Cain’s Defense
Wilderness on the rough path behind me, I stand on a slight rise at the edge of a collection of stone and mortar buildings. What appears to me as a primitive settlement must appear in this ancient time as a marked advancement over a collection of nomadic tents. I can respect the work that has been done, for this is the seed from which a city will one day blossom.
On one side there are fields of crops. To the other side are pastures with livestock. A wide stream flows between the two and makes its way through the city, slightly off-center. Fig trees along the water’s edge provide shade and color to the dwellings’ stark walls.
There are men and women at work in the fields, children of various ages accompanying them, playing or working as their ages allow.
Sounds of activity come from some of the buildings. I can separate the ringing of metal against stone and the song of metal on wood in the distance, but the noises are jumbled so that I cannot trace a particular sound to its source.
There is a circle of women beneath a larger palm near the city center. They are weaving baskets or other pieces from reeds. A similar circle beneath the next large palm is working with what appears to be cloth of some kind.
As I approach, the sounds of work appear to be coming from two buildings. Gray/black smoke eases upward from the chimneys stretching a few feet above their rooves.
I can now see stonemasons just outside the far edge of the city. They are in a flat space before a hill with exposed rock, shaping the stones for new buildings.
Snatches of conversations come to me from different directions as I approach the center of the dwellings. The few people I pass have given me close looks, but none has spoken.
And I have had no calling to tell any of these my story. I continue walking.
Before I reach the last of the buildings, a street of only a hundred yards or so, a voice calls from behind me. The voice is almost familiar, though of course it must be new to me.
I turn and know that this is the man who must hear my story.
“You are a stranger here. What is your business?”
The voice is not hostile, but simply curious.
“I have come to see you,” I reply.
The man folds his arms across his chest. His voice had not been hospitable before, and now it is almost hostile. “You are not from my line, but neither are you from the line of Seth,” he stated flatly.
“What is that to you?” I ask.
Before he can respond, I fix my eyes on his eyes and begin my story.
“There was a great city called Atlantis. The city contained the latest and greatest inventions of mankind. These inventions were not just to make work easier, to increase leisure time, and to provide amusement for idle time, although these were present everywhere.
“Rather than a canopy of stars or a tent open to the air, the city had buildings taller than your trees.
“To protect against famine, there were stores of food. To maintain water, there were vast reservoirs for both drinking and for the land. To protect against foes there were weapons and walls. To protect against disease there were men with chemicals. To protect against the locust and the ant there were other men with more chemicals.
“Then to protect against death, they began to experiment with more chemicals. They sought eternal life. They sought to be as God.
“And I was very much one of them, drifting along in the current of the crowd, always striving to be one with the culture of Atlantis. Yes, that had become my God, the culture of the people, the wisdom of the age, which we thought to be the pinnacle of human endeavor for all time.”
A horn blasts and the trance is broken. Cain turns toward the sound.
Others around us pass in the direction toward the horn, which repeats with two more blasts. The obedience of all to the summons almost draws Cain, but he looks back at me, starting to explain why he must leave. He points in that direction with his hand and opens his mouth, but he lowers his arm without speaking.
I continue the story.
“We used chemicals from the ground, as you are using copper and tin. We mixed them in precise amounts, as you make bronze from those two metals, but our use was to put into the body, to alter the processes of life so that life would never end.
“What an admirable goal to end the suffering of death!
“We were a civilization that thought that humans ruled over everything and could use – and misuse – every resource available, whether mineral, vegetable, or animal.
“And we misused one another, as well, in pursuit of our selfish goal.
“There were teams competing to reach the goal first, and there were no rules for this competition.
“We ran tests for our immortality concoction on animals. We used monkeys, in particular, because they are so close to humans. We used what we called the rhesus monkey.
“I was in the cage with the monkeys one day on business, examining the specimens as you might examine a piece of fruit for its value. One of the monkeys held a ball he had been given, a round object like a stone but softer and would bounce.
“Looking at the monkey, I opened the palms of my hands to show I was ready to catch the ball. He understood! And he threw the ball to me with a single bounce on the floor.
“We began the game of catch. Reese (the name I gave to my new friend) enjoyed it immensely. I would come and see him almost daily over the following weeks, and we would play with the ball. We made the games more complex, learning more complicated ways of interacting with the ball and with each other.
“But time was passing and our attempt to find the formula for immortality was falling behind schedule. Other teams trying to find the formula might be ahead of us. Our leader ratcheted the pressure higher for us to produce positive results quickly.
“The leader of our group was a hard man. And he had power, both in terms of wealth and connections with other men of influence and power. He became fixated on the goal of immortality, and pushed for a formula to be proven with one last test.
“I was the one responsible for conducting the test. The test would involve every rhesus monkey we had. Every one of them must dies in this test, and if we did not complete the test immediately, I would lose my job, my livelihood. Indeed, they would take my freedom from me. All of the people with whom I worked knew that the focus was on me. ”
Cain had shown interest in the story and now he expresses concern for the events occurring.
“What did you do, stranger, to save yourself? How could you meet his demand?”
I become a bit choked up and cannot respond immediately. After a pause, I say, “There was no time to get more monkeys, so all of them were used in the test.”
“Even your friend, Reese?” Cain’s question expresses his emotions.
“Yes, I allowed even Reese to be sacrificed. And ‘sacrifice’ is the correct word, because I now answered to a god different from the God of Creation. I was ruled by the desire for the approval of the people around me. The opinion of others became to me as a god, and I bowed to it.
“All of the monkeys were taken from the caged land where they roamed, and the experiment began.
“And I suffered woe because of it! Everyone silently accused me of betraying a trust. No one talked to me unless necessary, and most totally avoided me. I was an outcast, like a leper with a sign reading ‘unclean.’
“But the week finally ended and the results of the test came back. And these results were interpreted as positive. We thought we were close to our goal and could move forward with the final test.
“And now everyone congratulated me on making a difficult decision. They affirmed that I had done the right thing. Reese was forgotten. At least, all of the others had forgotten him, but my guilt still remained.”
A final blast of the horn sounds. Everyone is supposed to be present. Cain breaks from looking at my eyes and turns in the direction of the horn once again. The area around us is deserted, quiet. He surrenders, looking back at me, and I continue the story.
“All was well, or so it seemed. Soon the need for a human test subject was announced, and I volunteered. This seemed the least I could do. What if the formula failed and the human test subject died? I could not bear to be responsible for another death.
“The day came for the chemical mixture to be introduced into me. The result might be immortality, or death, or something in between. We did not know how the human body would respond, although we had our theory that all would go well.
“But things did not go well. By the fifth day, my body was barely alive. I was told that I likely would not live another 24 hours.
“The next morning, both I and the whole world changed.
“When I woke, I was no longer the man who had lain dying in the bed. I was but a spirit, without substance or voice.
“While adjusting to this state of being in the world but no longer of the world, everything outside my room also was in a state of transition.
“The children of the world were heeding a call to come to the edge of the sea. There was a musical note in the air that only the innocent could hear, and they responded with a singleness of purpose as if in a trance. Throughout the morning they migrated to the shore, congregating on the beaches where they hummed the tune that called them.
“And the tune the children hummed called to others, to those adults who loved the children and loved their neighbors. These adults passed through the mystified onlookers and joined the children on the beach.
“In my new state as a spirit freed of a cumbersome body, I unconsciously heard the call from the beach to me. And so I went to the beach and passed through the crowd of spectators.
“There among the children I found my unborn son, the son who had died ten years earlier in the process of childbirth. This was a sweet union that had never seemed possible.
“Soon, his mother, my wife, arrived, answering the silent call our son had sent to her from beside the sea. For a moment we were joined in the union that had been denied us.
“This family portrait was only for a moment. The humming stopped, replaced by all the children and their loved ones swaying to an unheard rhythm. And then a final, beautiful song began.
“The last note lingered in the air, and the sea rose like a wall standing high above us, but coming no closer than the shoreline that had been its boundary. The spectators behind us panicked at the sea towering over the children on the beach and casting a shadow over themselves.
“My son said, ‘It is time for us to go.’ The two of us left and my son was my guide away from the destruction of Atlantis and all the earth that followed. All people were saved from what earth had become and restored to unity with the Creator.
“And my son was my guide to what was to become new existence, this opportunity to travel through time to tell this story.
“It is the never ending story of God’s love, a love that is synonymous with God and His creation.
“Cain, where does God’s love stop…with a human, or an animal, or a blade of grass, or a rock?”
He does not, or cannot, answer.
“No, it does not end. And that we suffer death is a mercy in a world separate from Him that can create only sorrow. Only those who walk with God can benefit from the banishment of death, for they will know forever the joy of creation, of life, of God.
“And so I tell the story to all I meet.
“You are loved by God, Cain. And if you have spurned Him, disobeyed Him, or in any way rebelled against Him, those things can be forgiven.
“Just as when you have made a wrong turn and travelled in the wrong direction you must then make your way back to the main road, so God welcomes our return. What value is there in punishing a mistake when there is also the possibility to celebrate the return of one of God’s prodigal children?
”There is a constant divine dance as God governs with justice, truth, and mercy. If He excludes any of the three, the other two are worthless. All that is required is that you are willing to abide under His exercise of all three.”
Cain stands expressionless at the end of the story. I become aware of the sounds of construction, and there are the sounds of voices but without clear words, all far in the distance.
He speaks slowly, the distrust that had been front and center is now battling with a new perception.
“You are not from mine. But there have been others who are neither mine nor Seth’s. They are not from Adam and Eve, but are from beyond.”
With confidence, he adds, “You are from a distance, like the giants. And though they have added expertise and strength to our endeavors, they are a proud lot. And yet you seem different, smaller, but wiser. Are you one of them?”
His question surprises me. That others such as I, visitors from the higher dimensions, have visited here already had not occurred to me.
But this is not about me.
“The ones you mention I have neither seen nor heard. I am a man like you, and I have told you my story.” I understand what must follow. “Tell me yours.”
He pauses again, but he is ready to talk.
Cain takes me back to the beginning of the story outside of Eden….
