After Adam and Eve left the garden, Eve became pregnant and gave birth to Cain.
Cain's name means "To get".
Later, Eve gave birth to his brother, Abel.
Abel's name means "Life".
Abel was a shepherd.
Cain worked the soil.
In time Cain brought some of his harvest as an offering to God.
But Abel chose the best from the best of his flock.
God was very pleased with Abel's gift, but not so much with Cain's.
So Cain was very angry.
God asked Cain, "What right do you have to be angry? If you've done something wrong, make it right. Don't let yourself be hijacked by sin. You can overcome it."
Cain wasn't in the mood.
While he and Abel were out of sight in the fields, Cain attacked his brother Abel
and killed him...
Cain's name means "To get".
Later, Eve gave birth to his brother, Abel.
Abel's name means "Life".
Abel was a shepherd.
Cain worked the soil.
In time Cain brought some of his harvest as an offering to God.
But Abel chose the best from the best of his flock.
God was very pleased with Abel's gift, but not so much with Cain's.
So Cain was very angry.
God asked Cain, "What right do you have to be angry? If you've done something wrong, make it right. Don't let yourself be hijacked by sin. You can overcome it."
Cain wasn't in the mood.
While he and Abel were out of sight in the fields, Cain attacked his brother Abel
and killed him...
Cain was exhausted. He sat alone in the near corner of the field, a nearly empty waterskin on the ground beside him. It was his best field, freshly harvested and turned over, under the stars, alone with the moon and the crickets. He was waiting.
The harvest had been excellent. A bit early, maybe, but it hadn’t hurt. He’d meant to only do the far corner, as much as necessary, but he’d just kept going: pulling the plants, bundling up the good, burning the weeds, turning the soil, moving on to the next patch. The rhythm had carried him from just after mid day until now, near dawn. His hands were blistered and cramped, his knees ached and the back of his neck was sunburned.
But what a harvest! The new tools he’d been working on were fantastic, digging deeper, staying sharper, not falling apart every few rows. And the stuff he’d mixed into the soil definitely made the plants grow better. Unpleasant, but worth it. Water was still a problem. If only there was a way… Well, he’d figure that out, too. He’d figure it out.
He dug his fingers into the soil to cool the blisters and it was magic. Being alone with the soil always made him feel calm, and strong and confident and sure. Like his life was worth something. He loved cutting into the earth to plant. He loved the sound of roots being torn from the ground. Creating life and shaping it. It was glorious.
“Cain.”
The voice made him tense. His shoulders and his jaw. He stared hard at the earth and said, “I’m not talking to you.”
“You’re still angry.”
Cain said, “What did you expect?” Now he was furious. He stumbled to his feet, shouting, “What did you expect? The whole thing was my idea! I thought of it first and he copied me and you were all gaga over his gift and threw mine back in my face! You had no right to treat me like that! Did you see the look on Adam’s face? Like I was a, a serpent, or something. Then, he tells me to apologize to you. Like I was wrong! I’m not talking to him, either. He’s so clueless.”
“Adam understands better than he’d like. And he knows what can happen next.”
Cain snorted, “What are you going to do? Send me away, like you did to them?”
“I didn’t send them away, Cain. I brought them here, away from the greater harm that they hadn’t yet done to themselves. They walked out of the garden, hand in hand and I led them here. I kept them together and showed them how they need each other. I gave them you.
I gave them a lot they’d never had before, Cain. Like hope and faith and a truer understaning of love. I offered them forgiveness. And they accepted it.”
Cain said, “They forgave you, too. I can’t.”
“I love you, Cain. Because I love you, I gave you a gift. You were born with a love for the earth and its life and you’ve always appreciated and honoured that gift. You’ve used it to provide for your family. You’ve invented better ways of working the soil. You’ve gone out and found plants that others without your sense would have missed and you’ve tamed them and used them well and wisely and you’ve taken great joy from bringing stability and pride to your family.
The problem is, Cain, that you’ve come to love my gift more than you love me. Over the years, you’ve come to look for your strength and your joy and your confidence and your passion in my gift and not in me. You’ve given your heart, your soul, your strength, your mind to my creation and given it my place in your life. You’ve let your roots that used to grow in me die, and replaced them with roots in the earth, in your work, in your own sufficiency and cleverness. Your offering wasn’t a gift of gratitude, Cain. It was a boast.”
Cain was silent.
“You and your mother are so much alike. You both want so much to be like me. For her it was higher knowledge, for you, it’s the power of life. She started looking for ways to make it happen and it cost us all terribly. The funny thing is, as she and I walk through her life together, she becomes more like me. Little by little, she’s learning what she always wanted to.
“But she had to start learning the hard way. So do you.”
Cain was getting nervous. “What do you mean?”
“Cain, where is your brother?”
Cain found a very interesting rock on the ground and examined it closely. “How should I know? He’s the shepherd, not me.”
“You worked the whole day clearing this field to hide what’s buried in the far corner. And all that time, Abel has been here, with me.”
Cain’s knees buckled. He almost fell.
“You were so angry that your prideful boast was rejected, your idol insulted, your status offended that you took your only brother and offered him up as a blood sacrifice to the god that you had made for yourself.
