Abstract: We typically teach and often even sing that we should be our brothers’ (and sisters’) keepers. And we do it with the very best and most holy of intentions. For many of us, indeed, loving and caring for our brothers and sisters is at the very heart of what it means to live a life of truly Christian discipleship. And rightly so. But there’s another way to think about this matter. I’ve pondered it for decades, and now, maybe some others will also find it thought-provoking.
In all the congregations of the Saints where I’ve participated, one of the most popular and oft-recurring hymns has been “Lord, I Would Follow Thee.” With lyrics by Susan Evans McCloud that were set to music by K. Newell Dayley, two of the verses of the hymn read as follows:
I would be my brother’s keeper;I would learn the healer’s art.To the wounded and the wearyI would show a gentle heart.I would be my brother’s keeper—Lord, I would follow thee.
Savior, may I love my brotherAs I know thou lovest me,Find in thee my strength, my beacon,For thy servant I would be.Savior, may I love my brother—Lord, I would follow thee.1
[Page viii]The phrase my brother’s keeper comes, of course, from the tragic story of Cain and Abel that is recounted in the fourth chapter of Genesis. Here are the two most salient verses of that story:
And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.
And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper? (Genesis 4:8–9)2
Cain’s insouciant, even insolent, answer to the Lord’s question reflects his defiance of God. He is arrogant and unrepentant. And our typical response to him is that, yes, you are your brother’s keeper. Or, at least, you should be.
We all know what it means to be “our brother’s keeper” in this sense, and, if we’re serious Christians, we aspire to be precisely that and, in fact, to become better at being that than we now are. Cain, as we commonly read the story in Genesis 4, is flippantly telling the Lord that he doesn’t care where Abel is, that Abel is no concern of his. Certainly, we don’t want to emulate Cain — and not only because we would prefer not to incur God’s displeasure. Instinctively, we feel that we ought indeed to care about our brothers and sisters and, in so doing, to emulate God, whose “work” and whose “glory,” we are told, is “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39). “Wisdom,” according to the Book of Mormon’s wise king Benjamin, consists, at least in part, of learning “that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17). Having related to an inquiring lawyer the story of “the Good Samaritan,” who ministered kindly to an injured Israelite — a stranger, and no relation — the mortal Jesus admonished the lawyer to “go, and do thou likewise.”3
The apostle Paul implies, by his famous linking of it with faith and hope, that love, or “charity” (as the King James Bible renders the Greek term ἀγάπη [agape]), is a divine gift; the prophet Mormon, in a letter shared with us by his son, explicitly counsels us to pray to God to be granted that divine gift.4
Thus, clearly,