“You know how my parents were disobedient.” He said this as a matter of fact without accusation or innuendo. “Living in a state of continual toil for the basics of survival, why should I not rebel, also?”
I pause to be sure this is not a rhetorical question, but he waits for an answer.
“An equally strong argument can be made for the opposite side of the question, why you should not rebel.”
“Alright, I will lay my case before you and God.”
He has dropped his folded arms to his sides and slightly closed the distance between us as he assumes the initiative. That is good - let him be an open book. He will be so much easier to read!
“I was the first born, and my mother named me Cain. She saw me as the one who would avenge her deception by the serpent. She gave me the name - that is, she gave me the power – to fulfill the prophecy.
“I am Cain, a name literally meaning a lance striking fast! I was to strike the serpent’s head, to deliver a fatal blow. The serpent would only wound me, a strike to my heel.
“To me was given an identity wrapped around a purpose. My parents had but to wait for my maturity. When I became of age, I was to set things right, deliver our family from this cursed exile!”
His voice has risen and he now moves around restlessly, moving his hands and cutting through the air with his arm as his emotions grow hot. And I can understand his frustration.
As a child, Cain is seen by his parents as the deliverer of them and all of their descendants. Cain has a special place because he will set things right.
The family is outside of Eden and its empowering light, away from the trees that give life without effort, away from the water that quenches thirst forever. Cain begins his growth to maturity, but life is hard for the first parents and their first child.
Eve places upon Cain an expectation. She sees him as the ideal of what God has promised, the seed who will bruise the serpent’s head.
This name given by Eve was intended to give her son the power of the name. She misunderstood the timing of the reversal of the curse, assuming the seed foretold would be her immediate child rather than a later descendant. The name she gave was one of intent. I will see later that the names given afterward build upon the story Eve initiates.
After a slight pause during which Cain somewhat recomposes himself, he continues, but his anger and agitation increase with each word.
“But they have another child, another son. And there are daughters born, also. My parents betray me, undercut me. They have no faith but have child after child! Was I not enough?”
His face is red with rage, as he speaks more of his loss, of his parents’ betrayal. Time is irrelevant and he has a compelling need to tell his story (do we not all?). I listen patiently and attentively as he vents his feelings.
It is plain that the first parents were obedient to God’s command to be fruitful and to multiply. But through this obedience, Cain felt betrayed when his mother bore a second child, and continued to bare more afterward.
As I am listening to his version of the story, I am also hearing the note that is sung eternally, and I am allowing it to flow into and out of me. Riding on that note is this understanding of all that has been and all that will be.
Cain is still devastated, even so much time later, still feeling his value has been forever undercut. He blames his parents, but he feels powerless against them. His younger brother becomes the focus for his anger.
And time brings more questions, but time alone can bring no answers.
Cain is the elder brother in the story of the prodigal son[1]. He sees anything given to his younger brother, even a parent’s love, as a loss to himself. He is poorer for having a brother, and his resentment grows.
He continues. “I work in the field as a farmer while my brother works in the field as a shepherd. My work is clearing a field, removed the trees and brush for the plants that I will grow.
“And what is my brother’s work? It is hardly labor at all, but more like passing the time idly while his flock grazes in the meadow. I plant and weed and reap. He dreams beneath a tree and once a year shears the wool and prepares it for needlework.”
Cain speaks the word, ‘work,’ sarcastically whenever he uses it in relation to Abel. He has become obsessed with the idea that his own work was difficult manual labor as opposed to an idleness on the part of his shepherd brother.
He sees his brother’s work as almost nothing. Of course, when it is time for lambing or for shearing, the work is as difficult as farming, but Cain overlooks this.
As Cain tends his crop, protecting it from weeds, insects, and animals, he does not see his brother tending his flock, protecting it from predators, assisting with lambing or healing wounds and illnesses, and ensuring sufficient food and water is available.
Nature does the work, and the brothers are merely coworkers. Their wages are the work of their hands, but only in the sense of the value they add to the natural processes already at work. The processes are immutable, but by serving and protecting the design inherent in nature, they can increase its bounty. And this is their reward.
Cain observes his brother in the shade of a tree, communing with God as he watches over his flock. Cain does not acknowledge the time he himself spends idly watching the imperceptible growth of the plants that will yield his reward. And he does not reflect on the lack of God’s presence in his own periods of respite. Indeed, he denies that he even has time to think on God.
Never mind that communing with God can occur whenever or wherever. Never mind that God is omnipresent, that His presence with one brother does not exclude Him from presence with the other brother. Cain is focused on self, and in his mixed fear and anger he cannot see beyond himself. He cannot see God.
Time aided in the process of creation, allowing the necessary sequence of events for the building of a universe.
And time still aids in the maturing of Abel’s flocks and the maturing of the plants of Cain’s garden.
But now time also aids in the process of destruction, allowing the imagined hurt within Cain to fester and become toxic.
Cain speaks for several moments on the injustice of the division of labor, but then he speaks of the two fateful events leading to his separation from his family.
“’We were to be thankful for what we have been given.’ So said our father to us. ‘We should always be thankful for God’s goodness. And we will show this by returning to Him a portion of what He has given us.’
“Yes, that was my father’s view of God. We give to God from what he has given us, both to show our thanks and also our confidence that He will continue to bless us.”
Cain’s tone when he mentions his father, Adam, is dismissive. Since Cain has been judged, he feels free to judge, and his judgment is without mercy.
He is pacing as he talks, his eyes darting from place to place as he gestures dramatically. He does not even need an audience as he vents his anger.
“Who did the work? I did not see God in the fields helping me. And I certainly did not see Abel come out from beneath his shady tree to help with my labor.
“But I wanted to be obedient, to be respected for the work of my hands. So I took from the produce a bit of this and some of that. And I lifted these up to the Lord and set the bounty aside for Him.”
He stops and looks squarely into my eyes.
“I did not have to do that, but I did!
“And then what happens? Abel decides he will offer a sacrifice, a better one! And he gives the best of his sheep. Of course, he had little effort put into those sheep who feed themselves and reproduce on their own. Where is the work of HIS hands?
“And God accepts Abel’s offering and rejects mine!” He thumps his chest. “I am the one who labored, and I am the one who offered first! But my brother gets the praise and I am told to do better next time.
“And not only that,” the words now spilling from him in an uncontrolled verbal eruption, “but God asks why I am unhappy, angry with His response.”
His words are aimed at me as if I could overturn the injustices done to him, could reverse the judgment and lift him back to his rightful place as firstborn savior.
Cain is seething by this point, but he must pause for a breath before bringing his charges against God to a conclusion. “He acts like I have eaten from the forbidden tree, like I have done something wrong in making a sacrifice at all.”
Feeling that he has justifies himself to me, he is ready to tell me of his justified response.
Cain vows to fulfill his name. His parents have given him an identity, but with the birth of his younger brother he believes that they have stolen this gift from him. He will assert his identity through a manner true to his name but of his own choosing.
He does indeed strike fast, but with a stone rather than a spear. And he takes aim, but he strikes his brother rather than the serpent. He takes vengeance because he has been wronged, but he manifests his vengeance upon the innocent.
I think of Reese and what I had done in Atlantis. I had taken an innocent life because I had accepted the false expectations placed on me. Yes, as if that somehow justified the act.
I am not that different from Cain.
Just as I had rejected the concept of love as a law of existence, so Cain has rejected the law of love. Following the Fall from the Garden, this is the first outward violent act of unlove. God cannot tolerate this violation of the law of relationship underlying the earth’s very existence.
As with his parents after they had eaten the forbidden fruit, there soon comes a moment of reckoning for Cain. God’s question is not to gain information, but to encourage acknowledgment of an error, an act of self-conviction rather than a ruling by God.
Cain’s version of this part of the story is quoted below, but I also heard the story told on the eternal note. The stories are similar in the facts, but Cain’s version is very harsh, attributing every trial and tribulation of his life as having its origin in God’s punishment of him. Cain describes himself as the victim, even as I am hearing the divine version:
“Then the Lord said to Cain, ‘Where is Abel your brother?’
He said, ‘I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?’
And He said, ‘What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground. So now you are cursed from the earth, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. When you till the ground, it shall no longer yield its strength to you. A fugitive and a vagabond you shall be on the earth.’
And Cain said to the Lord, ‘My punishment is greater than I can bear! Surely You have driven me out this day from the face of the ground; I shall be hidden from Your face; I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond on the earth, and it will happen that anyone who finds me will kill me.’
And the Lord said to him, ‘Therefore, whoever kills Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold.’ And the Lord set a mark on Cain, lest anyone finding him should kill him[2].”
God saves Cain from suffering retribution from anyone as penalty for killing his younger brother. This is God’s role, part of the recipe for judgment: truth, justice, and mercy. All must be present.
I understand that the mark of Cain is less a merciful act for Cain than it is for those who may be tempted to further violate the law of love by exacting vengeance upon Cain by their own hands. Compounding death with death will not move mankind toward a higher state.
Cain finishes this part of his story with a question, one implying a negative answer.
“And so this God of yours loves even me?”
I would prefer to just let the present note flowing into me to pass straight through, to open my mouth and let him hear. But I know he is not conscious of this note that is passing through all of us, through every created being and object. He will not hear it.
So little of what we know can be said with words! But they will have to suffice.
“The short answer is ‘Yes.’ But before that, there is a question for you: Why did you kill Abel?”
“I told you. I was angry that Abel had taken my birthright and was preferred over me. He did nothing, yet he was praised. I worked, and I was faulted for my sacrifice.”
He stops, but I can see he is only in a pause. His words have not caught up with his racing mind.
“You know the meaning of the name, ‘Abel?’ It means empty, void. It is null in the realm of numbers. And that is all he was.
“I was named when I was born, and my brother was given a name when he was born, a name that would be his character. But he was only called, ‘Son' by his parents.”
Cain spits out the word “Son” as if it were a bitter seed. Another pause and he focuses on my eyes.
“And what was his purpose?” He smiles. “I was the first, and why not the only son. He was second, but now his number is a naught, a zero.”
