Genesis 3:11-15: in context

The fruit is eaten, and God comes walking in the garden and begins to ask questions. Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten from the tree I commanded you not to eat? What follows is the first argument in human history, and it is all deflection. The man answers, the woman you gave to be with me, she gave me the fruit, and I ate. In one sentence he blames his wife and, underneath her, God himself, the one who gave her. God turns to the woman, and she passes it on too: the serpent deceived me, and I ate. Everyone has eaten, and no one will say I did it. The blame runs down the line and stops at no one's own door.

Then God turns to the serpent and curses it to crawl on its belly and eat dust. But folded into the curse is a line the Church has read ever since as the first flicker of the gospel. I will put enmity between you and the woman, God says, and between your offspring and hers; he will bruise your head, and you will bruise his heel. Even in the sentence handed down at the worst moment, a promise is planted: a child of the woman who will one day crush the serpent. Judgment and mercy arrive in the same breath, over a family that could only point fingers.

Adam pointed at his wife and at God, and Eve pointed at the serpent, and no one owned the bite. When I am caught, how fast does my hand come up to point somewhere, anywhere, but at myself?