Brother’s Keeper

Genesis 4:1-9

August 6, 2023 • Mount Pleasant UMC

Sometimes to find hope, we have to come to the end of ourselves and the end of our own resources. In many ways, that’s the truth that Charles Dickens was communicating in his classic story, A Christmas Carol. Dickens wrote many books and essays, but I would argue that it is the story of Ebenezer Scrooge that people remember and know the most. Near the beginning of that story, tight-fisted Scrooge has returned home to his drafty rooms when he is suddenly haunted by the ghost of his former business partner, Jacob Marley. Marley tries to point out to Scrooge the error of his ways, but Scrooge argues back. What they did, taking people’s homes and charging high interest fees, was just “business.” The ghost of Marley wrings his hands and says back to Scrooge, “Mankind was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were all my business. The deals of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!” Mankind was my business, Marley says—an idea Dickens most likely picked up from his reading of the Bible.

This morning, we are starting (or, really, re-starting) a series based on questions that people today might ask. Searching people. People who aren’t sure if this faith has anything for them. Amazingly, there are questions in the Bible, ancient questions, that are still being asked by people today. So, a few weeks ago, we began by looking at the question asked by the woman at the well: “Where can I get this living water?” People are clamoring for hope, and we need to be able to point them toward it. Now, today, we’re going almost all the way back to the beginning, to the first question asked in Scripture after Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden (Keuss, Live the Questions, pg. 49). The question is this: “Am I my brother’s keeper?” (4:9).

To really get at this question we need to jump into the middle of some sibling rivalry, something else that hasn’t changed since the beginning of time! Cain was the first child born to the first humans, Adam and Eve, and a bit later, his brother Abel came along. I’ve always had the idea that they aren’t that far apart in age, but we don’t really know. All we do know is that they had different interests. The author of Genesis says, “Abel kept flocks, and Cain worked the soil” (4:2). One cared for the animals, the other cared for the plants. And it’s important to note that both of them did vital and needed things.

They also both had an inclination to worship. At some point, Cain and Abel both bring some of what they have been raising as an offering to God. I would guess they were told or taught by their parents to do this, so they do, but when they bring their offerings, it doesn't go as planned. Cain brings some of the things he has grown, and Abel brings “fat portions” from the firstborn of his flock. Look what happens next: “The Lord looked with favor on Abel and his offering, but on Cain and his offering he did not look with favor” (4:4-5). And of course we want to know why. Well, I do so I assume you do, too. What did Cain do wrong? Some people suggest that God did not accept Cain’s offering because it wasn’t a blood sacrifice, but both items are described as a genuine offering, and we know from later in the Hebrew Scriptures that grain offerings have their place, too. Both of them are bringing the first and, presumably, the best of what they have raised—firstfruits. So why was Cain’s offering not accepted?

We want answers. We care about such things. But do you know who doesn’t care what the reason is? The author of Genesis. There is no reason given in the text, so anything we come up with is purely speculation. The author is actually less concerned about why Cain’s offering isn’t accepted than he is with Cain’s reaction to God’s rejection of his offering (cf. Sailhammer, “Genesis,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 2, pg. 61). Listen to how it’s described: “Cain was very angry, and his face was downcast” (4:5).

So when we hear that in English, we think of Cain being sad. Maybe you picture him with a long face, depressed or discouraged. That’s one of the problems of translation because the word used there doesn't mean anything like that. In fact, this is the only time in Scripture this phrase is used, and it has the meaning of turning your face away. It describes not wanting to relate to God. Cain does not want to look God in the face (cf. Goldingay, Genesis for Everyone—Part One, pg. 67). And when I begin to wonder why, I think about the times I don’t want to look God in the face. Maybe you can think about times like that in your own life. A time of disappointment, disillusionment or heartbreak. Suddenly, life does not look like you thought it would, and the temptation is to blame God, to turn away from God, and refuse to look at God until he does something to fix it all. A child who rejects what you believe. An employer who says they no longer need you. A friend who turns on you. I received a text from a friend this last week about a lifelong friend who, on a trip together, suddenly turned against my friend and told her just what she perceived as being wrong with her entire life. Whether there was any truth to it or not, my friend felt like her whole world had turned upside down. Imagine that happening when you’re miles away from home! When disappointment and disillusionment settles in, it is tempting to turn away from God, to stop “looking God in the face.” After all, in a very real sense, Cain is doing just what his parents did. When they did the one thing God told them not to do, they went and hid themselves from God so that they wouldn’t have to look at him and he, they thought, wouldn’t be able to see them (cf. Genesis 3:8). Cain’s face was downcast.