He turns away. He paces, but he is not ready to leave me until he pleads his case fully. I wait.
“They named the next one ‘Seth,’ that is to say, ‘put in his place.’”
He kicks a small rock at his feet and almost screams, “Bah!” More calmly he adds, “The name is just another placeholder, an empty name with no promise.”
He returns to stand in front of me, arms folded and eyes fixed on mine.
”’In whose place?’ you may ask. It is clear that he replaced me….And perhaps the empty one, too,” he adds as an afterthought.
His anger is toned down, but I see what remains is turned inward.
“Why were you angry, Cain? You say you felt you had been replaced. Was anger the real emotion?”
He is tense. His anger continues to rise and fall like waves smashing against a rock wall.
“You asked and I have answered. You repeat the question. Do you expect a different answer?”
“You know this answer, and if you do not believe me, please answer this question: Where does God’s love of all that He has created stop…with a human, or an animal, or a blade of grass, or a rock?”
Cain is confused by such a question, a concept that he had never considered.
“You faulted your parents for not loving you alone. You resented having to share their love with another.
“In the same way, you belittle God’s love because He has disciplined your supreme act of unlove, the murder of your brother.
“Love is an infinite state, Cain. God’s love for you is infinite, that is, without end. God’s love for your brother is infinite, without end. True love for two beings must be equal, for both are without end.
“And your parents’ love for you and Abel is the same as God’s love. The addition of your brother did not diminish love for you. The additional son established a new line of infinite love.”
Cain is listening, held captive between the emotion of his thoughts and this alternative explanation of his reality.
I observe, “If a stranger told you that you were on the wrong path to your destination, you would thank him for setting you on the correct path. God has done the same, and you blame Him for your being on the wrong path! Are you being fair to God?”
He puts the question aside. These few comments in such a short space of time cannot overcome his years of bitterness, justified or not. And if his bitterness toward God is not justified, then he feels twice betrayed. That he is both the first and the second betrayer only makes the situation worse. I can see anger rising, like the red line on a thermometer.
Taking a slow deep breath, I model the self-control I desire to see in him. It does not work. He is unmoved.
Cain points to his city and his voice is defiant.
“We will build our city, and we will prosper on our own terms. This is our future. Your God put us out here, exhausting ourselves, sweating with hard labor as we scratch in the dirt for food.”
I follow his arm pointing to his city. He sees glory while I see a somewhat organized rubble. From this crude beginning will come his future, on that we will agree. What we each imagine this future will look like is very different, however.
I ask, “Are the laborers building your city living better lives than if they were in nature, enjoying the bounty of what grows well under their care?”
His response is spat out with bitterness.
“God has taught me many things.
“He has shown me it is better to be in control than to be controlled, better to be independent than dependent.
“He has shown me that you need to give people very little for them to be obedient, especially if there is an implied threat attached.
“He has taught me that the morning dew that waters all things may or may not come to His followers and to those who rebel against Him. He makes no difference between the two.
“I could give you many more examples, but you are wasting my time. Go and tell your stories and entertain whoever will listen. But do not distract my workers from their labors.”
He abruptly turns and begins to walk away, toward the distant clamor of construction. He takes only a couple of steps before turning back to face me. He speaks clearly and distinctly, as if to emphasize his point to a person he doubts can understand his speech.
“The others like you, the ones not from me or from Seth, none of them takes the side of your God. They know Him, and they choose to be here, in my city.”
He waves an arm toward his city as he emphasizes the last word of his short speech. He hardly hesitates before turning to resume his walk toward the sounds of construction.
“You deserve an answer to your charges. Will you not hear?” I call to his back.
He stops and turns so that he again faces me, arms folded, mind closed. I step toward him.
In this instant, a new realization comes to me. I cannot see myself, but I assume that I am of the same size and proportion as when I was in Atlantis, and that all people and things are also of similar size and proportion relative to me. I look at my hand stretched toward Cain and it is similar in size to that of Cain. And when talking with Cain, I am looking up only a few inches.
And I wonder about the others like me, the Fallen Ones. He called them giants. Atlantis also had the story of those who rebelled against God and were cast down into a lower dimension, the last realm above the physical world. And I know they are here in Cain’s land of Nod, a dark infection.
But I must answer his charges.
“Control is an illusion, Cain. As created beings, neither you nor I have control of anything beyond our own response.
“And this is why control is an illusion: anyone may choose to refuse to be controlled.
“Your parents in the Garden asserted their independence of God as their Master, took themselves out from under His protective authority. So may any of those you call your workers choose to leave your authority.
“You said that the morning dew falls on the just and the unjust, the obedient and the disobedient. This is an example of God’s impartial love, that He shows no favoritism.
“Authority is different from what you call control, and authority flows from one source. God gave Adam authority, and all nature under Adam was obedient.
“The moment that Adam stepped out from under God’s authority, all nature was released from obedience to Adam. Adam had misunderstood: nature was tuned to God, not to Adam. When the man holding dominion under God’s authority stepped away from acting under God, he lost his position as ruler over nature.
“Consider, if the rope that carries the load is severed from the anchor above that holds it, the load falls away, no longer obedient to the rope even though the load is still attached to the rope. So has been the relationship of God, man, and nature.”
“You are saying I must submit in order to rule, is that correct?”
I shake my head as a response in the negative. “I have failed to correctly assure you of the importance of your place in God’s world, your role in dominion over nature.
“You, Cain, son of man, are the hands of God in this world. You are an extension of Him, His presence continuing the order established at creation. As His representative, you have His full power and authority. To have power and authority, you must be under power and authority. These do not exist separate from Him.”
“I will rephrase my statement: I must be under His authority to exert my authority.”
“That is almost true. To be under His authority is to enables you to exert His authority. All authority you have is delegated from Him. An attempt to exert power from any other source will fail because this destroys the order established from the beginning.”
I point to a nearby building.
“The workers have laid stone upon stone, fixing them together with clay so that they stand firm. And they built a second layer upon the first. So was creation accomplished, one piece built upon another, all held together in relationship by the bond with the Creator. Relationship is the key. When this bond with the Creator is removed, when a false relationship is inserted, all falls down.”
Cain is not receiving the message and is undeterred. “You say we are doomed to fail. But I see that we are building.
“You say we must have relationship with God, but show me evidence that we are missing something now.
“You say He is in control and that we are not. In that case we have Him to thank for our troubles, so we solve our problems on our own.
“And the others like you, these beings also have rebelled against God’s version of the world. Why do you not admit what I and they have seen?”
“And what was it they saw, Cain? What caused their first act of rebellion?”
“Like me, they saw injustice. They could see the futility of serving an arbitrary ruler, the injustice of service with no reward, that all are subject to time and chance.”
He is pacing again, and his anger surfaces like red boils upon his skin.
“They did not just leave,” he continues, “they rebelled. My parents were cast out for less than this, but I will not submit to His authority. His condemnation of me to wandering I do not accept. I chose to wander, and then I chose to settle. I made my choice as the Fallen Ones made their choice.”
His flood of words continues, but he says nothing new. Like releasing all of the contents from a bag, pressing them out becomes more difficult and the flow lessens toward the end. Spent, he makes his closing statement.
“If they are called the Fallen Ones because they abandoned Him, then I am as fallen as are they!”
He has ended on a defiant note, energy coursing through him and flowing out in this angry tirade. He has moved to face me squarely, his larger body almost against mine, his nose only inches from my hairline.
He has held this anger inside for a long time and obviously enjoys the release. I can almost feel his sense of victory after his verbal onslaught.
Again I model the calm that is absent in him, the peace that is his true desire. My eyes remain fixed on his, every other muscle in my body relaxed.
“When the Fallen Ones left God, where did they go, Cain?”
He is puzzled by the question, wondering at its relevance to his charges.
“They went out from His presence. What does it matter where they went? They left by their choice!”
“They did not take on mortal form and come here, did they?”
“No, of course not. They inhabited their own realm. They established their own land and government.”
“You are saying they had their own place and their own leader. And the place and leader had nothing to do with God.”
Cain agrees to this with a loud and defiant, “Yes!”
“Why did some of them come to your land of Nod, Cain?”
He senses that he has walked into a trap, but he continues forward.
“They came here to experience the fullness of life as it is meant to be, free from arbitrary rules and poor leadership.”
“You are saying they have left their second dominion for a third dominion, that they did not find what they had sought when they left God.”
Again I make this a statement and not a question, and he has to refute it.
“No! The arbitrary rules and poor leadership were in the first estate, the so called heaven of God.”
“Then why did they leave their second estate and the leader who had brought them out from under God?”
He has backed away, looking around him as if an answer is to be found somewhere outside of him.
The sounds of construction still flow around us. A gentle breeze feels good on the skin as we stand in the sun. The remaining dust from the third floor sweeper has refused to settle, but it is obedient to the wind and rides upon it to the open spaces beyond the farthest building.
“They did not find that for which they searched in their second estate, that counterfeit kingdom they created. Will they find what they want here?
“Or will they only find that no matter where they go, no matter the nature of their kingdom or circumstance, that their only discovery is themselves? Will they realize that no matter where they go, they remain as they were?”
I hammer home the point. “Cain, no matter where you go, there you are.” I emphasize the word, ‘you.’
“You can run, but you cannot outrun yourself.”
Cain’s frustration at this truth is evident. He is like a horse stomping and chomping at the bit, eager to move forward but unable to find a direction in which he can move. He is anxious for some way to reply that will seal his case, but is at a loss to find it. After his flood of words, his silence seems eternal. Quiet can be like that, but in a moment he faces me again, but now from several feet away.
“I cannot attest to their motives or what they hope to find. But I know mine,” he thumps his chest, “and I know my case is just.”
There is a clear finality to his statement. There appears to be no way that he will hear what I have to say. If I asked that God show Cain His power, even raise Abel from the grave, Cain would not acknowledge the truth of God. His pride will not allow him to do so. Such an admission would be to acknowledge his own error, his own failing.
I open my mouth and let the note flow forth.