You’ve lost him. You’re losing yourself and you are losing me, Cain. If you lose me, you have lost everything. The only way you’ll find your way back to needing me is if I take back my gift.”
Cain recoiled. “No! You can’t do that!”
“I already have.”
Cain knew it was true. Still, he desparately dug his fingers into the soil again, but it was gone. The connection was just gone. It was just… dirt. Somewhere in his soul, he heard the sound of roots being torn from the ground. For the first time in his life, he began to weep, to grieve.
“Don’t do this to me! I’ll die! If I don’t starve, my father will kill me. If he doesn’t, I’ll wish he had.”
“No. I’ll protect you. I’ll provide for you. I’ll show you how to rediscover me. If you choose.”
...and Cain went out from the presence of the Lord.
The harvest had been excellent. A bit early, maybe, but it hadn’t hurt. He’d meant to only do the far corner, as much as necessary, but he’d just kept going: pulling the plants, bundling up the good, burning the weeds, turning the soil, moving on to the next patch. The rhythm had carried him from just after mid day until now, near dawn. His hands were blistered and cramped, his knees ached and the back of his neck was sunburned.
But what a harvest! The new tools he’d been working on were fantastic, digging deeper, staying sharper, not falling apart every few rows. And the stuff he’d mixed into the soil definitely made the plants grow better. Unpleasant, but worth it. Water was still a problem. If only there was a way… Well, he’d figure that out, too. He’d figure it out.
He dug his fingers into the soil to cool the blisters and it was magic. Being alone with the soil always made him feel calm, and strong and confident and sure. Like his life was worth something. He loved cutting into the earth to plant. He loved the sound of roots being torn from the ground. Creating life and shaping it. It was glorious.
“Cain.”
The voice made him tense. His shoulders and his jaw. He stared hard at the earth and said, “I’m not talking to you.”
“You’re still angry.”
Cain said, “What did you expect?” Now he was furious. He stumbled to his feet, shouting, “What did you expect? The whole thing was my idea! I thought of it first and he copied me and you were all gaga over his gift and threw mine back in my face! You had no right to treat me like that! Did you see the look on Adam’s face? Like I was a, a serpent, or something. Then, he tells me to apologize to you. Like I was wrong! I’m not talking to him, either. He’s so clueless.”
“Adam understands better than he’d like. And he knows what can happen next.”
Cain snorted, “What are you going to do? Send me away, like you did to them?”
“I didn’t send them away, Cain. I brought them here, away from the greater harm that they hadn’t yet done to themselves. They walked out of the garden, hand in hand and I led them here. I kept them together and showed them how they need each other. I gave them you.
I gave them a lot they’d never had before, Cain. Like hope and faith and a truer understaning of love. I offered them forgiveness. And they accepted it.”
Cain said, “They forgave you, too. I can’t.”
“I love you, Cain. Because I love you, I gave you a gift. You were born with a love for the earth and its life and you’ve always appreciated and honoured that gift. You’ve used it to provide for your family. You’ve invented better ways of working the soil. You’ve gone out and found plants that others without your sense would have missed and you’ve tamed them and used them well and wisely and you’ve taken great joy from bringing stability and pride to your family.
The problem is, Cain, that you’ve come to love my gift more than you love me. Over the years, you’ve come to look for your strength and your joy and your confidence and your passion in my gift and not in me. You’ve given your heart, your soul, your strength, your mind to my creation and given it my place in your life. You’ve let your roots that used to grow in me die, and replaced them with roots in the earth, in your work, in your own sufficiency and cleverness. Your offering wasn’t a gift of gratitude, Cain. It was a boast.”
Cain was silent.
“You and your mother are so much alike. You both want so much to be like me. For her it was higher knowledge, for you, it’s the power of life. She started looking for ways to make it happen and it cost us all terribly. The funny thing is, as she and I walk through her life together, she becomes more like me. Little by little, she’s learning what she always wanted to.
“But she had to start learning the hard way. So do you.”
Cain was getting nervous. “What do you mean?”
“Cain, where is your brother?”
Cain found a very interesting rock on the ground and examined it closely. “How should I know? He’s the shepherd, not me.”
“You worked the whole day clearing this field to hide what’s buried in the far corner. And all that time, Abel has been here, with me.”
Cain’s knees buckled. He almost fell.
“You were so angry that your prideful boast was rejected, your idol insulted, your status offended that you took your only brother and offered him up as a blood sacrifice to the god that you had made for yourself.
You’ve lost him. You’re losing yourself and you are losing me, Cain. If you lose me, you have lost everything. The only way you’ll find your way back to needing me is if I take back my gift.”
Cain recoiled. “No! You can’t do that!”
“I already have.”
Cain knew it was true. Still, he desparately dug his fingers into the soil again, but it was gone. The connection was just gone. It was just… dirt. Somewhere in his soul, he heard the sound of roots being torn from the ground. For the first time in his life, he began to weep, to grieve.
“Don’t do this to me! I’ll die! If I don’t starve, my father will kill me. If he doesn’t, I’ll wish he had.”
“No. I’ll protect you. I’ll provide for you. I’ll show you how to rediscover me. If you choose.”
...and Cain went out from the presence of the Lord.
He chose to live the rest of his life wandering, trying in futility to build a city,
to put down new roots in the earth that could no longer take them.