When Hebrews 11 introduces Abel, the pattern continues: “By faith Abel offered to God a more excellent sacrifice.” The emphasis is not on Abel’s inner feelings alone, but on the offering—a concrete act that flowed from trust and obedience. Abel’s faith shows up in what he brings, how he brings it, and to Whom it is offered.
In my view, this exposes a distortion common in both religious and secular worlds. Many believers treat worship as primarily emotional—“Did I feel close to God?”—while many non‑religious people treat “values” the same way—“Do I feel like a good person?” Abel confronts both. His sacrifice involves real cost: the firstborn of his flock, the best he has. Faith here is not a warm sentiment but a willingness to surrender something tangible because God is worthy and His way is right.
The contrast with Cain is just as revealing. Cain brings “an offering,” but not one God regards. The text is sparse, yet Hebrews 11 fills in the gap: Abel’s sacrifice is “by faith.” That means Abel is responding to something God has revealed—about Himself, about acceptable worship, about the heart posture required. Cain, by implication, brings what seems good to him. Two offerings, two hearts, two underlying theologies: God‑centered obedience versus self‑defined spirituality.
This distinction is crucial for our cultural moment. Much of what passes for “justice,” “solidarity,” or even “worship” today is Cain‑like: we offer what we decide is meaningful, on terms we craft, often demanding God’s approval—or society’s applause—without submitting to God’s prior claims. We want the feeling of righteousness without the discomfort of costly, revealed obedience.
Abel’s faith challenges the way modern social justice can become a substitute religion. Public gestures—hashtags, slogans, donations, marches—function like offerings. But the driving questions are often horizontal: “Which side am I on? Who will affirm me? How do I align with my tribe?” Abel reminds us that the first question of any “work” is vertical: “Is this faithful to what God has actually said? Am I bringing my best, in integrity, to Him—or am I curating an image before others?”
There is also a quiet warning here about envy and coveting. Cain resents that Abel’s offering is accepted while his own is not. Instead of asking, “What must I change in myself and my sacrifice?” he nurses grievance. This is the seed of covetous “justice”: I resent your favor, your standing, your blessing—and I will justify hostility toward you rather than repent before God. Many contemporary movements normalize this posture, framing it as moral clarity rather than spiritual danger.
Hebrews tells us that “though he is dead, he still speaks.” Abel’s life is short, but his offering continues to teach. We learn that:
- Faithful worship costs us something we could have kept.
- God, not the crowd, defines what offerings are acceptable.
- The root of murderous injustice can be religious envy—resentment that someone else’s faithfulness is honored.
As you examine your own “offerings”—how you use your time, money, voice, and platforms—would you say they resemble Abel’s God‑directed sacrifice, or more Cain’s self‑defined gesture, hoping for affirmation without full obedience?