After a few seconds, Cain says, “You open your mouth, but you say nothing. Does your God have no response to my charges?”
The eloquence of the note is lost on Cain, and I must resort to mere words.
“You do not seek an answer, for you do not hear it. You are in control of your own response to what God has done and has spoken. What comes is your own choosing.”
“I thought as much,” sneers Cain as he again begins walking away. He is choosing to hear a different message, one of force rather than power. He is declaring that he will be the arbiter of what is right and what is wrong, of goodness and evil, of life and death. He will ascend to the throne.
A feeling of failure washes over me, but the message riding on the eternal note reassures me that Cain has rejected God, not me. It was not personal, just Cain’s need to affirm that he has chosen the correct path and need not change.
I can accept that.
Looking around me at the empty streets, there is no call for me to abandon my material existence, but there is no point in remaining where I am standing. Not wanting to give up, I pray for help. My prayer is answered, I call to Cain, “Show me your city.”
He turns around but continues walking backwards away from me.
“Then follow me,” he says. He turns again so that he is facing in the direction he is walking. He neither pauses not slows down. I set off in a trot to catch up to him.
Although I had walked through what seemed to be the urban center, he is turning along what I thought was the final edge of the city.
As I catch up and match his pace, we pass through a grove of trees as if we are entering the countryside. He is silent as we pass under the shade.
The path takes us beneath this tree canopy with a dogleg turn to the right. Following the turn, we are walking toward a bright sunlit opening ahead. As we near the light, I expect to see a wide open space, but what lays before us as we emerge from the trees is more city. And this is not just more of what I have already seen. This is of a more advanced construction.
As we step out into the sunlight, Cain stops and I stand beside him.
“There is the new city, my city,” he says. “What you saw was our first effort at making buildings. They are still used because they are needed, but this is the future.”
He waves an arm toward the buildings and says with a big smile, “This is the city of Enoch.” He proudly adds, “We have improved a bit.”
I look at the buildings in front of me. They are amazingly advanced compared to those through which we walked earlier.
Rather than a backyard project by amateurs, these structures are architectural works created with skilled craftsmanship.
Instead of roughly hewn rocks held with a mortar that looks little better than a mud clay, these are precision cut blocks stacked perfectly. There is hardly a trace of mortar between them they fit so well.
While most are traditional single or two story units with flat rooves, a few are taller, including one huge ziggurat at the far end. Each level of the pyramidal shape is slightly smaller than the level below it, giving a stair step appearance. It must be at least ten stories tall. This design was foreign to Atlantis, but the workmanship appears comparable. How could this primitive place produce such a work?
As I wonder at its quality, I guess that the purpose is based on some kind of worship.
Cain answers my unspoken question. “You speak of your God as if He were the only such being. If there is one, why not many? And do we not see the events that happen that no one would attribute to a kind and loving God?”
His voice has become sarcastic on the last words.
I hear the eternal note peal through the silence following his question like the ringing wind chimes through the air of a clear night.
I want to see the Fallen Ones, at least one of them. But the note shows me the futility. They each had made a choice and closed the door. I was not of them and could not reach them. That is the role of another.
“One question!” I call out.
“Ask me while I walk,” he replies without looking back or altering his stride.
I jog to catch up with him again as he enters the new city. A building just ahead on the left is our destination. The third floor is largely exposed with only a partial covering. Three columns hold up the unfinished roof, and between the pillars are two gaping dark holes breathing out the noise and dust from work within.
A man comes to the edge of one of the openings. He seems to be standing on the clouds as the dust from the work behind him washes over his lower legs and drifts out into the air. Gravity quickly sifts the heavier particles, but a light breeze holds the remainder as a swirling mist, gently settling onto the street below.
The ceiling of this floor is maybe three feet above him. Now close to the structure, I look at the lower two levels and realize that each level is roughly twelve feet high. The man in the opening is half again Cain’s height. He is indeed of the Fallen Ones.
Cain calls up to the giant. “Come and meet our visitor.”
The giant looks down, clearly focused on Cain, and then simply turns back into the shadows without speaking.
The illusion of the giant as having walked on a cloud is destroyed as a young boy, the top of his head not even reaching the giant’s waist, emerges from the shadows. He is sweeping with a broom, herding the dust and shavings of stone and wood toward the opening.
Aware that it will be a few moments before the man emerges through the door on the lowest level, Cain turns his gaze farther down the street.
“What is your question?” Cain is surveying the completed buildings, inviting me to marvel at the grand scene with him.
I keep my focus on Cain and ask, “What has this city cost you?”
He turns his whole body to face me, to confront me.
“What? What cost? This is all free from the earth.” To him the question is ridiculous. He smiles as he again surveys the buildings reaching up into the sky around us. As he spreads his arms wide open, he continues, “All we had to do was to repurpose what is here, transforming it into something grander!”
“Granted, the materials were readily available. But I saw your first city, and you agree that it is crude in comparison to what you now show me.”
He knows it is a statement, but he hears the implied question beneath what I say. His face speaks volumes in its involuntary response to what he knows is coming.
I sweep my arm across the marvel that he considers “his city.”
“The Fallen Ones have made this possible, haven’t they?”
Had I not been watching closely, I would not have seen the almost imperceptible fall in his countenance. He recovers quickly.
With a shrug he replies, “Perhaps they speeded the process along, but we would have come to this skill very soon anyway.”
He projects confidence, and perhaps that is necessary for him, a belief in himself. But has not that been the problem for Cain, the problem of the self-sufficient human who believes God is unnecessary?
“You have not answered my question, Cain. What was the cost of all of this that the Fallen Ones imposed upon you?”
Again, he shrugs as if the question is irrelevant. “They are citizens of Enoch, and they partake both in the labor and the rewards of that labor.”
I am not satisfied with the answer, and he sees that I will pursue the issue. He takes a mildly aggressive step toward me as a warning. “If you are here to sow discord, leave now!”
“I do not sow that which yields an evil harvest. That spirit is here already.”
The Fallen One has not emerged from the building. It is becoming clear that the giant is not obedient to Cain and has ignored him.
Cain is hesitant to respond to my statement. Or perhaps he has not yet admitted the truth of it to himself. He steers the conversation away from the question that clearly bothers him.
“What is your name, visitor?”
“My name is Evan.”
“How appropriate,” Cain sneers. “’Gift of God.’ Is that how you see yourself?”
I had never known that to be the meaning of my name. It is a form of ‘John,’ and now I understand. Perhaps in some strange way the name had become appropriate through my transformation.
“No more a gift of God than are you, Cain.”
I point toward the wide open spaces of the land beyond the end of the street.
“The Land of Nod is not out there, Cain. The Land of Nod, the wilderness of wandering, is in there.” I gently press my finger against his chest as I speak.
“Until you settle into your identity as God’s child, heir to His bounty through the stewardship He teaches, you will be a spiritual vagabond in bondage to the Fallen Ones.
“They will snap their fingers, and you will jump.
“They will speak, and you will listen.
“They will command, and you will obey.
“You think you are in control of what you call your city. But you do not control them. They control you because what you think you want is held as bait by them. They have lured you between the bars of their cage and shut the door behind you.”
I am hearing the eternal note. The chord is deeper, ominous, but not yet like what I heard as Atlantis disintegrated before me. The note is flowing out of me, but transformed into words.
“You want freedom, Cain, the freedom to be you. That freedom comes from the God Who created you. Bondage to the lie of the Fallen Ones holds your desires within a prison, and they are tempting you to enter.
“Be a son of God. Be who you were created to be. Be Cain!”
Cain’s assuredness is shaken. He turns his whole body and looks toward the doorway of the building under construction for rescue from my charges. Seconds pass, but no savior emerges.
“Cain, I assumed that the monkeys and Reese were objects without purpose other than that for which we humans chose. I felt no limitation, even to their destruction. Indeed, to my eyes, all of nature was ours for whatever purpose that we chose.
“God put a face on nature and gave it a name to show me my error. And through the lens of Reese I have come to see God’s purpose extends to all of His Creation, even the rocks themselves.”
I am pointing at the unfinished building. The rhythm of the sanding of stone and the sawing of wood floods out from the third floor opening.
“You toil at forcing Creation into an unnatural order.
“You make a monument to yourself using the resources that God has given to you while you build a stairway to honor gods that are no more than shaved wood and broken stone.
“Think, man, more with your heart than with your mind. Be with God, your Creator, rather than against Him.” This is a plea, not a condemnation.
Cain again has looked at his city, following my finger as it points to the works of his hands, to the Fallen Ones’ alternate reality that has held him spellbound.
I cannot make the decision for Cain. The eternal note has sounded my departure. He will decide the path that he will follow.
“Farewell, Cain. Be of good cheer. You are God’s child and you are forgiven of all for which you seek forgiveness. Examine your heart, Cain. Repent as you see the bitter fruit of your past choices and rejoice for your future.”
This last statement resonates within my physical body, and it rings true. What is done is over. The only thing he or anyone can influence is their own future.
“The only unforgiven acts are in your heart, and they are yours alone to forgive.”
I stand there a moment longer, giving Cain an opportunity to question or to confess or to rail against the truth. He stands looking at me, his expression so mixed with emotion that discerning how he feels, what he thinks, is not possible. He does not even know.
Perhaps there are many moments in the life of each of us where we are at such a crossroads. Multiple paths beckon to us, and we do not see which path is truly ours.
Before turning away, I want to add something more, anything that will bring the man to the right decision, to the restoration of his future. But he has all of the facts. His mind has all of the information necessary. It is his heart that is wavering.
I give a slight nod and turn away, retracing my footsteps to the point at which I had entered the Old City portion of Enoch.
The eternal note’s message to me is that Cain’s power to choose his future is of prime importance, that the law of love demands that God – and everyone else – let go of control of the choice of path for another person.
Yes, there are cultural and civil laws (some helpful, some not) in place to guide a person’s choice, but the freedom to choose can never be removed.
This is good news, too, even if it is also hard news.
