Am I My Brother’s Keeper?
by Donavon L Riley
Brothers and sisters, here we are, drenched in the blood of Cain’s ancient question, his words echoing through the corridors of time like a gunshot in the night. Are we our brothers’ keepers? It’s a question that cuts through flesh and bone, exposing the raw nerve of our nature. Especially in the realization that, at every opportunity, we have taken His gifts for granted.
We strut upon this sacred earth, exploiting one another with cunning smiles and calculated schemes. Our desires morph into obsessions, and we dare to murder not just the flesh but the very life of fellowship and brotherhood, hungrily seizing for our selfish purposes what God has not given to us. And when someone is hurt and harmed by our choices, with audacity dripping from our lips, we ask, “How is this my problem?”
But, remember when the mighty floodwaters swallowed the wickedness of old. And yet we, the new progeny of Noah, tread down the same path. In the same way, the tower of Babel stands as a testament to our arrogance, as we sought to pierce the heavens themselves, to storm heaven by force. And what did God do? Our language was twisted, unity was shattered, and God scattered us to the winds. But did we learn? Do we not build our own towers today, constructed from the bricks of hubris and the mortar of self-indulgence?
Like the serpent in Eden’s garden, we hiss half-truths into the ears of our brothers and sisters, sowing discord and conflict, shattering trust. We shun the divine commandments, sculpting golden calves from our desires, and then, with a smirk, we turn to the Creator and demand, “Why have you forsaken us?” We are so arrogant, so petulant, so pitiful. The ground beneath our feet trembles, and the earth itself bears witness to our insolence and yet, how do we react? We dance with the devil, then wail when the flames lick at our heels.
And that gets at the heart of the matter. We are the architects of our own misfortune, the builders of our personal hells. We revel in excess, gorging on forbidden fruits, and when the reckoning arrives, we cry foul, pointing fingers at the very heavens. The blood of Abel cries out from the ground, a haunting refrain that echoes through the corridors of time. Are we our brothers’ keepers? The answer, my friends, is etched in our deeds, in our choices, and in our souls.
Cain’s question demands a reckoning, a grappling with our own humanity. We, the prodigal sons and daughters, must stare deep into the mirror of our actions, cast aside our arrogance, and embrace the divine mandate to tend to one another. Because in the end, as the dust settles and the smoke clears, the truth remains: Am I my brother’s keeper? Yes, because Jesus suffered, died, and was raised from the dead to redeem your brother. So if he’s worth God’s life, then he’s worth sacrificing yours for too!
And if not Jesus, then who? Who else is going to rescue us from Cain’s fate? Who else can put a mark on our forehead that will save us from death?
There’s no one else coming to help us because we all stand in the aftermath of our own handiwork, unwilling and unable to take responsibility. Every man and woman on earth stands on ground scarred by their recklessness, including us. Cities of vanity rise like monuments to our fleeting desires, while the cries of homeless veterans are drowned in the cacophony of our own excesses.
No one else is coming to help us because we’ve all grown skilled at evading responsibility and crafting intricate excuses to absolve ourselves from staring the consequences of our actions in the face. The words of Eden’s rebellion spill out of our mouths day after day, a confession of sin about the choices we’ve made, and the paths we’ve taken that take us farther and farther away from God. And yet, to repeat, when the thunderclouds of divine justice gather, and we dive for cover, we dare to shake our fists at the sky, proclaiming, “God, why have you forsaken us?”
But what if God adopted our attitude? What if God’s answer was, “Why have I forsaken you? I don’t know, am I your keeper?” “Should I treat you the way you treat your brothers and sisters?” “Do I abandon you the way you’ve abandoned me?” Imagine that! The churches would be even emptier than they already are!
But here’s the revelation of Calvary’s cross: God never walks out on us. Through the struggles and chaos of our own making, amidst the debris of our shattered promises, he remains. And as we flip through the pages of the Gospel of Mark, a beacon of truth emerges. Jesus responds to Cain and all of us, declaring us his kin when we put our trust in him. “You are my brothers and sisters,” he proclaims. This is God’s answer to Cain’s lingering query. Yes, you are your bother’s keeper because I am yours. I will be your guardian, your keeper, and for your brethren too, because what seems insurmountable for you is well within my grasp.
So, brothers and sisters, as we consider the audacity of Cain’s question, we are simultaneously grasped by the unfailing truth that in the arms of Savior-Jesus, we find the answer we so desperately need to hear. No longer do we cry out, “Why have you forsaken us?” Instead, we are embraced in the unyielding, resounding affirmation that we are not forsaken. That we are, indeed, our brother’s keeper through the boundless love of Jesus Christ. And unlike how we treat each other, God does not desert us in our hour of need.
So as we strut and stumble through life, we are called to pay attention to the fact that our brothers and sisters aren’t there for us to exploit, misuse, ignore, and leave for dead – they are instruments of God’s grace and mercy. Through their struggles and sacrifices, God is at work, creating and redeeming life for them, forging strength for them from adversity. So, when you look into their eyes, you’re gazing at the face of God. You are seeing someone for whom Jesus triumphed over death. You are seeing someone who needs a brother to help them climb out of the ditch into which they’ve fallen. The person in front of you is a mirror God holds up to reveal, “This one is the embodiment of my redemption song of victory. Love him as I have loved you. Sacrifice for him as I sacrificed my life to redeem you. This is why I have created you. This is your mission. This is why I call you my brothers and sisters, that you may love each other as I love you.”
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