Lectio Divina: Entering the Mystery of Divine Pedagogy with Caïn and Abel

Représentation baroque de l’offrande de Caïn et Abel : deux frères, deux sacrifices, un regard divin. Une image biblique forte illustrant la première fracture spirituelle de l’humanité.

Reading (Lectio)

Luke 15:11-32 (Parable of the Prodigal Son)Genesis 4:1-16 (The sacrifice of Cain and Abel)

"And the Lord looked with favor on Abel and his offering; but on Cain and his offering he did not look with favor. So Cain was very angry, and his face was downcast." (Gen 4:4-5)"My son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!" (Lk 15:31-32)

We are often tempted, in a quick reading, to see Cain as the archetype of the jealous murderer, and Abel as the innocent victim. But a closer look at the Hebrew text and the logic of biblical Revelation opens us to a more subtle, more nuanced understanding—one that is almost unsettling in what it reveals about divine pedagogy.

Two Types of Offerings: minḥâ, bikkūrîm, ḥēleb

Cain brings perî hā’adāmâ, “fruit of the ground,” literally “produce (perî) of the adamah,” that is, of the soil. The word used for offering is minḥâ (מִנְחָה), a general term which in Leviticus designates non-bloody offerings—usually consisting of flour, oil, incense, or fruits of the earth. Yet the text gives no detail about the quality or selection: it is not the “firstfruits” (bikkūrîm), nor “the best” (tôv or rē’shît), nor even a chosen (baḥar) or consecrated item. It is simply “fruit,” as one might offer God something acceptable, but not marked by the seal of total self-gift or renunciation.

Abel, on the other hand, brings “the firstborn” (mibbĕkōrōt, מִבְּכֹרוֹת) of his flock—a term reserved for things sanctified from birth, which, according to the Law of Moses, belong directly to God (Ex 13:12). He adds “their fat” (ḥēleb), which in the Torah is the portion reserved exclusively for God in sacrifice. This double gesture indicates a bloody offering, total and sacrificial, where one gives what cannot be reclaimed—just like the prodigal son, who has spent everything, until nothing remains.

Yet here we must be cautious: this does not mean Abel is spiritually “better.” On the contrary, he is in a more archaic stage of worship: he sheds blood, as a child who needs to see in order to believe, who demands a visible sign of acceptance. His gesture is costly, but still spiritually immature. It is not yet worship in spirit and in truth.

Cain, Figure of the Silent Believer

What Cain offers is not evil. But it is an offering without brilliance, without dramatic gesture, without blood—more interiorized. One could say: closer to what God will later expect in the prophets, when He says: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice,” or “a broken and contrite heart.” Cain is already there—in that humble offering, quiet yet steadfast.

And this is the drama: God does not look at his offering. The Hebrew verb shā‘âh (שָׁעָה) literally means “to pay attention to, to be interested in, to turn one’s gaze toward”—which does not imply condemnation, but absence of sign. It is pedagogy: God treats Abel like a father who comforts the fragile child, while He treats Cain as an educator expecting growth from a son.

Cain’s suffering, then, is not that of a proud sinner. It is the pain of the abandoned just—the cry of the elder son in Luke 15, who says: “You never even gave me a young goat.” He receives no feast, no robe, no ring. He has only God’s silence—that dark night where the faithful soul no longer understands why the sinner receives more signs than he does.

Abel, Mirror of the Prodigal Son… Still a Child

Abel is like the prodigal son. He returns empty-handed—or rather, blood-stained. He still lives in the system of signs, of sacrifice, of the “God who must respond.” Like the prodigal son, he receives a strong gesture: God “turns His gaze” toward him. He needs this. He could not yet survive the mystical night. That is why God surrounds him with a protective gaze. And this gaze provokes in Cain a jealousy—not moral, but existential.

Because in that differentiated gaze, Cain reads injustice. But in truth, it is pedagogical justice: God responds where the child is too weak to walk unaided. He silently expects Cain to transcend.

Mercy in Truth: God Sees All, but Consoles According to Need

God does not “reject” Cain. He does not look upon his offering, but that does not mean He despises it. It is an active silence, a divine restraint, an education. The gaze toward Abel is not a refusal of Cain—it is care for the wounded, not punishment of the stable. God acts like a father who lets his child walk alone so he may learn.

This dynamic lies at the heart of the mysticism of the Night: when God ceases to “reward,” He is not distant—He is inviting growth. Saint John of the Cross describes this moment when the faithful soul, steady in prayer and offering, finds itself abandoned, arid, without return or light. Like Cain, like the elder son, it cries: Why him and not me?

And God responds, between the lines: Because you are already with Me. Because everything I have is yours. But your brother was lost…

The Divine Evolution of Sacrifice

In an advanced theological perspective, it becomes clear that divine pedagogy regarding sacrifice progresses from an initial state—marked by blood rituals—toward a more spiritual and interior understanding of offering. If God seems to tolerate or even prescribe these ritual sacrifices temporarily, He never ceases to orient attention toward a deeper spirituality, as expressed by the Psalmist: “You do not delight in burnt offerings. The sacrifice pleasing to God is a broken spirit” (Ps 51:18-19). The tension between the visible and the invisible, between ritual act and heart’s intention, is explicitly highlighted in the biblical accounts of Abel and Cain, emblematic figures of this transition.