[1] Luke 11:15-32
[2] Gen. 4:9-15 NKJV
Wilderness on the rough path behind me, I stand on a slight rise at the edge of a collection of stone and mortar buildings. What appears to me as a primitive settlement must appear in this ancient time as a marked advancement over a collection of nomadic tents. I can respect the work that has been done, for this is the seed from which a city will one day blossom.
On one side there are fields of crops. To the other side are pastures with livestock. A wide stream flows between the two and makes its way through the city, slightly off-center. Fig trees along the water’s edge provide shade and color to the dwellings’ stark walls.
There are men and women at work in the fields, children of various ages accompanying them, playing or working as their ages allow.
Sounds of activity come from some of the buildings. I can separate the ringing of metal against stone and the song of metal on wood in the distance, but the noises are jumbled so that I cannot trace a particular sound to its source.
There is a circle of women beneath a larger palm near the city center. They are weaving baskets or other pieces from reeds. A similar circle beneath the next large palm is working with what appears to be cloth of some kind.
As I approach, the sounds of work appear to be coming from two buildings. Gray/black smoke eases upward from the chimneys stretching a few feet above their rooves.
I can now see stonemasons just outside the far edge of the city. They are in a flat space before a hill with exposed rock, shaping the stones for new buildings.
Snatches of conversations come to me from different directions as I approach the center of the dwellings. The few people I pass have given me close looks, but none has spoken.
And I have had no calling to tell any of these my story. I continue walking.
Before I reach the last of the buildings, a street of only a hundred yards or so, a voice calls from behind me. The voice is almost familiar, though of course it must be new to me.
I turn and know that this is the man who must hear my story.
“You are a stranger here. What is your business?”
The voice is not hostile, but simply curious.
“I have come to see you,” I reply.
The man folds his arms across his chest. His voice had not been hospitable before, and now it is almost hostile. “You are not from my line, but neither are you from the line of Seth,” he stated flatly.
“What is that to you?” I ask.
Before he can respond, I fix my eyes on his eyes and begin my story.
“There was a great city called Atlantis. The city contained the latest and greatest inventions of mankind. These inventions were not just to make work easier, to increase leisure time, and to provide amusement for idle time, although these were present everywhere.
“Rather than a canopy of stars or a tent open to the air, the city had buildings taller than your trees.
“To protect against famine, there were stores of food. To maintain water, there were vast reservoirs for both drinking and for the land. To protect against foes there were weapons and walls. To protect against disease there were men with chemicals. To protect against the locust and the ant there were other men with more chemicals.
“Then to protect against death, they began to experiment with more chemicals. They sought eternal life. They sought to be as God.
“And I was very much one of them, drifting along in the current of the crowd, always striving to be one with the culture of Atlantis. Yes, that had become my God, the culture of the people, the wisdom of the age, which we thought to be the pinnacle of human endeavor for all time.”
A horn blasts and the trance is broken. Cain turns toward the sound.
Others around us pass in the direction toward the horn, which repeats with two more blasts. The obedience of all to the summons almost draws Cain, but he looks back at me, starting to explain why he must leave. He points in that direction with his hand and opens his mouth, but he lowers his arm without speaking.
I continue the story.
“We used chemicals from the ground, as you are using copper and tin. We mixed them in precise amounts, as you make bronze from those two metals, but our use was to put into the body, to alter the processes of life so that life would never end.
“What an admirable goal to end the suffering of death!
“We were a civilization that thought that humans ruled over everything and could use – and misuse – every resource available, whether mineral, vegetable, or animal.
“And we misused one another, as well, in pursuit of our selfish goal.
“There were teams competing to reach the goal first, and there were no rules for this competition.
“We ran tests for our immortality concoction on animals. We used monkeys, in particular, because they are so close to humans. We used what we called the rhesus monkey.
“I was in the cage with the monkeys one day on business, examining the specimens as you might examine a piece of fruit for its value. One of the monkeys held a ball he had been given, a round object like a stone but softer and would bounce.
“Looking at the monkey, I opened the palms of my hands to show I was ready to catch the ball. He understood! And he threw the ball to me with a single bounce on the floor.
“We began the game of catch. Reese (the name I gave to my new friend) enjoyed it immensely. I would come and see him almost daily over the following weeks, and we would play with the ball. We made the games more complex, learning more complicated ways of interacting with the ball and with each other.
“But time was passing and our attempt to find the formula for immortality was falling behind schedule. Other teams trying to find the formula might be ahead of us. Our leader ratcheted the pressure higher for us to produce positive results quickly.
“The leader of our group was a hard man. And he had power, both in terms of wealth and connections with other men of influence and power. He became fixated on the goal of immortality, and pushed for a formula to be proven with one last test.
“I was the one responsible for conducting the test. The test would involve every rhesus monkey we had. Every one of them must dies in this test, and if we did not complete the test immediately, I would lose my job, my livelihood. Indeed, they would take my freedom from me. All of the people with whom I worked knew that the focus was on me. ”
Cain had shown interest in the story and now he expresses concern for the events occurring.
“What did you do, stranger, to save yourself? How could you meet his demand?”
I become a bit choked up and cannot respond immediately. After a pause, I say, “There was no time to get more monkeys, so all of them were used in the test.”
“Even your friend, Reese?” Cain’s question expresses his emotions.
“Yes, I allowed even Reese to be sacrificed. And ‘sacrifice’ is the correct word, because I now answered to a god different from the God of Creation. I was ruled by the desire for the approval of the people around me. The opinion of others became to me as a god, and I bowed to it.
“All of the monkeys were taken from the caged land where they roamed, and the experiment began.
“And I suffered woe because of it! Everyone silently accused me of betraying a trust. No one talked to me unless necessary, and most totally avoided me. I was an outcast, like a leper with a sign reading ‘unclean.’
“But the week finally ended and the results of the test came back. And these results were interpreted as positive. We thought we were close to our goal and could move forward with the final test.
“And now everyone congratulated me on making a difficult decision. They affirmed that I had done the right thing. Reese was forgotten. At least, all of the others had forgotten him, but my guilt still remained.”
A final blast of the horn sounds. Everyone is supposed to be present. Cain breaks from looking at my eyes and turns in the direction of the horn once again. The area around us is deserted, quiet. He surrenders, looking back at me, and I continue the story.
“All was well, or so it seemed. Soon the need for a human test subject was announced, and I volunteered. This seemed the least I could do. What if the formula failed and the human test subject died? I could not bear to be responsible for another death.
“The day came for the chemical mixture to be introduced into me. The result might be immortality, or death, or something in between. We did not know how the human body would respond, although we had our theory that all would go well.
“But things did not go well. By the fifth day, my body was barely alive. I was told that I likely would not live another 24 hours.
“The next morning, both I and the whole world changed.
“When I woke, I was no longer the man who had lain dying in the bed. I was but a spirit, without substance or voice.
“While adjusting to this state of being in the world but no longer of the world, everything outside my room also was in a state of transition.
“The children of the world were heeding a call to come to the edge of the sea. There was a musical note in the air that only the innocent could hear, and they responded with a singleness of purpose as if in a trance. Throughout the morning they migrated to the shore, congregating on the beaches where they hummed the tune that called them.
“And the tune the children hummed called to others, to those adults who loved the children and loved their neighbors. These adults passed through the mystified onlookers and joined the children on the beach.
“In my new state as a spirit freed of a cumbersome body, I unconsciously heard the call from the beach to me. And so I went to the beach and passed through the crowd of spectators.
“There among the children I found my unborn son, the son who had died ten years earlier in the process of childbirth. This was a sweet union that had never seemed possible.
“Soon, his mother, my wife, arrived, answering the silent call our son had sent to her from beside the sea. For a moment we were joined in the union that had been denied us.
“This family portrait was only for a moment. The humming stopped, replaced by all the children and their loved ones swaying to an unheard rhythm. And then a final, beautiful song began.
“The last note lingered in the air, and the sea rose like a wall standing high above us, but coming no closer than the shoreline that had been its boundary. The spectators behind us panicked at the sea towering over the children on the beach and casting a shadow over themselves.
“My son said, ‘It is time for us to go.’ The two of us left and my son was my guide away from the destruction of Atlantis and all the earth that followed. All people were saved from what earth had become and restored to unity with the Creator.
“And my son was my guide to what was to become new existence, this opportunity to travel through time to tell this story.
“It is the never ending story of God’s love, a love that is synonymous with God and His creation.
“Cain, where does God’s love stop…with a human, or an animal, or a blade of grass, or a rock?”
He does not, or cannot, answer.
“No, it does not end. And that we suffer death is a mercy in a world separate from Him that can create only sorrow. Only those who walk with God can benefit from the banishment of death, for they will know forever the joy of creation, of life, of God.
“And so I tell the story to all I meet.
“You are loved by God, Cain. And if you have spurned Him, disobeyed Him, or in any way rebelled against Him, those things can be forgiven.
“Just as when you have made a wrong turn and travelled in the wrong direction you must then make your way back to the main road, so God welcomes our return. What value is there in punishing a mistake when there is also the possibility to celebrate the return of one of God’s prodigal children?
”There is a constant divine dance as God governs with justice, truth, and mercy. If He excludes any of the three, the other two are worthless. All that is required is that you are willing to abide under His exercise of all three.”
Cain stands expressionless at the end of the story. I become aware of the sounds of construction, and there are the sounds of voices but without clear words, all far in the distance.
He speaks slowly, the distrust that had been front and center is now battling with a new perception.
“You are not from mine. But there have been others who are neither mine nor Seth’s. They are not from Adam and Eve, but are from beyond.”
With confidence, he adds, “You are from a distance, like the giants. And though they have added expertise and strength to our endeavors, they are a proud lot. And yet you seem different, smaller, but wiser. Are you one of them?”
His question surprises me. That others such as I, visitors from the higher dimensions, have visited here already had not occurred to me.
But this is not about me.
“The ones you mention I have neither seen nor heard. I am a man like you, and I have told you my story.” I understand what must follow. “Tell me yours.”
He pauses again, but he is ready to talk.
Cain takes me back to the beginning of the story outside of Eden….
