Family Dysfunction in the First Family

Murder and exile become linked in the story of Cain and Abel.

378px-Cain_kills_Abel

One of the dominant themes in the Book of Genesis is family dysfunction and fraternal strife. Even the family of Abraham, that paragon of faith, is not spared. His two wives, Sarah and Hagar, do not get along. And there is a hint that their two sons, Isaac and Ishmael, do not either. This family strife continues down into the next three generations as we discover in the unfolding narrative.

We first encounter this theme in the story of Cain and Abel (Genesis 4:1-16), the two sons of Adam and Eve. Here brotherly jealousy and anger lead to murder. The story is terse. It does not answer all the questions it raises in our minds as we read it. But this is not a reason to write it off. It has a depth if we pay close attention.

The author sets the stage by telling us that Cain is the firstborn. By the standards of ancient culture, that immediately puts Cain in a privileged position. In ancient Israel, it was customary that the eldest son received a double-sized portion in the inheritance over the portions that all of his younger brothers received. That was privilege indeed.

Furthermore, the author tells us that Cain is a farmer. There is therefore a presumption that Cain may be a landowner–again a privileged position. Abel, on the other hand, is a shepherd. His social status would be lower, as he would live a rather nomadic existence as he accompanied his flocks to whatever temporary pasture he could find. His would have been the more unsettled existence.

God Evades Our Presumptions

 So for the Hebrews originally hearing this story, the social presumption is that God would respect society’s standards. God should give the edge to Cain in terms of any favors bestowed. But God does not operate within the standards set by society. He shows favor to Abel, the younger brother, not Cain.

This too sets another major theme into operation in the Bible–God’s unexpected favor to the unprivileged in society, not the privileged. That theme pops up all over the Old Testament. It receives a classic expression in the song Mary sings in Luke 1:46-55, the song we know by its Latin title Magnificat.

When the two brothers come to offer sacrifice to God, Cain offers agricultural produce. Abel offers animals from his flock. God favors Abel’s sacrifice, but has no regard for Cain’s offering. We want to know why. The author does not answer our curiosity, unless through a subtle hint.

The author just tells us without embellishment that Cain offered the “fruit of the ground.” Abel offers from the firstlings of his flock, but the author adds that what Abel offers is “their fat portions.” That little detail suggests that Abel is offering the very best portions of the animals he is slaughtering. This is a gift of great value.

I read into this detail that Abel approached sacrifice in an attitude of genuine piety. He saw nothing as being good enough for God but the very best. Cain, however, made no such distinction in the fruits he offered up. For Cain, sacrifice was a ritual, a necessary religious duty, but not an expression of deep reverence for the divine. Anything therefore would do.

As the Bible reminds us in other places, God looks at the heart, not just the outer action. The attitude and intention of Abel make all the difference.

Cain must have felt that God was playing unfair when he ignored Cain’s privileged position and granted favor to Abel instead. The result is jealousy and anger toward both God and his brother.

The Breeding Ground for Sin

Anger in itself is not a sin, but it provides a warm womb for sin. God reminds Cain of that when he says to Cain that “sin is lurking at the door: its desire is for you, but you must master it.” Emotion as emotion is not sin; sin enters when we decide what to do with the emotion.

Cain does not master the emotion. He gives in, and so sin like a wild animal consumes him. He invites his brother Abel out into a field, away from human community. And there Cain murders his brother. The author is well aware that when we sin, we often want to do so behind closed doors or in dark and deserted places where we are away from the community’s public gaze.

But the crime does not remain hidden. The author suggests that fact when he has God say that Abel’s blood is crying out to God from the ground. The ground was the source of Cain’s livelihood. Now that livelihood is the whistle-blower; it is turning against Cain. This leads to God asking another question: “Where is your brother Abel?”

God Seeks Dialogue, Not Monologue

Notice how all through this story God is one who asks questions. That is a feature of God that we often don’t pay attention to when we read Bible stories. It begins in the Garden of Eden when God confronts Adam and Eve after they eat the forbidden fruit. His first words are a question: “Where are you?” And God continues to ask questions throughout the Bible. Whether we want to or not, God insists on dialogue, not monologues either on his part or ours.

Cain tries to evade the dialogue by his snippy response: “I do not know: am I my brother’s keeper?” But the evidence of the ground witnesses against Cain. And God pronounces the judgment of exile. Cain has fractured his relationship with his brother, and as a result he is sentenced to separation from his community. He will wander as a restless nomad.

