A true story is told in the setting of New Orleans in the 1980s by policeman John Dillman.14 Two men had contrived a get-rich-quick scheme. One of them developed a relationship with and married an innocent young woman p 268 and took out a sizeable insurance policy on her life. During their honeymoon he took her for a walk and, just as his accomplice was driving by in a rental car, pushed her to her death under the wheels of the speeding vehicle. The suspicions of the insurance company eventually brought the two conspirators to trial. What struck Dillman as unbelievable during the trial was the total lack of remorse on the part of the two criminals. What reminds me of Cain is the next part of the description by Plantinga:

Pointing to the way the police kept interfering in their lives by pursuing, interrogating, and charging them, the two men complained that they were themselves the real victims in this whole affair and implied that they ought to be not punished but consoled.15

In this illustration can be seen one of the most insidious aspects of human fallenness: a refusal to be held accountable.

We have all experienced forgiveness from God, but for many of us, the experience may have lacked the poignancy of being caught red-handed, standing face-to-face with God. If that is so, perhaps we can only come to appreciate such bold grace secondarily. Such poignancy is powerfully captured in Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. Jean Valjean, the subject of the novel, steals a loaf of bread. As a result he spends nineteen years in prison and, when finally released, finds it difficult to escape his past. On one occasion, taken in by the kindly Monseigneur Bienvenue, he finds himself unable to resist temptation and, in the middle of the night, steals away with a cache of silverware. He does not get far before being throttled by the police. The next day he is hauled back to the house to return the valuables. He is startled at the Monseigneur Bishop’s response.19

“Ah! here you are!” he exclaimed, looking at Jean Valjean. “I am glad to see you. Well, but how is this? I gave you the candlesticks too, which are of silver like the rest, and for which you can certainly get two hundred francs. Why did you not carry them away with your forks and spoons?”

“My friend,” resumed the Bishop, “before you go, here are your candlesticks. Take them.” He stepped to the chimney-piece, took the two silver candlesticks, and brought them to Jean Valjean. Jean Valjean was trembling in every limb. He took the two candlesticks mechanically, with a bewildered air [and] was like a man on the point of fainting.

The Bishop drew near to him, and said in a low voice: “Do not forget, never forget, that you have promised to use this money in becoming an honest man.”

Jean Valjean, who had no recollection of ever having promised anything, remained speechless. The Bishop had emphasized the words when he uttered them. He resumed with solemnity: “Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to evil, but to good. It is your soul that I buy from you; I withdraw it from black thoughts and the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God.”

This indeed becomes the turning point in Valjean’s life, and the remainder of the novel traces the reverberations of grace in his life. When we read this account of mercy and compassion and see its impact in the recipient’s life, p 273 we are appropriately bewildered and awestruck. How much more should we be in awe of God’s mercy and compassion. We can never know whether Cain responded with such gratitude to God, though his initial response might suggest not. But it is irrelevant how Cain responded. What is important is how we respond once we are impressed with the power of God’s mercy and grace.