“You know how my parents were disobedient.” He said this as a matter of fact without accusation or innuendo. “Living in a state of continual toil for the basics of survival, why should I not rebel, also?”
I pause to be sure this is not a rhetorical question, but he waits for an answer.
“An equally strong argument can be made for the opposite side of the question, why you should not rebel.”
“Alright, I will lay my case before you and God.”
He has dropped his folded arms to his sides and slightly closed the distance between us as he assumes the initiative. That is good - let him be an open book. He will be so much easier to read!
“I was the first born, and my mother named me Cain. She saw me as the one who would avenge her deception by the serpent. She gave me the name - that is, she gave me the power – to fulfill the prophecy.
“I am Cain, a name literally meaning a lance striking fast! I was to strike the serpent’s head, to deliver a fatal blow. The serpent would only wound me, a strike to my heel.
“To me was given an identity wrapped around a purpose. My parents had but to wait for my maturity. When I became of age, I was to set things right, deliver our family from this cursed exile!”
His voice has risen and he now moves around restlessly, moving his hands and cutting through the air with his arm as his emotions grow hot. And I can understand his frustration.
As a child, Cain is seen by his parents as the deliverer of them and all of their descendants. Cain has a special place because he will set things right.
The family is outside of Eden and its empowering light, away from the trees that give life without effort, away from the water that quenches thirst forever. Cain begins his growth to maturity, but life is hard for the first parents and their first child.
Eve places upon Cain an expectation. She sees him as the ideal of what God has promised, the seed who will bruise the serpent’s head.
This name given by Eve was intended to give her son the power of the name. She misunderstood the timing of the reversal of the curse, assuming the seed foretold would be her immediate child rather than a later descendant. The name she gave was one of intent. I will see later that the names given afterward build upon the story Eve initiates.
After a slight pause during which Cain somewhat recomposes himself, he continues, but his anger and agitation increase with each word.
“But they have another child, another son. And there are daughters born, also. My parents betray me, undercut me. They have no faith but have child after child! Was I not enough?”
His face is red with rage, as he speaks more of his loss, of his parents’ betrayal. Time is irrelevant and he has a compelling need to tell his story (do we not all?). I listen patiently and attentively as he vents his feelings.
It is plain that the first parents were obedient to God’s command to be fruitful and to multiply. But through this obedience, Cain felt betrayed when his mother bore a second child, and continued to bare more afterward.
As I am listening to his version of the story, I am also hearing the note that is sung eternally, and I am allowing it to flow into and out of me. Riding on that note is this understanding of all that has been and all that will be.
Cain is still devastated, even so much time later, still feeling his value has been forever undercut. He blames his parents, but he feels powerless against them. His younger brother becomes the focus for his anger.
And time brings more questions, but time alone can bring no answers.
Cain is the elder brother in the story of the prodigal son[1]. He sees anything given to his younger brother, even a parent’s love, as a loss to himself. He is poorer for having a brother, and his resentment grows.
He continues. “I work in the field as a farmer while my brother works in the field as a shepherd. My work is clearing a field, removed the trees and brush for the plants that I will grow.
“And what is my brother’s work? It is hardly labor at all, but more like passing the time idly while his flock grazes in the meadow. I plant and weed and reap. He dreams beneath a tree and once a year shears the wool and prepares it for needlework.”
Cain speaks the word, ‘work,’ sarcastically whenever he uses it in relation to Abel. He has become obsessed with the idea that his own work was difficult manual labor as opposed to an idleness on the part of his shepherd brother.
He sees his brother’s work as almost nothing. Of course, when it is time for lambing or for shearing, the work is as difficult as farming, but Cain overlooks this.
As Cain tends his crop, protecting it from weeds, insects, and animals, he does not see his brother tending his flock, protecting it from predators, assisting with lambing or healing wounds and illnesses, and ensuring sufficient food and water is available.
Nature does the work, and the brothers are merely coworkers. Their wages are the work of their hands, but only in the sense of the value they add to the natural processes already at work. The processes are immutable, but by serving and protecting the design inherent in nature, they can increase its bounty. And this is their reward.
Cain observes his brother in the shade of a tree, communing with God as he watches over his flock. Cain does not acknowledge the time he himself spends idly watching the imperceptible growth of the plants that will yield his reward. And he does not reflect on the lack of God’s presence in his own periods of respite. Indeed, he denies that he even has time to think on God.
Never mind that communing with God can occur whenever or wherever. Never mind that God is omnipresent, that His presence with one brother does not exclude Him from presence with the other brother. Cain is focused on self, and in his mixed fear and anger he cannot see beyond himself. He cannot see God.
Time aided in the process of creation, allowing the necessary sequence of events for the building of a universe.
And time still aids in the maturing of Abel’s flocks and the maturing of the plants of Cain’s garden.
But now time also aids in the process of destruction, allowing the imagined hurt within Cain to fester and become toxic.
Cain speaks for several moments on the injustice of the division of labor, but then he speaks of the two fateful events leading to his separation from his family.
“’We were to be thankful for what we have been given.’ So said our father to us. ‘We should always be thankful for God’s goodness. And we will show this by returning to Him a portion of what He has given us.’
“Yes, that was my father’s view of God. We give to God from what he has given us, both to show our thanks and also our confidence that He will continue to bless us.”
Cain’s tone when he mentions his father, Adam, is dismissive. Since Cain has been judged, he feels free to judge, and his judgment is without mercy.
He is pacing as he talks, his eyes darting from place to place as he gestures dramatically. He does not even need an audience as he vents his anger.
“Who did the work? I did not see God in the fields helping me. And I certainly did not see Abel come out from beneath his shady tree to help with my labor.
“But I wanted to be obedient, to be respected for the work of my hands. So I took from the produce a bit of this and some of that. And I lifted these up to the Lord and set the bounty aside for Him.”
He stops and looks squarely into my eyes.
“I did not have to do that, but I did!
“And then what happens? Abel decides he will offer a sacrifice, a better one! And he gives the best of his sheep. Of course, he had little effort put into those sheep who feed themselves and reproduce on their own. Where is the work of HIS hands?
“And God accepts Abel’s offering and rejects mine!” He thumps his chest. “I am the one who labored, and I am the one who offered first! But my brother gets the praise and I am told to do better next time.
“And not only that,” the words now spilling from him in an uncontrolled verbal eruption, “but God asks why I am unhappy, angry with His response.”
His words are aimed at me as if I could overturn the injustices done to him, could reverse the judgment and lift him back to his rightful place as firstborn savior.
Cain is seething by this point, but he must pause for a breath before bringing his charges against God to a conclusion. “He acts like I have eaten from the forbidden tree, like I have done something wrong in making a sacrifice at all.”
Feeling that he has justifies himself to me, he is ready to tell me of his justified response.
Cain vows to fulfill his name. His parents have given him an identity, but with the birth of his younger brother he believes that they have stolen this gift from him. He will assert his identity through a manner true to his name but of his own choosing.
He does indeed strike fast, but with a stone rather than a spear. And he takes aim, but he strikes his brother rather than the serpent. He takes vengeance because he has been wronged, but he manifests his vengeance upon the innocent.
I think of Reese and what I had done in Atlantis. I had taken an innocent life because I had accepted the false expectations placed on me. Yes, as if that somehow justified the act.
I am not that different from Cain.
Just as I had rejected the concept of love as a law of existence, so Cain has rejected the law of love. Following the Fall from the Garden, this is the first outward violent act of unlove. God cannot tolerate this violation of the law of relationship underlying the earth’s very existence.
As with his parents after they had eaten the forbidden fruit, there soon comes a moment of reckoning for Cain. God’s question is not to gain information, but to encourage acknowledgment of an error, an act of self-conviction rather than a ruling by God.
Cain’s version of this part of the story is quoted below, but I also heard the story told on the eternal note. The stories are similar in the facts, but Cain’s version is very harsh, attributing every trial and tribulation of his life as having its origin in God’s punishment of him. Cain describes himself as the victim, even as I am hearing the divine version:
“Then the Lord said to Cain, ‘Where is Abel your brother?’
He said, ‘I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?’
And He said, ‘What have you done? The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground. So now you are cursed from the earth, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. When you till the ground, it shall no longer yield its strength to you. A fugitive and a vagabond you shall be on the earth.’
And Cain said to the Lord, ‘My punishment is greater than I can bear! Surely You have driven me out this day from the face of the ground; I shall be hidden from Your face; I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond on the earth, and it will happen that anyone who finds me will kill me.’
And the Lord said to him, ‘Therefore, whoever kills Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold.’ And the Lord set a mark on Cain, lest anyone finding him should kill him[2].”
God saves Cain from suffering retribution from anyone as penalty for killing his younger brother. This is God’s role, part of the recipe for judgment: truth, justice, and mercy. All must be present.
I understand that the mark of Cain is less a merciful act for Cain than it is for those who may be tempted to further violate the law of love by exacting vengeance upon Cain by their own hands. Compounding death with death will not move mankind toward a higher state.
Cain finishes this part of his story with a question, one implying a negative answer.
“And so this God of yours loves even me?”
I would prefer to just let the present note flowing into me to pass straight through, to open my mouth and let him hear. But I know he is not conscious of this note that is passing through all of us, through every created being and object. He will not hear it.
So little of what we know can be said with words! But they will have to suffice.
“The short answer is ‘Yes.’ But before that, there is a question for you: Why did you kill Abel?”
“I told you. I was angry that Abel had taken my birthright and was preferred over me. He did nothing, yet he was praised. I worked, and I was faulted for my sacrifice.”
He stops, but I can see he is only in a pause. His words have not caught up with his racing mind.
“You know the meaning of the name, ‘Abel?’ It means empty, void. It is null in the realm of numbers. And that is all he was.
“I was named when I was born, and my brother was given a name when he was born, a name that would be his character. But he was only called, ‘Son' by his parents.”
Cain spits out the word “Son” as if it were a bitter seed. Another pause and he focuses on my eyes.
“And what was his purpose?” He smiles. “I was the first, and why not the only son. He was second, but now his number is a naught, a zero.”