Why did Cain turn his face away? Why do we? Generally when we don’t want to look at someone, it’s because we’re afraid of what we might see in their face. Children don’t want to look at their parents’ faces if they think they might see anger over what they have done. In the midst of an intense conversation, we don’t want to look at the other person’s face because we might see rejection. When a relationship comes to an end, or when a loved one passes from this life, we’re afraid to look at a face we might not see again. Were these same things going through Cain’s heart and mind, causing his face to be downcast, causing him to refuse to look God in the face? Do we ever feel like that? We hide from God because of what we are afraid we might see or feel or experience. How often are we like Cain? A lot of you know my dog Barnabas, and Barnabas sometimes has long days at home by himself. It’s not unusual when I get home after one of those long days to find that Barney has made a mess, usually in the front room. He has a place where he likes to leave the signs of his displeasure. And when I walk in, he’s always at the door, waiting on me, wagging his tail. I think he’s hoping I won’t notice the mess he made, but I always do. And then I give him a stern talking-to. And when he hears the tone of my voice, he looks away. He puts his head down and his tail between his legs (well, as much as a Cocker Spaniel can put his tiny little tail between his legs). He won’t look me in the face because of what he might see. He knows he has disappointed the one he loves, and so, like Cain, his face is downcast.

But do you know what Barney would see if he looked at me? Do you know what we might see if we look God in the face? Or what Cain would have seen? The psalmist describes it this way: “You, Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness” (Psalm 86:15). Did you hear what God is like, described in just that one verse? So when we are in trouble, when we have not lived up to God’s calling for us, when our worship seems lackluster, God invites us not be downcast, but to look him in the face. There, we will find compassion, grace, love, and faithfulness. God is slow to anger. He is patient. He waits on us to come out of hiding and come back to him. We will not find rejection. We will find welcome. God even says that directly to Cain: “If you do what is right, will you not be accepted?” (4:7).

Unfortunately, Cain completely misses that message. He is not looking at God, so he takes matters into his own hands. He decides how he is going to deal with his uncertainty, his feelings, and the rejection he fears. He invites his brother Abel on a walk, probably something they did often as brothers because there doesn’t seem to be any suspicion on Abel’s part that anything is wrong (cf. Goldingay 69). But something is very wrong in Cain’s heart, and Cain kills his brother out in the field. It’s humanity’s first murder and it’s within the family. And just like his parents before him, Cain thinks he can get away with it. He thinks God won’t know. He believes God doesn’t know. But God does.

The first question asked outside of Eden is asked in the midst of a murder investigation. God asks Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” And rather than answer the question, Cain responds (I hear it sarcastically), “Am I my brother’s keeper?” There are a lot of ways the Hebrew word for “keeper” can be translated, but the root word means to keep watch over or to preserve. In other words, Cain is asking, “Is it my job to protect him? Is it my job to keep track of him?” Or, as one Biblical scholar has paraphrased his response: “Excuse me. You talked about looking after the ground. I’ve been doing that, haven’t I? I brought you the fruit of that, didn’t I? You said nothing about looking after my brother. I thought you were the person who looked after people” (Goldingay 70). It is a bold response, a brazen retort, and not the way we usually think about talking to God.

That question still echoes today, doesn’t it? Am I my brother’s keeper? Am I my sister’s keeper? What responsibility do I have to others, to those around me, to those I don’t even know but who are part of the great collective of humanity? While that question has, obviously, been around since the beginning of time, I think it has become even more prevalent and important in the last few years as we have become increasingly aware of our deep interconnectedness. For one thing, we are more aware than ever that we are a global society and that what happens in one part of the world affects everyone else. Look at the ways the war between Russia and Ukraine has affected so many things like supply lines and gas prices and actually everything prices. We have to pay attention to what happens “over there” because it often has an immediate effect on us “right here.” And what we do, how we respond, affects those “over there” as well.

That happens globally, and it happens in communities as well. For example: many of you know that I have traveled to Israel often (I’m planning to go again in 2025 if you want to go with me, and yes that is a shameless plug). One of the blessings of that trip each time is that we get to meet all sorts of people from so many different walks of life. The last several times I’ve worked with the same guide, Mike, who is a Palestinian Christian, but the bus drivers each time are different, sometimes Christians, sometimes Jews and often Palestinian Muslims, and they get along not just because they have to but because they do believe they are their brother’s keeper. Wherever we go, Mike treats everyone he sees as a brother. One of the times I most remember was being at the Western Wall and preparing to take a tour under the Temple Mount to see the large stones from Herod’s time. At the appointed time, Mike approached the Israeli guards and was told he could not enter yet. So we waited. Then they called him over again, only to tell him he could not enter. Mike came back to me and said, “I don’t like coming to this place.” He was being treated as a second-class citizen because of his Palestinian roots (even though he was born and raised in Jerusalem). But I never saw him treat the soldiers as anything other than brothers and sisters. And we did eventually get in. Am I my brother’s keeper? Yes, you are. And yes, I am.

