by Archibald Alexander
"You fool, this night your soul shall be required
of you!" What harsh language, some will be ready to say. But it is true; and
the occasion requires all earnestness. If you see your neighbor's house on
fire, while he is sound asleep in his bed, you do not hesitate to alarm him
with the most penetrating cry that you can utter. The reason in both cases
is of the same nature, but much stronger in the latter, because the loss of
the soul is infinitely greater than that of the body; the fires of hell are
much more to be dreaded than any material fire, which can only destroy
property, or at most, shorten life.
But why is this man called a fool? Surely he was not such
in the world's estimation. He evidently possessed the wisdom of this world.
He knew how to manage his farm successfully. If there was any defect in this
respect, it was in not building his barns large enough at first. Often
enterprising, industrious men run far before their own anticipations. Wealth
flows in upon them, so that they have more than heart could wish. This man,
no doubt, had labored hard, but now thinks of taking his rest, and entering
on the enjoyment of his rich possessions. He said to his soul, "Take it
easy, eat, drink, and enjoy yourself!" No cloud appeared in all his horizon to
darken his prospects. His expectation was, not only rest from labor, and
ease from trouble; but actual enjoyment in feasting, and unceasing mirth.
The course of this farmer and his success are the very
objects at which thousands are constantly aiming. They look no higher; they
ask no more than he possessed. How then was he a fool? Will not the epithet
apply as truly to most of the people in the world? If this present world
were our only state of existence, it would be hard to prove the folly of
such a course and such sentiments. Then men might with some show of reason
say, "Let us eat and drink--for tomorrow we die." If this were all of man,
and death the end of existence, the scene will so soon be over, and all joys
and sorrows so soon buried in eternal oblivion. If there were no
hereafter, of what account would it now be, whether the thousands of
millions who have inhabited this globe were sad or merry while they lived?
The utter folly of this worldling, and of thousands like
him, consisted in this--that being the creature of a supreme Being, he
neglected to serve him, and took no pains to secure his favor, or to arrest
his wrath. The folly of this he must have felt when God spoke to him and
said, "This night your soul shall be required of you!" Oh, what a sudden
interruption to his plans of future pleasure. What! Must he give up all his
possessions—his fields loaded with ripe harvests, the fruit of his anxious
toil? In a moment his fond dream of feasting and mirth is terminated. God,
his Maker, calls for him, and none can resist his command. "And who knows
the power of his anger?" His soul is required. His account, whether prepared
or unprepared, must be rendered. "Give an account of your stewardship." Show
in what manner you have improved the talents committed to you. What good use
have you made of the riches conferred on you?
Poor, wretched man; what can he say for himself? What
justification can he offer for a life of disobedience and forgetfulness of
God? Where now can he turn? Where can he flee for refuge from his angry
Judge? Alas, there is no escape! His riches cannot profit him now. The whole
world could not redeem his soul from destruction; and while his heirs are
striving about his great wealth, his soul is writhing in unending anguish!
Careless reader, take heed lest this be your case! You are in the same
condemnation!