He turns away. He paces, but he is not ready to leave me until he pleads his case fully. I wait.
“They named the next one ‘Seth,’ that is to say, ‘put in his place.’”
He kicks a small rock at his feet and almost screams, “Bah!” More calmly he adds, “The name is just another placeholder, an empty name with no promise.”
He returns to stand in front of me, arms folded and eyes fixed on mine.
”’In whose place?’ you may ask. It is clear that he replaced me….And perhaps the empty one, too,” he adds as an afterthought.
His anger is toned down, but I see what remains is turned inward.
“Why were you angry, Cain? You say you felt you had been replaced. Was anger the real emotion?”
He is tense. His anger continues to rise and fall like waves smashing against a rock wall.
“You asked and I have answered. You repeat the question. Do you expect a different answer?”
“You know this answer, and if you do not believe me, please answer this question: Where does God’s love of all that He has created stop…with a human, or an animal, or a blade of grass, or a rock?”
Cain is confused by such a question, a concept that he had never considered.
“You faulted your parents for not loving you alone. You resented having to share their love with another.
“In the same way, you belittle God’s love because He has disciplined your supreme act of unlove, the murder of your brother.
“Love is an infinite state, Cain. God’s love for you is infinite, that is, without end. God’s love for your brother is infinite, without end. True love for two beings must be equal, for both are without end.
“And your parents’ love for you and Abel is the same as God’s love. The addition of your brother did not diminish love for you. The additional son established a new line of infinite love.”
Cain is listening, held captive between the emotion of his thoughts and this alternative explanation of his reality.
I observe, “If a stranger told you that you were on the wrong path to your destination, you would thank him for setting you on the correct path. God has done the same, and you blame Him for your being on the wrong path! Are you being fair to God?”
He puts the question aside. These few comments in such a short space of time cannot overcome his years of bitterness, justified or not. And if his bitterness toward God is not justified, then he feels twice betrayed. That he is both the first and the second betrayer only makes the situation worse. I can see anger rising, like the red line on a thermometer.
Taking a slow deep breath, I model the self-control I desire to see in him. It does not work. He is unmoved.
Cain points to his city and his voice is defiant.
“We will build our city, and we will prosper on our own terms. This is our future. Your God put us out here, exhausting ourselves, sweating with hard labor as we scratch in the dirt for food.”
I follow his arm pointing to his city. He sees glory while I see a somewhat organized rubble. From this crude beginning will come his future, on that we will agree. What we each imagine this future will look like is very different, however.
I ask, “Are the laborers building your city living better lives than if they were in nature, enjoying the bounty of what grows well under their care?”
His response is spat out with bitterness.
“God has taught me many things.
“He has shown me it is better to be in control than to be controlled, better to be independent than dependent.
“He has shown me that you need to give people very little for them to be obedient, especially if there is an implied threat attached.
“He has taught me that the morning dew that waters all things may or may not come to His followers and to those who rebel against Him. He makes no difference between the two.
“I could give you many more examples, but you are wasting my time. Go and tell your stories and entertain whoever will listen. But do not distract my workers from their labors.”
He abruptly turns and begins to walk away, toward the distant clamor of construction. He takes only a couple of steps before turning back to face me. He speaks clearly and distinctly, as if to emphasize his point to a person he doubts can understand his speech.
“The others like you, the ones not from me or from Seth, none of them takes the side of your God. They know Him, and they choose to be here, in my city.”
He waves an arm toward his city as he emphasizes the last word of his short speech. He hardly hesitates before turning to resume his walk toward the sounds of construction.
“You deserve an answer to your charges. Will you not hear?” I call to his back.
He stops and turns so that he again faces me, arms folded, mind closed. I step toward him.
In this instant, a new realization comes to me. I cannot see myself, but I assume that I am of the same size and proportion as when I was in Atlantis, and that all people and things are also of similar size and proportion relative to me. I look at my hand stretched toward Cain and it is similar in size to that of Cain. And when talking with Cain, I am looking up only a few inches.
And I wonder about the others like me, the Fallen Ones. He called them giants. Atlantis also had the story of those who rebelled against God and were cast down into a lower dimension, the last realm above the physical world. And I know they are here in Cain’s land of Nod, a dark infection.
But I must answer his charges.
“Control is an illusion, Cain. As created beings, neither you nor I have control of anything beyond our own response.
“And this is why control is an illusion: anyone may choose to refuse to be controlled.
“Your parents in the Garden asserted their independence of God as their Master, took themselves out from under His protective authority. So may any of those you call your workers choose to leave your authority.
“You said that the morning dew falls on the just and the unjust, the obedient and the disobedient. This is an example of God’s impartial love, that He shows no favoritism.
“Authority is different from what you call control, and authority flows from one source. God gave Adam authority, and all nature under Adam was obedient.
“The moment that Adam stepped out from under God’s authority, all nature was released from obedience to Adam. Adam had misunderstood: nature was tuned to God, not to Adam. When the man holding dominion under God’s authority stepped away from acting under God, he lost his position as ruler over nature.
“Consider, if the rope that carries the load is severed from the anchor above that holds it, the load falls away, no longer obedient to the rope even though the load is still attached to the rope. So has been the relationship of God, man, and nature.”
“You are saying I must submit in order to rule, is that correct?”
I shake my head as a response in the negative. “I have failed to correctly assure you of the importance of your place in God’s world, your role in dominion over nature.
“You, Cain, son of man, are the hands of God in this world. You are an extension of Him, His presence continuing the order established at creation. As His representative, you have His full power and authority. To have power and authority, you must be under power and authority. These do not exist separate from Him.”
“I will rephrase my statement: I must be under His authority to exert my authority.”
“That is almost true. To be under His authority is to enables you to exert His authority. All authority you have is delegated from Him. An attempt to exert power from any other source will fail because this destroys the order established from the beginning.”
I point to a nearby building.
“The workers have laid stone upon stone, fixing them together with clay so that they stand firm. And they built a second layer upon the first. So was creation accomplished, one piece built upon another, all held together in relationship by the bond with the Creator. Relationship is the key. When this bond with the Creator is removed, when a false relationship is inserted, all falls down.”
Cain is not receiving the message and is undeterred. “You say we are doomed to fail. But I see that we are building.
“You say we must have relationship with God, but show me evidence that we are missing something now.
“You say He is in control and that we are not. In that case we have Him to thank for our troubles, so we solve our problems on our own.
“And the others like you, these beings also have rebelled against God’s version of the world. Why do you not admit what I and they have seen?”
“And what was it they saw, Cain? What caused their first act of rebellion?”
“Like me, they saw injustice. They could see the futility of serving an arbitrary ruler, the injustice of service with no reward, that all are subject to time and chance.”
He is pacing again, and his anger surfaces like red boils upon his skin.
“They did not just leave,” he continues, “they rebelled. My parents were cast out for less than this, but I will not submit to His authority. His condemnation of me to wandering I do not accept. I chose to wander, and then I chose to settle. I made my choice as the Fallen Ones made their choice.”
His flood of words continues, but he says nothing new. Like releasing all of the contents from a bag, pressing them out becomes more difficult and the flow lessens toward the end. Spent, he makes his closing statement.
“If they are called the Fallen Ones because they abandoned Him, then I am as fallen as are they!”
He has ended on a defiant note, energy coursing through him and flowing out in this angry tirade. He has moved to face me squarely, his larger body almost against mine, his nose only inches from my hairline.
He has held this anger inside for a long time and obviously enjoys the release. I can almost feel his sense of victory after his verbal onslaught.
Again I model the calm that is absent in him, the peace that is his true desire. My eyes remain fixed on his, every other muscle in my body relaxed.
“When the Fallen Ones left God, where did they go, Cain?”
He is puzzled by the question, wondering at its relevance to his charges.
“They went out from His presence. What does it matter where they went? They left by their choice!”
“They did not take on mortal form and come here, did they?”
“No, of course not. They inhabited their own realm. They established their own land and government.”
“You are saying they had their own place and their own leader. And the place and leader had nothing to do with God.”
Cain agrees to this with a loud and defiant, “Yes!”
“Why did some of them come to your land of Nod, Cain?”
He senses that he has walked into a trap, but he continues forward.
“They came here to experience the fullness of life as it is meant to be, free from arbitrary rules and poor leadership.”
“You are saying they have left their second dominion for a third dominion, that they did not find what they had sought when they left God.”
Again I make this a statement and not a question, and he has to refute it.
“No! The arbitrary rules and poor leadership were in the first estate, the so called heaven of God.”
“Then why did they leave their second estate and the leader who had brought them out from under God?”
He has backed away, looking around him as if an answer is to be found somewhere outside of him.
The sounds of construction still flow around us. A gentle breeze feels good on the skin as we stand in the sun. The remaining dust from the third floor sweeper has refused to settle, but it is obedient to the wind and rides upon it to the open spaces beyond the farthest building.
“They did not find that for which they searched in their second estate, that counterfeit kingdom they created. Will they find what they want here?
“Or will they only find that no matter where they go, no matter the nature of their kingdom or circumstance, that their only discovery is themselves? Will they realize that no matter where they go, they remain as they were?”
I hammer home the point. “Cain, no matter where you go, there you are.” I emphasize the word, ‘you.’
“You can run, but you cannot outrun yourself.”
Cain’s frustration at this truth is evident. He is like a horse stomping and chomping at the bit, eager to move forward but unable to find a direction in which he can move. He is anxious for some way to reply that will seal his case, but is at a loss to find it. After his flood of words, his silence seems eternal. Quiet can be like that, but in a moment he faces me again, but now from several feet away.
“I cannot attest to their motives or what they hope to find. But I know mine,” he thumps his chest, “and I know my case is just.”
There is a clear finality to his statement. There appears to be no way that he will hear what I have to say. If I asked that God show Cain His power, even raise Abel from the grave, Cain would not acknowledge the truth of God. His pride will not allow him to do so. Such an admission would be to acknowledge his own error, his own failing.
I open my mouth and let the note flow forth.
