IN days of seriousness nothing tunes the heart to a mood so somber, as the pressing thought, that our life, our being, our whole existence upon earth has failed of its purpose.
The cutting word of Jesus to Martha: “Thou art troubled about many things, one thing is needful,” then disturbs our conscience, and you cannot smother the painful question: What have I lived for? What fruit did my existence bear? What is the particular gain of my existence as man?
More than one interprets this reproach of conscience in an altogether wrong way.
One is told of what a Moses wrought, of what a St. Paul accomplished, and of what even now many a man of power and talent effects before the eye and ear of all, and then so readily commits the fault, of comparing one’s own work to the work of such men. And of course, since, with a few notable exceptions, the greater majority is not called to public labors of this sort, but was given the task to render humble service in an household, in a trade or office, in a school or store, one is readily inclined to complain by reason of this, that his life was spent to no purpose.
And, as you see at once, this is altogether wrong.
When God Himself has so disposed our human life and has so instituted it, that ninety-nine out of every hundred are called to no other than this ordinary daily labor; and also that for the doing of this extensive labor it requires ninety-nine out of every hundred, then every one, who, called to this labor has performed the same, has not lived to no purpose, but on the contrary has responded to his life’s end.
So beautifully and correctly therefore did our fathers name every one’s circle of activity, his divine calling, and it neither befits nor behooves you, ever to look down slightly or arrogantly upon this your divine calling. On the contrary, you must exert yourself with respect to it; apply yourself to it; with your whole person be devoted to it. What you do, must be done well. And every one is obliged and beholden, in his divine calling to put the talent given him of God to usury.
Thus, that you might know, whether the sad complaint of the Preacher (Eccl. 5, 15): “Going as he came, and thus lived for nought,” is applicable to you, you should ask yourself the threefold question: Not only what you did; but also what you became; and no less what has become of what God entrusted to you.
Only in these three together does life’s purpose reach its goal.
We begin with the last, because by his saying: “Going as he came,” the Preacher refers to our goods, our property, our estates. He introduces it by saying: “As he came forth of his mother’s womb, naked shall he return,” and follows it up with the words: “He shall take nothing of his labor, which he may carry away in his hand.”
Also in that property lies for a part the purpose of our life. All our goods together form the wealth of the whole world, and God gave this to the children of men, that they should direct and put it to usury to His glory. And, reckoned by a life-time, that wealth is by no means so very small. A common workman, who from his twentieth to his sixtieth year earns ten dollars a week, saw himself by reason of this alone entrusted with already twenty thousand dollars.
And it is as the Preacher says: one can possess this good all these years in such a way, that at his death nothing of it goes with him.
But he who has been a disciple of his Savior, is differently conditioned. From his youth up he has understood the call: “Lay up for yourself a treasure in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt,” and learned the sacred art of giving in such a way, and of so giving alms, and of so putting his money to usury in behalf of the service of the Lord, that at his death a whole capital was laid up, not on earth but above.
Whether he who laid up that capital was a rich man, who gave away more than one hundred thousand dollars, or a poor widow, who offered her two mites, makes no difference. Jesus Himself said, that this poor widow had cast in more than all the others. For, that heavenly capital does not reckon after the cipher of money, but after the white-heat of the power of faith, that operated in your life.
But at all events, he who so spent his goods, does not go as he came, and most certainly takes a fruit of this his labor of soul with him.
He has not spent his all; he has something left over, and all that rich possession, which he laid over is safely deposited and laid up by his Father Who is in heaven.
He who neglected this in his life-time, usually tried to make it up before or at his death, by making bequests of what he had. And surely, that is the duty of the delinquent, and better than nothing. But yet, the true power of faith, from which the treasure above is laid up, is the liberal expenditure of your gold or of your mites in the midst of life, when, that you might give, you deny yourself something.
THIS then is the first question you have to answer; but yet more serious is the second, the forceful gripping question: What you became?
Alas, there are many, who when it comes to dying, do not enter upon eternity richer, but poorer; who did not increase and advance, but decreased and spiritually shrank.
This is evident, when one is so sadly affected by remembrances of his youth, when the heart was far less evil and the tendency toward good so much stronger; when in later years one did so much and various kinds of things, from which one would have shrank in earlier years; and when a troubled feeling haunts us of having grown weaker in will-power, stronger in selfishness, less noble in one’s own deliberations.
Then upon the troublous question: What you became? must follow the bitter answer: Ever less. And your dying speaks of a pitiful loss of human capital, not as regards the world, which is then delivered from you, but with respect to your own being, to your own character, to your soul and your person.
Then you go not as you came, but less than when you were born. Then your life brought you no gains, but you have lived to your own hurt.
But even if your conscience does not reproach you of such a loss, and though you remained about what you always were, even then your life did not fulfill its purpose. You have all your life long buried the capital of your person, the treasure of your existence in the dust of everydayness, and now at your death you are raked up again as a dead coal from those ashes.
This would have been so, if immediately at your birth you had died, and thus had not lived upon earth, so that even so your life is lost, has been frittered away and spent for nought.
Nothing has been gained; nothing in self-control, nothing in character, nothing in love, nothing in will-power, nothing in compliancy and fitness for life.
You have perhaps become more capable, more crafty, more worldly-wise and practically more usable; but all this belongs to the things, which we leave here, which do not go along with us, which do not follow us into eternity. All this passes away.
And, therefore, you can look back upon your life with thankfulness and gladness, only when, as compared to the past, you observe that with the five talents other five talents have been gained; that you have increased; and that now fuller and mightier in you is the power to resist sin; to repress your selfishness in love; to deny yourself and not your God.
They who have so lived, and have so worked, of them the Spirit saith: “And their works do follow them.”
YET sometimes in this respect also, during the brief weeks, that precede dying, wondrously much is made up.
He who never believed, sometimes in the face of approaching death has believed. He who most sought himself, with the outlook upon his end, has begun to think of others. He who thus far was irritable and gave way to passion, has been seen sometimes even on his deathbed or in the sick-room to come to self-control.
Not that here everything is gold that glitters.
Nowhere more than in the sick-room is counterfeit manufactured, and every one knows of instances, where persons in fear of death, became, O, so gentle and so kind, and who in spite of this, when God healed and restored them, soon showed themselves the same old sinners as before.
But as readily as we grant this, and as seriously as by reason of this we warn against self-deception, yet equally readily the fact must be acknowledged, that there are also sick-rooms and deathbeds, that can speak of miracles of grace. There are those who have gone from the sick-room rich and blessed, who were, O, so godless and unbelieving when they were first taken. And there are also those who have returned to the world recovered from sickness, who were healed not merely after the body, but also renewed in the soul.
Those weeks or days that you lie down helplessly, need not therefore be lost. On the contrary, they can bear rich fruit. Fruit that remains.
AND so of itself you have the key in hand for the third question: What you did.
For see, our deeds on earth are so relative. The world’s course is directed by God the Lord, and things about us are established far more of themselves than by us. Our part therein is so small and insignificant. Even of a Nebuchadnezzar Scripture says, that he was nothing but a saw, which God drew.
But there is another action, that in far higher sense goes out from you, and that is the moral power you have shown; the influence for good, that went out from you; the seeds of godliness and piety, which you have sown in the hearts of others; the animation of your word; the comfortings of your love; the help you offered others in the conflict of their soul.
These are works that remain, and which follow you as you go down into the grave, and these are the works, which every one can do, man or woman, young or old, whether one is rich, or whether one is poor.
In that nobler work you can also have your part in the sick-room, when you lie down, and continue therein until your latest breath, by pouring out from your heart into the soul of others, what is poured out in you by the Holy Ghost.
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