garden was an

artificial dawn. A divine culture

transplanted into the soil of a still

primitive world.

Surrounded by tribes untouched by Eden's

teaching, the Adamites faced a steady

erosion, not by war, but by mingling.

Generation by generation, they sent

forth their best. Emissaries of peace,

not conquest. They traveled north into

the highlands and west toward the sea,

sewing the seeds of civilization among

darker peoples.

In so doing, they diffused their

strength even as they spread their

light. When Adam passed from this world,

his presence, the living axis of their

unity, was gone.

The temple flame still burned, but its

keepers grew fewer. The walls of the

garden endured. Yet the spirit that had

raised them began to fade.

Over centuries, the once pure violet

race merged into the vast tide of

humanity, leaving behind the Andites,

a mixed but vigorous people who carried

forward the torch of progress into

Eurasia.

Even as the second garden declined, the

world it had touched began to awaken.

The crafts of the Adamites became the

foundation of every later culture. The

Sumerian potter, the Acadian builder,

the Egyptian priest all bore traces of

their influence.

The early citystates of the Euphrates

were built upon the bones of Eden's

canals.

The written word, the temple plan, the

measured brick, each carried an echo of

the garden's harmony. There was no fall

of man, only the blending of heaven's

memory with earth's evolution.

In truth, the mission of Adam and Eve

did not fail. It transformed.

Their blood and their ideals did not

vanish. They diffused. The violet spark

merged into the stream of human life,

enobbling it from within. When all is

[Music]

Nearly 40,000 years ago, the Watchers of

Urantia petitioned for help. Their world

was broken by rebellion, their tribes

still wandering in darkness. The request

was bold that a son and daughter from

the higher realms be sent to uplift

humanity. Permission was granted. The

promise was Adam and Eve.

But long before their arrival, the loyal

Van, survivor of the ancient betrayal,

began preparing a home worthy of them.

83 years before the material son and

daughter descended, Van rose before his

followers and declared a vision.

We will build a garden, a dwelling fit

for those who will guide the nations. He

gathered more than 3,000 volunteers, men

and women drawn from 61 settlements,

Nodites and Amadonites together, peoples

who had once been bitter enemies.

Divided into a 100 work teams, they

swore to labor with simple hands for a

heavenly purpose. No wages, only faith.

For nearly three years, scouts searched

the earth for the right place. They

crossed Mesopotamian rivers, sailed the

Persian Gulf, and climbed fertile

highlands. Finally, they chose a land

almost an island, a long peninsula

reaching into the eastern Mediterranean,

encircled by mountains and kissed by an

inland sea, fertile, protected, watered

by a great river that branched into four

streams. This was Eden.

When the people moved there, they

brought with them herds, seeds, and even

the tree of life, preserved through ages

of turmoil. The peninsula was cleared,

not by conquest, but with consent. Local

tribes moved peacefully, save one

stubborn group that remained behind,

nursing suspicion.

The first task was defense. Across the

27mi neck of land, Van's builders raised

a mighty brick wall fortified with 12

gates. Beyond it, they laid a second

wall enclosing a zoological garden where

wild beasts were penned into 12

divisions, a living moat guarding Eden

from intruders.

Within the walls, no hunting or

bloodshed was allowed. The garden itself

was to be a sanctuary of life. Then

began the work of beauty. Bricks were

shaped from clay and sun, forming more

than 5,000 simple homes, clustered never

more than seven together, always

surrounded by orchards and vines. The

only grand structure was the stone

temple of the father at the garden

center, open to the sky, where the tree

of life stood in its court. From this

hub, 12 broad avenues radiated outward,

joined by 12,000 m of smaller roads and

shaded paths.

Water was harnessed with brilliance. The

river was channeled into thousands of

canals, feeding lakes, ponds, and

streams that sparkled through orchards

and gardens. Each night, a mist rose to

refresh the land, and in the morning

light, Eden gleamed as no other place on

earth.

By the time Adam and Eve arrived, only a

quarter of the garden was finished. But

already, it was the most beautiful spot

on Urantia.

At high noon, in the midst of Eden's

bloom, Adam and Eve materialized in the

eastern shrine. Tall, radiant, faintly

violet of skin, noble, and modest, they

stood as the long promised son and

daughter.

Van and Amadan were the first to greet

them, not with worship, but with

reverence and friendship. For 10 days,

Adam and Eve rematerialized fully into

mortal form. While the people prepared a

great feast. On their third day, tame

giant birds bore Adam and Eve a loft to

view the garden from above. They saw the

miles of orchards, the shining temple,

the flowing rivers, and the walls that

held it safe.

They were pleased.

That evening at the banquet of welcome,

Adam and Eve blessed the people and

praised Van's tireless work. From then

on, Eden thrived. Adam taught men in the

fields, showing them how to till soil

with oxen and wooden plows. Eve walked

among the gardens, teaching women and

children how to nurture life. Together,

they brought order and light. schools in

the west, homes in the south, council

halls in the north, and their own

dwelling in the east. Daily life in Eden

was simple yet noble. Families cooked in

evening fires, children played by the

riverbanks, and worshippers gathered in

the temple to pray, not to Adam and Eve,

but to the universal father. Never

before had Uranteas seen such harmony,

such beauty married to wisdom. The

garden at its peak could house a million

souls, though only a few thousand dwelt

there in those early years.

But the promise of Eden was fragile.

Beyond its walls, the world remained

dark. After more than a century,

impatience set in, and the fateful

choice of Eve led to the default.

Adam and Eve, faithful yet fallen, left

Eden with their loyal followers. They

moved east to begin again in

Mesopotamia.

The first garden of Eden, abandoned,

soon fell into ruin. Lower Nodi tribes

occupied it, fighting among themselves

until at last the land itself gave way.

Slowly the Edenic Peninsula sunk beneath

the waters of the Mediterranean.

Only the sea remained where paradise

once bloomed.

But Eden was not lost in spirit. Its

legacy flowed into myth. The garden of

God, the land of the four rivers, the

paradise of old.

Fragments of its beauty lived on in

later cultures. Echoes of what might

have been. The first garden of Eden was

not legend, but history. A vision raised

by loyal hearts, shaped by simple hands,

and graced for a time by Adam and Eve.

Its story endures not as failure but as

a glimpse of what earth may yet become.

A true garden of God radiant with life

and unity.