1 Peter 3:10

IS LIFE WORTH LIVING?

‘He that will love life.’

1 Peter 3:10

The spirit of the age analyses human life remorselessly. It sets down the good which it presents in one column—the good it takes away, and the evil it inflicts, in another. Its conclusion is—Life is a fatal gift, life is not worth living. Let us, then, address ourselves to the question now so often asked, ‘Is life worth living?’

I. What is really meant by life?—There are two words in the New Testament which, from the necessities of our language, are alike rendered ‘life.’ One of these words signifies the principle of animal life, the things by which it is preserved or gladdened, and its span. The other word belongs to a higher sphere. It is the new life given in germ at Baptism, which may be stunted or strengthened, as grace is used or abused; and which, after the Resurrection, is to be suitably clothed upon. Thus, the first refers to man’s natural existence as one of the animal creation; the second to man’s supernatural existence as a son of God. Christ was incarnate to impart this. ‘The first man Adam was made a living soul; the last Adam was made a quickening (life-creating) spirit’ (1 Corinthians 15:45). ‘I am come,’ said Christ, ‘that they might have life.’ The question, then, for Christians really is not whether life, the higher, future existence, is worth living; but whether existence under mere animal or external conditions is worth living?

II. On the question, Is existence, elevated into the higher and supernatural life, worth living? we Christians can have no doubt.

(a) Present acceptance makes life worth living. Finished final salvation is not offered in the twinkling of an eye. But present acceptance is promised to all who come to God through Christ. This makes any existence tolerable. ‘A tranquil God tranquillises all things, and to see His peacefulness is to be at peace.’ Suppose one living in this spirit, day by day—

That with the world, myself, and Thee,

I, ere I sleep, at peace may be—

must not such a life be worth living?

(b) There are times of exquisite pleasure in communion with God. These compensate for the languor of old age and for the slow ‘martyrdom of life.’ They support the believer under the cross: he began by carrying it: it ends by carrying him.

(c) There is the truest pleasure in work for God. The study of His Word is a perpetual delight. The Church’s sacramental life is full of joy. The teaching of the young, the ministry to the sick, the rescue of the fallen, the quickening and elevation of Service and Worship—these have pleasures of their own which give animation and variety to life. But how about that sorrow which is inseparable from religion—the sorrow of Repentance? A great theologian has said that ‘that kind of sorrow is its own consolation’; ‘He hath given a new kind of tears upon earth, which make those happy who shed them.’ ‘Oh, that we could understand that the mystery of grace gives blessedness with tears!’

(d) That life is worth living is proved by the view which Jesus took of it. ‘My delights were with the sons of men’ (Proverbs 8:31). Christ was no pessimist about human life. He saw of what man was capable—what holiness and victory, as well as what sin and defeat. He yearned, from the cradle to the grave, for the Holy Week and Easter, that He might bear the sweetness of the burden.

No doubt human life is tragic and pathetic; yet there is a magic smile on the face of the drama, after all. In the midst of life’s most poignant sorrows riven hearts are alone with God, and white lips say, ‘Thy will be done.’ For they know that after a while the point of view will change. The life of them that sleep in Jesus will stand out as a beautiful whole. Precious words will remain. Wherever they lie all is well. ‘Them that sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him.’

—Archbishop Alexander.

Illustrations

(1) ‘This is a melancholy age, notwithstanding its external merriment, pomp, and glitter. Outside of physical considerations, different causes may be assigned for our widespread melancholy. The decline of an instinctive unquestioning faith darkens the present as well as the future. The pressure of life, the struggle for existence, stuns and wearies all but the few thousands “who toil not, neither do they spin.” But whatever be the explanation of the melancholy, the fact of its existence seems to be certain. The records of medical “case-books” are ransacked, and give up their secrets. The brilliant talker is haunted by the croaking raven at home. The popular preacher, who preaches comfort to the mourners, is followed by his own doubts and depressions. The physician, who ministers so wisely to minds diseased, hears in his lonely hours the taunting proverb: “Physician, heal thyself.” ’

(2) ‘One young spirit, who passed by the terrible gate of suicide into the other world, wrote: “The good things come off so seldom.” Of all forms of madness, “seeing things exactly as they are” seemed to Voltaire the most appalling and hopeless. Very much may, of course, be said in mitigation of this pessimism. “Life rightly used has happiness for each of its stages.” The sweetness of domestic love; the pleasures of society and friendship; the preponderance of health over sickness and pain; the activities, the pleasing surprises that often come to the weariest lot; the beauties of Nature which exhilarate the body, and interest the mind of man.’