Also his own security has become fragile. By the standards of ancient justice, his murder of his brother should trigger the duty of vengeance on the part of Abel’s family. In the spirit of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, Abel’s murder will require Cain’s death as well.

The duty of exercising that sentence will fall upon the next responsible male (the go’el) in Abel’s family. But Cain’s death will also trigger the duty of vengeance on the part of Cain’s family. And so a cycle of revenge will be launched. No one can predict when it will end, as we have seen time after time in history and currently see in many parts of the world today. The endless cycle of retaliation among Israelis and Palestinians is a good example, as was also the cycle of violence in Northern Ireland at the end of the last century.

Cain knows that and so does God. And here comes the remarkable note of grace in the story. By placing his mark on Cain, God seeks to block that cycle from beginning. Murder has been done, but more murder is not the answer. Reconciliation is the answer if Cain and Abel’s family can exercise forgiveness. In the case of Joseph and his brothers that reconciliation happens. But the story of Cain and Able offers no hint that it did in their case.

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A note: One reason why the story raises questions for us that the author does not answer is that we insist on reading the story as actual history. I read it instead as a traditional tale that the editors of Genesis have incorporated into their narrative for theological reasons.

 

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The Spiritual Quest of David Bowie

Was Bowie a budding contemplative?

I have never been a great fan of rock music. My preferences have always run towards Johann Sebastian Bach and Wolfgang Mozart. So I have never given much attention to the rock scene.

That is, until I read the tribute that Simon Critchley wrote on the death of David Bowie. It is titled Nothing Remains: David Bowie’s Vision of Love. It was published in today’s New York Times.

It is a beautiful and loving tribute. It begins with this extraordinary statement: …for me, and for his millions of fans, he was someone who simply made life less ordinary. Indeed, Bowie’s music made me feel alive for the first time.

After reading that, I thought to myself: How many people would say that after their encounter with a worship service in most of our churches? That’s what a lot of Christians claim for the gospel. But how many Christians, let alone outsiders, really experience that sense of being fully alive?

Critchley goes on later to say: Bowie spoke most eloquently to the disaffected, to those who didn’t feel right in their skin, the socially awkward, the alienated. He spoke to the wierdos, the freaks, the outsiders and drew us in to an extraordinary intimacy, although we knew this was total fantasy. But make no mistake, this was a love story.

Does this language sound vaguely familiar? It should, for it describes the Jesus we encounter in the gospels. He, too, drew people, particularly outsiders, into an extraordinary intimacy.

Finding the Spiritual in an Unexpected Place

But what was especially impressive to me in Critchley’s tribute was how he highlighted the theme of “nothing” that recurs over and over again in Bowie’s songs. Nothing is everywhere in Bowie, writes Critchley.

Now most of us, including me, would be inclined to interpret this as a profound nihilism. But what fascinates me is how Critchley hears behind this theme of nothing, a clear Yes, an absolute and unconditional affirmation of life in all its chaotic complexity, but also its moments of transport and delight.

What Bowie was negating, as Critchley sees it, was all the nonsense, the falsity, the accrued social meanings, traditions, and morass of identity that shackled us. Says Critchley: At the core of Bowie’s music and his apparent negativity is a profound yearning for connection and, most of all, for love.

 If Critchley is right in his interpretation, then Bowie’s negativity is an expression of that spiritual virtue of detachment that contemplatives through the ages have seen as an essential condition for experiencing that deep connection, that intimate love, that they have named God. In this value given to detachment Christian contemplatives share a common understanding with Buddhist and other Eastern practitioners of meditation.

When I read Critchley, I feel strikingly at home, because the language he uses is quite resonant with the language I encounter in the masters of contemplative prayer that have so deeply shaped my understanding of the spiritual life.

I feel as if Bowie was on that contemplative quest in life, even though Critchley and probably Bowie too would not so name it. But Bowie’s yearning is cut from the same cloth as the yearning that the psalmist writes of when he says:

As a deer longs for the flowing streams,

            so my soul longs for you, O God.

My soul thirsts for God,

            the living God.

When shall I come and behold

            the face of God? [Psalm 42:1-2]

In saying this, I am not trying to co-opt Critchley or Bowie as anonymous Christians. Rather I am expressing my amazement at finding the spiritual in the most unexpected places. Maybe I need to broaden my musical tastes and listen more intently to the music of my own era.