Lessons from Cain and Abel

On Why God Might Not Be Vegetarian

Tempted to give a disclaimer but, what the heck… deal with it!

There’s an old story that never quite sits still: two brothers, two offerings, one murder. It's a tale we’ve heard in Sunday School, glossed over in moral instruction, or read too quickly between Genesis and the next disaster. But maybe it's time we sat with it again, not with a theologian’s robes or a psychologist’s clipboard, but with a farmer’s feet, a herder’s patience, and a philosopher’s wry smile or like stoners on a street corner.

1. God is not vegetarian

Abel offers the firstborn of his flock, young I suppose, fat and full, veal as we call it. Cain brings crops (who burns grass for God, like seriously?) Let me be serious for a second, scripture says: “The Lord looked with favour on Abel and his offering, but on Cain and his offering He did not look with favour.” (Genesis 4:4–5)

Now, before the vegans or relevance seeking influencers rise up in protest, I know a couple who would, let’s be honest: this wasn't about meat vs. salad. This was about spirit. About giving what costs you (the man who taught me said: "People don't value what they get for free.") Pure capitalistic thinking, true, valuable and a story for another day. Abel gave blood, a symbol of life. Cain gave convenience. But still, to the hungry eye, it reads like God had a taste for barbecue or a braii, as we call it in Southern Africa. And from there, things... escalated (as they usually do at braii's when booze is involved.)

2. The best sacrifice doesn’t guarantee survival

In the ancient world, and still today, doing the right thing doesn’t always protect you. Many have died, many in jail, and many will follow them. Abel gave his best and ended up with a cracked skull. Imagine the scene, that co-worker bashing your head in conversation with the boss? Cain gave less and walked away with divine protection. If you think life always rewards virtue and punishes vice, you haven’t read enough Genesis… or history books.

Sometimes, it’s your light that provokes someone else’s darkness. And sometimes darkness has to live so there is more light. And sometimes, the ones who raise crops also raise weapons. Ploughshares into weapons kind of a thing.

Be good, but don’t expect applause. Not everyone claps for a pure heart.

3. Justice started… by protecting the murderer?

Here’s the twist few sermons mention: Cain kills Abel, and when God confronts him, Cain is afraid, not of God’s wrath, but of human vengeance. Your average preacher talks about vengeance here, not judging, but there is a deeper story, one we have to consider in this century. He says: “Whoever finds me will kill me.” (Genesis 4:14)

And what does God do? He marks him, not for punishment, but for protection.

Let that sink in.

The first recorded act of divine justice is to protect a murderer from the hands of the innocent. Why? (Captain Jack Sparrow says "You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest, it's the honest ones you have to worry about.") Because rage has a funny way of dressing itself in righteousness. And the line between justice and revenge blurs fast when blood has already touched the ground.

Moral of the story?

Be cautious around those who look too harmless, the grass eaters, the vegetarians. Everybody worries about lions, yet there’s probably ten to a thousand zebras.

Goodness doesn’t guarantee safety.

And justice is rarely a straight line.

Cain and Abel are not just two brothers from long ago. They live in us, in our jealousies, our gifts, our silences. they reflect personalities we all carry. In every room where someone brings their best, and someone else brings their resentment. Think of it, we all want to be the best. You're probably thinking why I wrote this and not you. In every system that protects power over principle. And in every sacred tale that dares to show mercy, not where we expect it, but where we desperately need it.

So, maybe this isn’t a tale about meat and vegetables after all.

Maybe it’s about what we do when our offering is rejected.

Maybe it’s about what kind of justice we want to write into the soil.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s about the God who doesn’t cancel Cain, but calls him to wander, marked, watched, and still… alive.

– Thinking Savannah

“The soil remembers. So do the seeds.”