Grave
Today I did something I thought I would never have to do. I stood beside the grave of my son. He's been gone some time now, but Cain finally showed us where he buried Abel. Eve and I wept—and realized life would never be the same.
How did we get to this place?
We were blessed with two boys after we left the Garden. We couldn't stay there. We had directly and purposefully disobeyed God, and part of the consequences was that we couldn't stay in paradise. We had messed it up, and we needed to leave. We needed to find our own way. If we wanted to be "like God," then God would allow us to live on our own. Not completely away from him, but farther than we had been. Distance. It was unusual. Unnatural. Yet, like most things, we learned to deal with it.
The boys were a blessing, and in some ways a distraction from all that we had lost when we ate from the tree. We loved watching them play, wrestle, run. They were so alike and yet so different. We could see pieces of each of us in each of them. As they grew, we noticed that Cain (the older) loved to work in the earth. He loved growing things. He found great pleasure in tending a seed until it became a full-blown plant. Abel was different. He loved other living things—animals especially. He would stay up all night with a mother sheep while she gave birth, and he would gently care for the young one if it was sick. So alike, and yet so different.
We, of course, taught them about God. We told them of the Garden. And we taught them to worship, helping them understand that worship costs us something. Worship is giving back to God something that belongs to us. We taught them that they should give their very best, too. So they did. One day when they went to worship, Cain brought some of his crops and Abel brought fat portions from the firstborn of his flock. It was in worship that the trouble began.
Somehow, Cain learned that his brother's offering had been accepted, but his was not, and he quickly became very angry. From the time he was born, he'd had a temper. (Is it an accident that "temper" and "tempter" sound very much alike?) Cain was so angry he wouldn't even speak to God, even when God tried to speak to him. His anger made him blind, so blind that he took his brother out to the field, killed him in his rage, and buried him where he thought no one would find him. When we asked that evening about Abel, he snapped back, "I already told God: Abel's not my responsibility. If you're so worried about him, go looking for him yourself."
So we did. But we couldn't find him. And Eve cried herself to sleep that night.
She cried every night, in fact, until the moment when Cain finally told us what had happened. With a voice strained from crying for so long, Eve asked him, "Where is he, then?"
Without a word, Cain took us to Abel's grave. The first grave in the world, but most assuredly not the last. It was heartbreaking watching my wife crash into the ground, weeping uncontrollably, and yet there was a measure of peace that at least we knew. Cain dispassionately watched his mother for a while, then said (without much emotion at all), "God's told me I have to leave. He's going to protect me, but I have to leave. I can't stay here any longer." That's why Cain had finally told us where Abel was: he was leaving. And then he turned and walked slowly and silently away. We didn't go after him.
Two sons, gone. Two lives, destroyed. Paradise lost, family destroyed. Lie after lie, tainted fruit and murderous intent. When will it end, God? Will it ever end? I could find all sorts of things and people to blame (especially that blasted serpent!), but that really won't do any good. Instead, I'd rather move ahead and find some salvation. If only there were someone who could come and make it all right. If only God would send someone who could stop this madness. But, who, God? And when?
WHEN?
How did we get to this place?
We were blessed with two boys after we left the Garden. We couldn't stay there. We had directly and purposefully disobeyed God, and part of the consequences was that we couldn't stay in paradise. We had messed it up, and we needed to leave. We needed to find our own way. If we wanted to be "like God," then God would allow us to live on our own. Not completely away from him, but farther than we had been. Distance. It was unusual. Unnatural. Yet, like most things, we learned to deal with it.
The boys were a blessing, and in some ways a distraction from all that we had lost when we ate from the tree. We loved watching them play, wrestle, run. They were so alike and yet so different. We could see pieces of each of us in each of them. As they grew, we noticed that Cain (the older) loved to work in the earth. He loved growing things. He found great pleasure in tending a seed until it became a full-blown plant. Abel was different. He loved other living things—animals especially. He would stay up all night with a mother sheep while she gave birth, and he would gently care for the young one if it was sick. So alike, and yet so different.
We, of course, taught them about God. We told them of the Garden. And we taught them to worship, helping them understand that worship costs us something. Worship is giving back to God something that belongs to us. We taught them that they should give their very best, too. So they did. One day when they went to worship, Cain brought some of his crops and Abel brought fat portions from the firstborn of his flock. It was in worship that the trouble began.
Somehow, Cain learned that his brother's offering had been accepted, but his was not, and he quickly became very angry. From the time he was born, he'd had a temper. (Is it an accident that "temper" and "tempter" sound very much alike?) Cain was so angry he wouldn't even speak to God, even when God tried to speak to him. His anger made him blind, so blind that he took his brother out to the field, killed him in his rage, and buried him where he thought no one would find him. When we asked that evening about Abel, he snapped back, "I already told God: Abel's not my responsibility. If you're so worried about him, go looking for him yourself."
So we did. But we couldn't find him. And Eve cried herself to sleep that night.
She cried every night, in fact, until the moment when Cain finally told us what had happened. With a voice strained from crying for so long, Eve asked him, "Where is he, then?"
Without a word, Cain took us to Abel's grave. The first grave in the world, but most assuredly not the last. It was heartbreaking watching my wife crash into the ground, weeping uncontrollably, and yet there was a measure of peace that at least we knew. Cain dispassionately watched his mother for a while, then said (without much emotion at all), "God's told me I have to leave. He's going to protect me, but I have to leave. I can't stay here any longer." That's why Cain had finally told us where Abel was: he was leaving. And then he turned and walked slowly and silently away. We didn't go after him.
Two sons, gone. Two lives, destroyed. Paradise lost, family destroyed. Lie after lie, tainted fruit and murderous intent. When will it end, God? Will it ever end? I could find all sorts of things and people to blame (especially that blasted serpent!), but that really won't do any good. Instead, I'd rather move ahead and find some salvation. If only there were someone who could come and make it all right. If only God would send someone who could stop this madness. But, who, God? And when?
WHEN?
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