Long ago there lived two brothers
One kept flocks, the other worked the soil
Both brought portions to their maker
The younger had fat firstborn, the older spoil.
Their Lord smiled upon the younger
But grimaced and barely looked at the other’s gift
That one, face downcast, soon burned with anger
His Lord’s reply was “Do right, master sin.”
Soon the older approached the younger
Inviting his brother to join him in his field
And as they were in the field with only each other
The older soon left red-handed from the man he killed.
His Lord approached him asking, “where’s your brother?”
The older knew sin had mastered him in his zeal
He said, “I don’t know” and thought of the sin of his mother
“Am I my brother’s keeper?”
Though Abel’s blood cries out from Caine’s cane field
And though Cain himself wandered cursed & dying
We all tune out our neighbor’s candid crying
To run away red-handed from the brothers we kill
For ten-thousand years our maker hears the question
He answers “Of course your brother needs you, keep him well”
Still we kill, malign & lust & steal & hate & scoff, enslave & grieve,
& sneer, engorge, protest, tyrannize –
“Am I my brother’s keeper?”
Am I my brother’s keeper?
I am my brother’s keeper.
I am.
At WMC, in partnership with GCP, we want to encourage, equip, and celebrate believers using their gifts creatively to support the worship and mission of the local church.