After a few seconds, Cain says, “You open your mouth, but you say nothing. Does your God have no response to my charges?”
The eloquence of the note is lost on Cain, and I must resort to mere words.
“You do not seek an answer, for you do not hear it. You are in control of your own response to what God has done and has spoken. What comes is your own choosing.”
“I thought as much,” sneers Cain as he again begins walking away. He is choosing to hear a different message, one of force rather than power. He is declaring that he will be the arbiter of what is right and what is wrong, of goodness and evil, of life and death. He will ascend to the throne.
A feeling of failure washes over me, but the message riding on the eternal note reassures me that Cain has rejected God, not me. It was not personal, just Cain’s need to affirm that he has chosen the correct path and need not change.
I can accept that.
Looking around me at the empty streets, there is no call for me to abandon my material existence, but there is no point in remaining where I am standing. Not wanting to give up, I pray for help. My prayer is answered, I call to Cain, “Show me your city.”
He turns around but continues walking backwards away from me.
“Then follow me,” he says. He turns again so that he is facing in the direction he is walking. He neither pauses not slows down. I set off in a trot to catch up to him.
Although I had walked through what seemed to be the urban center, he is turning along what I thought was the final edge of the city.
As I catch up and match his pace, we pass through a grove of trees as if we are entering the countryside. He is silent as we pass under the shade.
The path takes us beneath this tree canopy with a dogleg turn to the right. Following the turn, we are walking toward a bright sunlit opening ahead. As we near the light, I expect to see a wide open space, but what lays before us as we emerge from the trees is more city. And this is not just more of what I have already seen. This is of a more advanced construction.
As we step out into the sunlight, Cain stops and I stand beside him.
“There is the new city, my city,” he says. “What you saw was our first effort at making buildings. They are still used because they are needed, but this is the future.”
He waves an arm toward the buildings and says with a big smile, “This is the city of Enoch.” He proudly adds, “We have improved a bit.”
I look at the buildings in front of me. They are amazingly advanced compared to those through which we walked earlier.
Rather than a backyard project by amateurs, these structures are architectural works created with skilled craftsmanship.
Instead of roughly hewn rocks held with a mortar that looks little better than a mud clay, these are precision cut blocks stacked perfectly. There is hardly a trace of mortar between them they fit so well.
While most are traditional single or two story units with flat rooves, a few are taller, including one huge ziggurat at the far end. Each level of the pyramidal shape is slightly smaller than the level below it, giving a stair step appearance. It must be at least ten stories tall. This design was foreign to Atlantis, but the workmanship appears comparable. How could this primitive place produce such a work?
As I wonder at its quality, I guess that the purpose is based on some kind of worship.
Cain answers my unspoken question. “You speak of your God as if He were the only such being. If there is one, why not many? And do we not see the events that happen that no one would attribute to a kind and loving God?”
His voice has become sarcastic on the last words.
I hear the eternal note peal through the silence following his question like the ringing wind chimes through the air of a clear night.
I want to see the Fallen Ones, at least one of them. But the note shows me the futility. They each had made a choice and closed the door. I was not of them and could not reach them. That is the role of another.
“One question!” I call out.
“Ask me while I walk,” he replies without looking back or altering his stride.
I jog to catch up with him again as he enters the new city. A building just ahead on the left is our destination. The third floor is largely exposed with only a partial covering. Three columns hold up the unfinished roof, and between the pillars are two gaping dark holes breathing out the noise and dust from work within.
A man comes to the edge of one of the openings. He seems to be standing on the clouds as the dust from the work behind him washes over his lower legs and drifts out into the air. Gravity quickly sifts the heavier particles, but a light breeze holds the remainder as a swirling mist, gently settling onto the street below.
The ceiling of this floor is maybe three feet above him. Now close to the structure, I look at the lower two levels and realize that each level is roughly twelve feet high. The man in the opening is half again Cain’s height. He is indeed of the Fallen Ones.
Cain calls up to the giant. “Come and meet our visitor.”
The giant looks down, clearly focused on Cain, and then simply turns back into the shadows without speaking.
The illusion of the giant as having walked on a cloud is destroyed as a young boy, the top of his head not even reaching the giant’s waist, emerges from the shadows. He is sweeping with a broom, herding the dust and shavings of stone and wood toward the opening.
Aware that it will be a few moments before the man emerges through the door on the lowest level, Cain turns his gaze farther down the street.
“What is your question?” Cain is surveying the completed buildings, inviting me to marvel at the grand scene with him.
I keep my focus on Cain and ask, “What has this city cost you?”
He turns his whole body to face me, to confront me.
“What? What cost? This is all free from the earth.” To him the question is ridiculous. He smiles as he again surveys the buildings reaching up into the sky around us. As he spreads his arms wide open, he continues, “All we had to do was to repurpose what is here, transforming it into something grander!”
“Granted, the materials were readily available. But I saw your first city, and you agree that it is crude in comparison to what you now show me.”
He knows it is a statement, but he hears the implied question beneath what I say. His face speaks volumes in its involuntary response to what he knows is coming.
I sweep my arm across the marvel that he considers “his city.”
“The Fallen Ones have made this possible, haven’t they?”
Had I not been watching closely, I would not have seen the almost imperceptible fall in his countenance. He recovers quickly.
With a shrug he replies, “Perhaps they speeded the process along, but we would have come to this skill very soon anyway.”
He projects confidence, and perhaps that is necessary for him, a belief in himself. But has not that been the problem for Cain, the problem of the self-sufficient human who believes God is unnecessary?
“You have not answered my question, Cain. What was the cost of all of this that the Fallen Ones imposed upon you?”
Again, he shrugs as if the question is irrelevant. “They are citizens of Enoch, and they partake both in the labor and the rewards of that labor.”
I am not satisfied with the answer, and he sees that I will pursue the issue. He takes a mildly aggressive step toward me as a warning. “If you are here to sow discord, leave now!”
“I do not sow that which yields an evil harvest. That spirit is here already.”
The Fallen One has not emerged from the building. It is becoming clear that the giant is not obedient to Cain and has ignored him.
Cain is hesitant to respond to my statement. Or perhaps he has not yet admitted the truth of it to himself. He steers the conversation away from the question that clearly bothers him.
“What is your name, visitor?”
“My name is Evan.”
“How appropriate,” Cain sneers. “’Gift of God.’ Is that how you see yourself?”
I had never known that to be the meaning of my name. It is a form of ‘John,’ and now I understand. Perhaps in some strange way the name had become appropriate through my transformation.
“No more a gift of God than are you, Cain.”
I point toward the wide open spaces of the land beyond the end of the street.
“The Land of Nod is not out there, Cain. The Land of Nod, the wilderness of wandering, is in there.” I gently press my finger against his chest as I speak.
“Until you settle into your identity as God’s child, heir to His bounty through the stewardship He teaches, you will be a spiritual vagabond in bondage to the Fallen Ones.
“They will snap their fingers, and you will jump.
“They will speak, and you will listen.
“They will command, and you will obey.
“You think you are in control of what you call your city. But you do not control them. They control you because what you think you want is held as bait by them. They have lured you between the bars of their cage and shut the door behind you.”
I am hearing the eternal note. The chord is deeper, ominous, but not yet like what I heard as Atlantis disintegrated before me. The note is flowing out of me, but transformed into words.
“You want freedom, Cain, the freedom to be you. That freedom comes from the God Who created you. Bondage to the lie of the Fallen Ones holds your desires within a prison, and they are tempting you to enter.
“Be a son of God. Be who you were created to be. Be Cain!”
Cain’s assuredness is shaken. He turns his whole body and looks toward the doorway of the building under construction for rescue from my charges. Seconds pass, but no savior emerges.
“Cain, I assumed that the monkeys and Reese were objects without purpose other than that for which we humans chose. I felt no limitation, even to their destruction. Indeed, to my eyes, all of nature was ours for whatever purpose that we chose.
“God put a face on nature and gave it a name to show me my error. And through the lens of Reese I have come to see God’s purpose extends to all of His Creation, even the rocks themselves.”
I am pointing at the unfinished building. The rhythm of the sanding of stone and the sawing of wood floods out from the third floor opening.
“You toil at forcing Creation into an unnatural order.
“You make a monument to yourself using the resources that God has given to you while you build a stairway to honor gods that are no more than shaved wood and broken stone.
“Think, man, more with your heart than with your mind. Be with God, your Creator, rather than against Him.” This is a plea, not a condemnation.
Cain again has looked at his city, following my finger as it points to the works of his hands, to the Fallen Ones’ alternate reality that has held him spellbound.
I cannot make the decision for Cain. The eternal note has sounded my departure. He will decide the path that he will follow.
“Farewell, Cain. Be of good cheer. You are God’s child and you are forgiven of all for which you seek forgiveness. Examine your heart, Cain. Repent as you see the bitter fruit of your past choices and rejoice for your future.”
This last statement resonates within my physical body, and it rings true. What is done is over. The only thing he or anyone can influence is their own future.
“The only unforgiven acts are in your heart, and they are yours alone to forgive.”
I stand there a moment longer, giving Cain an opportunity to question or to confess or to rail against the truth. He stands looking at me, his expression so mixed with emotion that discerning how he feels, what he thinks, is not possible. He does not even know.
Perhaps there are many moments in the life of each of us where we are at such a crossroads. Multiple paths beckon to us, and we do not see which path is truly ours.
Before turning away, I want to add something more, anything that will bring the man to the right decision, to the restoration of his future. But he has all of the facts. His mind has all of the information necessary. It is his heart that is wavering.
I give a slight nod and turn away, retracing my footsteps to the point at which I had entered the Old City portion of Enoch.
The eternal note’s message to me is that Cain’s power to choose his future is of prime importance, that the law of love demands that God – and everyone else – let go of control of the choice of path for another person.
Yes, there are cultural and civil laws (some helpful, some not) in place to guide a person’s choice, but the freedom to choose can never be removed.
This is good news, too, even if it is also hard news.
[1] Luke 11:15-32
[2] Gen. 4:9-15 NKJV
