Two Gifts and a Hurting Heart

Adam and Eve had two boys now. Cain was the oldest, Abel the youngest. And oh, how they grew.

This was in the days just after the garden, when the family lived outside Eden's gate, in the wide world where thorns grew. Cain loved the dirt. He pushed seeds down into the soft brown ground and watched green things climb up toward the sun. Abel loved the sheep. He walked them over the hills, and counted them at night, and kept them safe.

One day, both brothers brought God a gift.

Cain brought some of what he grew. Abel brought the very best of his flock, the finest little lamb he had.

God looks at more than the gift in our hands. He looks at the heart underneath. And God was glad with Abel.

But Cain's gift was not given gladly. And when God was glad with Abel and not with him, something began to grow inside Cain. Not in the ground this time. In his chest.

It was a hot, prickly thing, the kind that grows when someone else gets the smile and you don't, and your face goes warm and tight. That is what grew in Cain. He felt jealous, and hurt, and sure that nobody saw him.

His face fell, all the way down.

But God did not turn away from the angry brother. God came close, the way you lean down to a crying child, and asked him gently, "Why are you so angry? Why has your face fallen so far?"

God saw Cain. God always sees. "Sin is crouching at your door," God told him, "like a hungry animal, ready to pounce. It wants to swallow you up. But you can turn away. You can be its master."

Oh, if only Cain had listened. If only he had handed God the hot, prickly thing and let it go.

But he didn't. He carried it out to the field. And out there, where he thought no one was watching, Cain hurt his brother. Abel, the youngest, the one who brought his very best, lay still in the grass.

Then God spoke. "Where is your brother?" Long before, in the garden, God had called to Cain's hiding father, "Where are you?" Now he came looking again, this time for a hiding son.

Cain pretended he didn't know. But God knew. "Your brother's blood is crying out to me from the ground," God said. The blood had a voice, and it cried for justice: this is not right, this is not fair, someone must answer for this.

So Cain went away, a wanderer, far from home. But even then God set a mark on him, a mark of mercy, so that no one would harm him. Even to the brother who would not listen, God was kind.

And the crying blood kept crying, all through the long years after. The whole earth seemed to ache with it. Someone must make this right.

One day, far ahead, Someone would. There would be another hill, and another life laid down, the very best one, given gladly. His blood would have a voice too, but it would cry a different word. Where Abel's blood cried "make them pay," Jesus' blood would cry, "Father, forgive them." Mercy, poured out for hurting hearts like Cain's. And like yours.

The blood that cried for justice was waiting, all those long years, for the blood that would cry mercy.