Try to remember what happened way back, long, long ago, almost at the the very beginning, when Cain first became jealous of his brother Abel. Remember that Abel was a keeper of sheep, and his brother Cain was a tiller of the ground. And each of them brought an offering to the Lord: Cain brought the first fruits of the ground, and Abel brought the firstlings of his flock. And for reasons of his own, the Lord had regard, we are told, for Abel and his offering. But for Cain and his offering the Lord had no regard. All the same, God spoke to Cain in gentle tones, to guide him, and to reassure him that all he required was for Cain to “do well.” And God warned Cain that “sin is lurking at the door. Its desire is for you,” God told Cain, “but you must master it.” But Cain did not master his jealousy, he gave in to his hatred, and he opened the door for sin to rush in. And Cain killed his brother Abel.
Remember that God confronted Cain: “Where is your brother Abel?”
“Am I my brother’s keeper?” came the infamous reply.
“What have you done?” God exclaimed. “Listen, your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground! And now you are cursed!” And Cain, now marked and banished by God, went away, east of Eden, to settle in the land of Nod.
Listen, your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground.
Ancient tradition holds that when Cain settled in the land of Nod he continued to live wickedly. And in fact, it was Cain, according to this tradition, who abandoned the “way of simplicity wherein men lived” and “changed the world into cunning and craftiness.” It was Cain, the tradition says, who established a system of weights and measures, (thereby creating the conditions of the marketplace). It was Cain who marked out the boundaries of various lands (the world had been boundless until then). It was Cain who first fortified a city with walls (there’d been no cities, and no need or desire for walls before then). It was Cain, the ancient writer says, who brought an end to the age when people could live “innocently and generously.”*
Listen, your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground.
Although the blood of Abel long ago seeped into the crevices of the earth, that blood never ceased to cry out to the Lord from the earth. And as history unfolded, the blood of Abel was replenished in the ground by murder after murder, by warfare, and slaughter, and execution, and assassination; by terror and fury; by violence upon violence, jealousy heaped upon jealousy, hatred passed down from one generation to another, till you would think the ground itself must be saturated with blood.
How, indeed, does the earth soak up all the blood that has been spilled throughout the ages in violence, warfare, and murder?
And all that blood joins the blood of Abel, crying out to the Lord from the ground. The blood of Abel and all his companions in bloody death cries out for justice, and for God to redeem their lives from the deaths that took them cruelly, too soon from this world. Maybe you have never known someone whose blood has been shed in violence, warfare, or murder. Count yourself lucky, for many of us do.
Listen, our brothers’ and sisters’ blood is crying out to the Lord from the ground.
You remember that this is our story. It began in Paradise, but led quickly to bloodshed and murder. And the echo of that story sounds like the blood of Abel, crying out to the Lord from the ground. This is where we come from.
And the bloodshed and the murder, the jealousy, violence, and hatred never stopped.
Didn’t God hear the blood of Abel crying out from the ground? Didn’t God care?
If you go back and read the story, you see that it does not go well. The next big thing that happens is that God tells Noah to build an ark, and he saves Noah and all the animals, when he makes it rain for forty days and forty nights in order to destroy everyone else, whose wickedness God will not abide.
And the next big thing that happens is that the people of the earth begin to build a tower at Babel, in order to “make a name” for themselves, using all the skills that Cain had pioneered: weights and measures, boundaries and walls.
And the next big thing that happens is that God decides to try a more intimate approach to his relationship with his people, so he establishes a covenant with Abraham. And at last, with Abraham, God finds a creature who is worthy of the relationship. So righteous is Abraham that he was willing to sacrifice his son, his only son, and to pour his blood into the ground to join the blood of Abel. But this act of cruelty and bloodshed, God does not require. Perhaps he can still hear the blood of Abel crying out to him from the ground, now so deep, but still audible to God’s ears.
By the time we get to Jesus, so much blood has been spilled, that who remembers Abel? But if you listened (as God listens) you would hear the blood of our brother Abel, and all his companions in bloody death cry out to the Lord from the ground.
What is Jesus supposed to do about this?
In the Epistle to the Hebrews, we are given a suggestion at the end of the eloquent passage that begins by reminding us where we have arrived, after all the bloody history of our past. “You have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.”
It’s not fashionable among Episcopalians to dwell much on the blood of Jesus. I suppose it’s too messy for us. But it is striking to hear in the epistle this ecstatic account of what it means to get to Jesus: an account that begins with Mount Zion and the heavenly Jerusalem, and reaches its climax with the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.
There is an old hymn, that I certainly have never sung, called “The sprinkled blood is speaking.” It was written some time in the second half of the 19th century, around the time this parish was getting going. As a hymn text, it’s a little too much, which makes it perfect for a sermon. The hymn extols the voice of the sprinkled blood of Jesus, speaking a better word than the word of Abel. Here are a smattering of lines from the hymn:
“The sprinkled blood is speaking
Before the Father’s throne,” it begins.
“The sprinkled blood is telling
Jehovah’s love to man.”
“The sprinkled blood is speaking
Forgiveness full and free.”
“The sprinkled blood is pleading
Its virtues as my own.
“The sprinkled blood is owning
The weak one’s feeblest plea.”
“O precious blood that speaketh!”
Should I not value thee?”
As I said, it’s a little too much.
But listen, our brothers’ and sisters’ blood is crying out to the Lord from the ground. Will there be no answer? Has God nothing to say, at last, in reply to all this bloodshed?
Before long there will be more bloodshed. It will happen in a school, or at wedding feast somewhere. It will happen on a roadside where American troops have been sent again and again and again. It will happen at a rally, or at a protest. It will happen at a church, and it will happen in a synagogue, and it will happen at a mosque. It will happen. There will be more bloodshed, and that blood will cry out to the Lord for justice, and for redemption for lives taken cruelly and too soon from this world.
And we believe that Jesus shed his blood in answer to the cries of the blood of our brothers and sisters that cries out from the ground. For we believe that his blood is the promise of peace, and the assurance of mercy. His blood is the balm to soothe a troubled world, and the cure for our dis-ease. His blood insists on justice, and carries the message of hope. His blood is the way to freedom, and the light when all is darkness. Christ’s blood has an answer for all the blood that cries out to the Lord, lost, defeated, and in distress.
“I hear you!” cries the blood of Jesus. “I know who you are and I know where you are! I am with you,” Jesus’ blood cries out to the blood of Abel and his companions. “I am bleeding right here beside you. But, see, I am dead no longer; see, I am alive!”
O precious blood that speaketh,
should I not value thee?
We live in a world that is soaked in blood that cries out to the Lord.
But so many have forgotten the meaning of the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel, because to remember the meaning of that bloodshed, you need a little faith…
… faith that you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God!
… faith that you can see the heavenly Jerusalem, and innumerable angels in festal gathering!
… faith that you are among the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven!
… faith that you are in the living presence of God the judge of all!
…and of the spirits of the righteous made perfect!
… and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.
The sprinkled blood of Jesus is speaking words of love and forgiveness, and hope, and redemption.
O wondrous power, that seeketh
from sin to set me free!
O precious blood that speaketh,
should I not value thee?**
Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
25 August 2019
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia
*the ancient tradition is from “The Antiquities of the Jews,” Book 1, by Flavius Josephus, translated by William Whiston.
** the hymn was written by Frederick Whitfield