May 25, 2020 was a turning point in our country when the death of George Floyd. His wasn’t the first event like that, nor was it the last, but due to the heightened tension from the pandemic and the political frustration in the air from the right and the left, the incident in Minneapolis became a flashpoint and a critical moment for us to ask the question, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” What responsibility for care do I owe to others? What, if anything do we have in common? All through the pandemic and the racial and political tension that followed, we heard a lot of talking heads and people around us saying how we were or weren’t responsible for this or that, for others, for the people who were in community with us. There were debates about stay-at-home orders and of course I got a lot of…let’s just say feedback about our decision to close the church for a few weeks. Everything you can imagine, I heard. But all of that comes back to this same question: am I my brother’s keeper? Or, let’s put it in New Testament terms: what does love require? If I am called to “love my neighbor as myself” (cf. Mark 12:31), how can I turn my back on that neighbor? Am I my brother’s keeper? Yes, I am. And yes, you are.

In the first-century church at Corinth, there was quite a hullabaloo about food. Churches have always been concerned about food! But their concern was about food that had been sacrificed to idols which was then sold in the marketplace. Could Christians genuinely buy and eat meat that was sacrificed to a false god? Paul, in giving pastoral advice, reminds the Corinthians that an idol is not real; in other words, the sacrifice that takes place doesn't mean anything (1 Corinthians 8:4-6). Therefore, the meat is okay to eat. But, Paul says, there are some who have just come out of idol worship, some whose conscience is troubled by the whole idol thing, and for their sake, Paul suggests that the Corinthians give up eating the idol meat in order to protect their brothers and sisters. He says it this way: “If what I eat causes my brother or sister to fall into sin, I will never eat meat again, so that I will not cause them to fall” (1 Corinthians 8:13).

We have a similar story from our own tradition, one I usually share part of during Pie with the Pastors, so if you’ve been to that, you probably know this one, and if you haven’t—well, you’ve got a head start for when you do. But the early Methodists in this country were very involved in the beginnings of the twelve-step movement, helping those who were addicted to alcohol move toward sobriety. So our focus on Celebrate Recovery here at Mount Pleasant is completely in line with our heritage. In those early days, though, there was one problem. When alcoholics began showing up for worship, communion became difficult. Even a small amount of wine might be enough to push a person back into an alcoholic lifestyle. So churches tried all sorts of solutions. Some would substitute water for wine (though I don’t now of any reports where the water was turned into wine). Others made their own unfermented grape juice. Listen to this recipe (you might want to write this down): a pound of hand-squashed raisin pulp, a quart of boiling water and one egg white. Yum. In 1868, a dentist in (ironically enough) Vineland, New Jersey, named Thomas Welch, became a communion steward at his Methodist church and decided he was going to come up with a way to provide churches with grape juice they could use in the place of wine. A year later, using the process of pasteurization, Dr. Welch began selling his “unfermented wine” to churches, an idea that didn't take off and caused him to close down his side business four years later. However, in 1875, his son Charles convinced him to try again and they sent free samples to churches all over the country. They suggested to churches that their grape juice was the same kind that was used in Galilee—a questionable claim, but nonetheless it caught on. Welch’s grape juice was created out of a concern for those caught in the grip of alcoholism, providing a way they could still worship and receive communion. Thomas Welch asked, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” and determined that he was.

Am I my brother’s keeper? Am I my sister’s keeper? What does love require? Or to paraphrase the question from Dickens’ character Marley, what do we have in common with others? In this broken and fractured world we find ourselves in, we need community more than ever. People are searching for connections. We have online “friends” whom we have never met, and very few actual connections in the real world. “What would our society look like if we truly embraced our responsibility to be our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers? What if by acknowledging our deep responsibility and care for others, we could live in communities of care and compassion rather than in isolation, fear, mistrust, and violence?” (Keuss 53). There is no place better qualified to provide community to searching people than the church, the body of Christ, because we already know we are each other’s “keeper.” We are connected by the Holy Spirit. Caring for each other is what love requires. The world is watching to see if we really do what we say and are who we say we are. Searching people are desperate for connection. So, church, are you your brother’s and your sister’s keeper? Are you, really?

One place that connects us is the communion table. Jesus provided this meal as a way to connect his disciples, to remind them that they needed each other and would need to rely on each other especially in the coming days. On the night before his arrest and crucifixion, he gathered them together and invited them to turn their face toward him. The bread, his body. The cup, his blood. This meal was meant to center their thoughts and hearts on him. He is the one who brings and binds us together. He is the one who keeps us. He is the one we have in common. That person across the way or down the street who has hurt you, who you don’t want to look in the face? Jesus died for that person, too. That family member you haven’t spoken to in years? Jesus died for that person, too. That co-worker who you can’t stand, that person that pushes all your buttons, the neighbor who takes your stuff and never gives it back—Jesus died for that person, too. “For God so loved THE WORLD that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16, emphasis added). Am I my brother’s keeper? Yes, I am. So let’s live into that. And let’s gather with our brothers and sisters at the table of the one who brings us together.