She is grateful that this memory ends with a promise. This promise is the hope to which she clings. The image of her oldest son accompanies the promise as she hears it delivered once more. She hears God promise the serpent, “Because of what you have done . . . I will put enmity between you and the woman, between your offspring and her offspring; he shall crush your head, and you shall bruise his heel.”
In the decades since their departure from Eden, Eve has already seen portions of the promise come true. As promised, she had come to despise the serpent. And, as promised, an offspring: a son whom she named Cain. The birth of Cain was, in her eyes, the Lord delivering on His promise. It was Eve’s belief that he would be the one to kill the serpent! And that, by his victory, perhaps humanity’s access to the Garden would be restored.
Doting on Cain now, a precious memory moves to the forefront. As the recollection has it, a handful of children encircle her feet as she sits and tells them stories about the Garden of Eden. She speaks of its trees 70 feet high, its waters bright as crystal, its hillsides a wild and colorful collage of plant life, its sky after sunset a choir of stars declaring the praises of heaven. Little Cain, no more than 10 years old at the time, is wide-eyed with wonderment as he listens to the stories.
Cain had been the first to listen to her stories. Even when more sons and daughters were added to their circle, Eve tended to look at Cain the most when she spoke of the Garden, the serpent, and the promise. His eyes would lock into hers every time she told them, “God promised that my offspring will someday crush the serpent’s head.” She could see that the boy was in love with the idea that he, the firstborn son of humanity, was the chosen one, the one to redeem his mother, the one to avenge his family, the one to return them to the Garden that he so desperately wanted to see. The boy would break from her storytelling to go outside and race down some snake greasing through the field, to crush it with his heel, to bring it back to her as evidence of the promise. He always returned empty-handed, but that never stopped Eve from commending him for his effort.
Into his teens and twenties, Cain worked the ground tirelessly. His dedication to the earth came as no surprise to Eve. She understood exactly what he was rehearsing for. It was their return to Eden on his mind. He wanted to steward the Garden like his father had been called to do, so working the ground—cursed though it was—seemed like fitting preparation. Eve also knew that, beneath Cain’s constant toiling, he was really just waiting for that inevitable day when he and the serpent would finally cross paths.
Indeed, the promise hanging over his head had come to define his identity. The vengeance he sought against the serpent supplied his warrior spirit with purpose and meaning. At home he saw himself through the eyes of his mother, not to mention through the eyes of his siblings whose adoration he welcomed. He loved his family because he so cherished their supporting role in his destiny. He stayed close to them after marrying his sister; he and his wife remain nearby as he works the ground and waits for bigger things to come.
Eve tries to settle the baby in her womb. She repositions her body and relaxes, letting the bed cradle her weight. There is no anticipation of the horror that is about to visit her, news that will be delivered by a man with blood on his hands.
What Eve doesn’t know is that a week ago, two of her oldest sons—Cain and Abel—brought an offering to the Lord, each in their own way. Cain, a worker of the ground, offered his fruits of the soil. Abel, a keeper of sheep, offered the best of his flocks and their fat portions. These sacrifices were an outward expression of an inward reality, and by offering the best of his best, Abel’s heart had proven itself superior. When God turned to favor Abel’s offering above Cain’s, Cain became upset. After all, Cain was supposed to be the chosen son! So then, why was his offering not accepted? Why was he not accepted? The matter concerned Cain’s very identity, his perceived role in life. God’s favoring another caused Cain to call everything into question. It sparked tremendous fear in his heart, fear which ignited the storehouse of anger already bound up there. Cain had spent his whole life nourishing an anger toward the serpent, a hatred that he could always justify with noble intentions. But his conclusions depended upon a certain storyline, a narrative that could not be questioned. Now one question could not be ignored: Is Abel the chosen one?
An unnatural sound now reaches Eve through her bedroom window. It is the strained voice of her husband. He is yelling something that she cannot decipher. She shoves off from the bed. Being eight months pregnant, her movements are sluggish but she reaching the door by the time her husband reaches their dwelling.
Adam collects himself. He explains to Eve how he found their son—their sweet Abel not seen in a week—lifeless at the far end of Cain’s field. Eve, the mother of all living, crumples to the ground in a sort of crash-landing. She clutches the earth and struggles to breathe as the baby inside her belly, Seth, continues to toss and turn.
One Week Prior
Cain uses his cunning. He speaks to his brother Abel (Gen. 4:8). This chilling detail is not superfluous. It is preserved because it is essential to the plot. It’s connected to the murder. Just like the serpent used words to lure Eve to her death, here Cain uses words to lure Abel to his death. And Abel trusts his older brother like his mother once trusted the serpent. The detail is evidence that Cain’s crime is one of calculation, a premeditated murder in the first degree. Cain tells Abel, “Let’s go out to the field” (LXX Gen. 4:8).
Abel draws his flock into a nearby pen while Cain stands beside the gate and observes. Cain wonders what the animals will do without a shepherd.
“I’ll follow your lead,” Abel tells the oldest brother at last, latching the gate shut and smiling. Cain gives a nod and they set off.
Cain has a particular field in mind. It is relegated to the far side of his expansive property. He walks faster than normal but Abel keeps pace close behind. Farther and farther they move into isolation.