From Eden to the Messianic Era: From Original Peace to Ritual Sacrifice

This theological progression finds a profound echo in Psalm 50: “If I were hungry, I would not tell you, for the world is mine, and all that is in it. Do I eat the flesh of bulls or drink the blood of goats?” (Ps 50:12-13). This text clearly expresses divine indifference to material sacrifices, recalling the original state of Eden where no predation existed and perfect harmony reigned among all living beings (Gen 1:29-30). That ideal state will be restored at the end of time, after the Apocalypse, when “the wolf will dwell with the lamb” (Isaiah 11:6). The bloody sacrifice, as well as the temporary divine allowance to consume animal flesh under kosher laws (Gen 9:3-4), therefore appear as concessions to humanity’s fallen state—not divine ideals.

God’s pedagogy thus temporarily tolerates these practices to gradually lead humanity back toward original harmony. Even the biblical passages stating that God enjoys the “pleasing aroma” of sacrifices (Gen 8:21) must be understood in this pedagogical light. That divine satisfaction is more linked to the internal disposition of obedience and faith shown by the offerer than to the material sacrifice itself. Thus, the biblical stories of Cain and Abel, just like the parable of the prodigal son and his brother (Lk 15:11-32), illuminate this same spiritual dynamic: it is not the material nature of the offering that matters, but the interior disposition of the one who gives.

Spiritual Night: The Risk of Existential and Theological Revolt

According to Saint John of the Cross in The Dark Night, the soul progressing toward authentic mystical union must necessarily pass through a period of spiritual dryness and apparent abandonment. This night of the spirit is an essential step in the journey toward deeper union with God, yet it remains a difficult trial—marked by a felt absence of divine consolation and a profound sense of inner isolation.

This existential crisis, if not accompanied by sound spiritual formation and a deep theological understanding, can spark a dangerous crisis of faith. The perception of divine injustice, the feeling of being forgotten or forsaken by God, can provoke a powerful inner revolt. This is precisely the stance symbolically embodied by Cain in the Genesis account. In the extreme act of killing his brother Abel, Cain outwardly expresses a deeper rebellion—against God and against himself. The biblical text emphasizes this fraternal closeness by repeating the Hebrew term 'āḥîw (אָחִיו, “his brother”), underlining that this murder is more than physical: it is metaphysical and existential.

Daily Worship: Ordinary Mysticism and the Silent Offering

In the face of this spiritual danger, the Christian tradition highlights another path—quieter yet profoundly transformative: that of daily life sanctified by humility, simplicity, and the total offering of the inner self. This ordinary mysticism finds its paradigmatic incarnation in the Holy Family of Nazareth. Mary and Joseph, through their discreet lives fully dedicated to God, embody this unspectacular yet wholly transfiguring offering, where ordinary existence becomes a theophanic space. This model is reinforced by the fundamental biblical commandment: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength” (Deut 6:5). The daily spiritual offering thus transforms ordinary acts into sacred gestures, establishing a permanent dialogue with the divine—not through outward brilliance, but through inner depth.

From a Christological perspective, Abel indeed prefigures the perfect sacrifice of Christ—the slain Lamb who gives His blood for universal salvation. However, Christ is not limited to that identification with Abel. He is also, and in a profoundly meaningful way, the transfiguration of Cain. In Christ, the spiritual and existential night of Cain is traversed without violence or destructive revolt. Christ transforms Cain’s tragic experience into an act of absolute love, manifested in the mystery of the Cross. He cries: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” but He does not kill. He loves to the end. This Cross thus becomes the ultimate minḥâ, in which suffering and total abandonment coexist with redemptive love and fidelity to the divine will.

Conclusion: The Spiritual and Mystical Offering at the Heart of the Night

Cain may in fact be the closest to God—but in the night. Abel is consoled, like a child who cannot yet live without signs of affection. But Cain… he is called to naked faith. To love without return. To the silent, interior, spiritual minḥâ. He is the figure of the mature man, who, wounded by seeing nothing, must nonetheless continue to believe.

Every believer is invited to live, like Cain, the crucial experience of faith without immediate answers, of an offering that seems fruitless. The divine call resounds clearly: “Sin is crouching at your door, but you can master it” (Gen 4:7). In this mystical dynamic, the true sacrifice lies not in what one gives, but in what one renounces: the refusal to yield to inner violence, the constant decision to love without immediate signs, and to persevere in silent, patient prayer. It is precisely this quiet spiritual night—this waiting without response—that ultimately gives birth to divine light, restoring to the soul an authentic and eternal peace.

Prayer (Oratio)

Lord,Grant us to understand that your gaze is not a comparative judgment,but a care tailored to each one’s wound.Grant us not to envy those you console,for you only console those who have first been broken.Grant us, when we are in the night, not to kill our brother—neither in deed nor in thought—but to wait for you, in the very barrenness,like a seed buried in the ground.

Contemplation (Contemplatio)

I stand in Cain’s field,my heart dry, my hands full of fruit without fragrance.And I hear in the distance the cry of celebration for my brother returned.But the Father waits for me too.He has not forgotten me.He says to me:

“All that is mine is yours…”

Action (Actio)

Today, I choose not to wait for a sign to believe.I choose to love without return.I choose to enter the house, even without robe or feast,and to sit at the table of my wounded brother,to share, together,the night and the light.