Rounding a curve in the footpath Cain makes an abrupt stop where a spade leans against a tree stump. Cain bends to pick it up and Abel, thinking nothing of it, raises his eyes to survey the scenery. Not often does Abel visit Cain’s property. His flocks would damage the yield after all, so he keeps them at a distance. But now amid the sprawling landscape, gazing out at a cultivated field he’s never seen before, Abel is reminded of how much his oldest brother warrants admiration. Cain toils in sweat to make the cursed land produce year after year. Abel is humbled by his oldest brother’s strength and—
Cain strikes, unleashing the lethal venom of his rage in an instant. He puts Abel on the ground with a sickening thwack! By primal instinct Cain draws the spade above his head again, poised to strike once more. His brother—now face down and motionless in the dirt—makes no sound. Cain watches over the body in silence. After a moment he realizes the finality of his attack. He lowers the spade to eye level, glancing at the blade to assess the wallop of its impact. There is blood lining its edge which indicates it was slightly slanted as he brought it down.
Again he trains his eyes on the body beneath him. Cain has killed animals before—animals that menaced his crops—so he is no stranger to ending life. But this experience, this killing, feels unlike anything from his past. This was the betrayal of a person who trusted him, the confiscation of life for no other reason than to satisfy a terrible jealousy.
And it occurs to him then, an unexpected thought that enrages him to the core: that, in his jealousy, Cain has become the serpent! He has become the very thief that he was supposed to kill!
He grips the shaft of the spade and, letting out a guttural yell, sends it flying headlong into a brush of uncut thorn bushes that encroach upon his property. He is breathing through his teeth when he turns away from the crime and starts in the direction of his dwelling. Stomping up the footpath by himself, he blocks out the unwelcome voice of his conscience with all its questioning. He’s halfway home when, out of nowhere, another voice overtakes his defenses.
It is God with a simple question. “Where is your brother?” He inquires.
Cain retreats. “I don’t know!” he calls out to his field. Whereas his parents hid among the trees, Cain hides beneath selfishness foliated with excuses. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
In a flash of introspection, Cain’s conscience chimes back in: Not that long ago, you thought yourself to be your brother’s savior, your family’s avenger. You once dreamed of returning them to the Garden of Eden. Yet now you deny being your brother’s keeper? You know what you have done.
God wants honesty from Cain so He leads by example. God shares a hidden truth that causes Him great pain. “The voice of your brother’s bloods cry out to Me from the ground.”
Cain clenches his jaws and quickens his pace. The thought of being his brother’s keeper is suddenly nauseating to him. He rejects it all and, in so doing, he rejects his place within the family. After another fifty steps it is decided: he will leave them all behind. He will go his own way.
God tells him as much, declaring, “You shall be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth.”
Cain does not turn to listen. He continues up the path in stubborn defiance. But God is not finished. Having seen how Cain misused his strength, God determines that the soil will no longer yield its strength to him. He curses Cain from the ground.
Cain’s face is burning red when he spins at last and strains to see beyond the sky. He cries out with a voice that bears no remorse. “My punishment is too great to bear! You have driven me away from the face of the ground!” Under his breath now, “From Your face I will be hidden.”
“I will be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth,” Cain mutters in self-pity. “Whoever finds me will kill me!”
God doesn’t deny the point. God realizes that, down the line, there may come a vigilante at ready with a knife saved for Cain’s back. But God wants nothing of the sort. God recognizes that there is yet no judicial process in place to dispense legal justice. Moreover, God doesn’t want Cain to be killed because Cain can, at some level, save the world. How so? Because Cain is the firstborn human, the elder in any camp that he visits. As such, he wields tremendous influence over subsequent generations. Had he confessed his sin and repented in humility, his example could have guided many hearts toward the Lord. His repentance may have been enough to stave off the flood for a time and, well, save the world in some temporary way. Instead, Cain gave his heart to the evil one (1 John 3:12) and thereby influenced many other hearts to do the same. Today, though, such choices are yet to be made. God grants Cain the time to choose rightly, to wield his influence for the good, but this will require some protection. God places a mark upon Cain, a sign which designates him as set apart unto the Lord. Having been given this special mark, no one is to strike Cain lest the vengeance they seek rolls back on them seven times over (Gen. 4:15).
When Cain enters his dwelling, his wife hardly recognizes her husband. He is unreasonable; he is violent; he is rummaging through their belongings. He is demanding that they leave without notice or delay. She will never see her parents again. At Cain’s hurried pace, they load up their mules and set off, passing field after field after field as they travel toward the edge of their property. The fields–with their rows of varied produce–represent uncountable hours of toil, commitment, and investment between them. But Cain doesn’t dawdle on the fields as much as his wife would expect. Instead it’s a kind of dispassionate stare as they continue forward. It’s like there’s been a distance wedged between him and the land. She perceives it privately, and she finds it frightening. He efforts no explanation, either. In fact he says nothing at all until they reach the outermost boundary of their estate. There, without stopping the mules, Cain announces his decision to them as much as to her, “We’ll head east. We’ll make a new home there.”
“East? What’s east?” his wife asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are we going east?”
His response comes after a full minute of deliberate thought. “I want to get as far away from the Garden of Eden as possible.”
The statement weighs on her as the two of them, accompanied by their mules and a fragment of their belongings, wheel eastward. In front of them is nothing but a wild and unsettled frontier. Hours later—at some point in the middle of the night—Cain sharply senses the pain that’s soon to visit his mother when she finds out what happened. It takes all of his strength to push the feeling down, to bury it with cruel hands in a part of himself that he will remember not to visit.
[Episode 2 linked here!]
