By Kabir Alabi Garba

“O you who have believed, fear Allah. And let every soul look to what it has put forth for tomorrow – and fear Allah. Indeed Allah is acquainted with what you do.” Qur’an 59:18

Brethren, what if today were your last Friday? What if, after the Jumu’at prayer, you returned home, greeted your family, made a few plans — and then died?

What would suddenly become unimportant? The argument you had yesterday! The money you were trying desperately to make! The position you were fighting to obtain! The insult you could not forgive! The opinion of people whose approval mattered so much to you!

And what would matter then? Perhaps the more uncomfortable question is this: What matters to us today that will mean little when we are lying inside the grave?

We know the answer. We have known it all our lives. This world is temporary.

Yet knowing that intellectually is not the same as living by it. We know we will die, but often behave as though death is somebody else’s appointment. We know we will stand before Allah, yet conduct ourselves as though there will be no account. We know everything we possess will eventually be left behind, yet spend our lives accumulating things we cannot take with us.

The Qur’an states with devastating simplicity: “Every soul shall taste death.”

Not some souls. Every soul. The wealthy and the poor. The powerful and the powerless. The famous and the unknown. The young and the old. Every soul. And one day, that soul will be ours.

One of the greatest dangers of the dunya is that it is convincing.

It makes the temporary appear permanent. It persuades us that what we possess belongs to us forever. It makes tomorrow seem guaranteed and encourages us to postpone repentance, reconciliation and good deeds.

Tomorrow, we tell ourselves. Tomorrow I will pray more. Tomorrow I will apologise. Tomorrow I will settle that debt. Tomorrow I will give charity. Tomorrow I will change.

But how many people went to sleep believing they had tomorrow — and never saw it?
The Qur’an offers a powerful image for the life of this world. It compares it to vegetation that flourishes after rain. It becomes green, beautiful and impressive. Then it dries, turns yellow and breaks apart.

That is dunya. It grows. It dazzles. It occupies us. Then it disappears.

As Muslims, we should be conscious of the fact that “we are not here to stay.” Prophet Muhammad (SAW) taught us to live in this world like strangers or travellers.

A traveller does not confuse the road with the destination. He may enjoy the scenery, rest along the way and attend to his responsibilities, but he remembers that he is moving on.

That is our condition. We are moving on. You may be building a magnificent house. You may have accumulated wealth or attained an influential position. You may have achieved everything you once dreamed of. Still, you are moving on. One day the journey will stop.

The question is not whether it will stop. It is what we will have done before it does.

Death has a peculiar way of stripping life of its illusions.

Imagine the moment when death enters the room. The person who spent decades planning his future suddenly discovers that his future in this world has ended.

At that moment, wealth cannot negotiate. Influence cannot negotiate. Education, connections and power cannot negotiate.

The Qur’an describes the dying person pleading for another opportunity — to return to the world and do what he should have done.

But the opportunity has ended. That is why one of Islam’s most urgent lessons is simple: “Do not postpone what you know you must do.”

Today, the door of repentance is open. Today, you can apologise, forgive, settle a debt, give charity and repair your relationship with Allah. Tomorrow is not an entitlement.

The Holy Prophet taught that the intelligent person is the one who holds himself accountable and works for what comes after death.

That teaching demands a different way of looking at life. Instead of asking only, What am I acquiring?, we should ask: What am I sending ahead?

The Qur’an says: “Let every soul look to what it has sent forth for tomorrow.”

The emphasis is on what we have sent ahead, because there will come a day when our possessions remain behind and our deeds go ahead of us.

This should change the way we understand success. We tend to measure it by what can be seen: the house, the car, the bank account, the position, the business, the degree and public recognition.

But Islam asks us to consider another balance sheet. Where did the money come from? How was it used? Whose life did our success improve? Whom did we help or hurt? What rights did we respect, and what rights did we violate? What did we do with the opportunities Allah gave us?

Brethren, wealth is not condemned in Islam. Legitimate prosperity is not a sin. Muslims are encouraged to work, build, trade, provide for their families and contribute to society.

But wealth is also a test. The important questions are: How was it acquired, and how was it used? Was it earned lawfully? Was anyone cheated? Was someone’s vulnerability exploited? Was another person’s property taken unjustly? Were workers treated fairly? Were contracts honoured?

And after acquiring wealth, what did we do with it?

The Prophet taught that a person will be questioned about his wealth — how he acquired it and how he spent it. Wealth, therefore, can become either a means of salvation or evidence against its owner.

The funeral teaches us the truth! Few experiences are more sobering than a funeral. A person can spend decades building an identity. Then suddenly, the expensive clothes disappear. The jewellery disappears.

The uniform and title disappear. The body is wrapped in a simple shroud, carried by others and lowered into the earth.

The people leave. The cemetery becomes quiet. And the deceased remains. His possessions are elsewhere.

His family returns home. His public identity no longer matters. What remains with him is what he did.

The Prophet taught that three things follow a deceased person to the grave: his family, his wealth and his deeds. Two return, while one remains: The family returns. The wealth returns. But the deeds remain.

That is one of the great truths of human existence.

What will remain? One day, we will leave this world. Our houses will remain. Our possessions will be distributed. Our businesses may continue under other hands. Our positions will be filled by others. But our deeds will accompany us. If we prayed, that remains. If we fed the hungry, educated a child, helped someone in difficulty or reconciled people, those deeds remain.

If we raised children who continued to do good, their deeds may continue to benefit us. If we established something beneficial to society, its impact may outlive us.

But the same principle applies to wrongdoing. Oppression remains on the record. Theft remains. Betrayal remains. Violated rights remain. We leave the world, but our record does not leave with us.

The final account Imagine standing before Allah. There will be no public relations exercise, carefully constructed image or alternative version of the story. Only truth.

And the question will be: What did you do with the life you were given?

What did you do with your youth, health, wealth, knowledge and influence? What did you do with the people placed in your care? What did you do with the rights of others?

The Qur’an offers a principle that leaves little room for complacency:
“Whoever does an atom’s weight of good will see it, and whoever does an atom’s weight of evil will see it.”

Nothing is too small to matter.

A small act of kindness may matter. A small act of forgiveness may matter. A small act of charity may matter. A small injustice may matter. Everything counts.

Islam does not ask Muslims to hate life or abandon worldly responsibilities.

Build your home. Educate your children. Work hard. Earn halal wealth. Develop your community. Build businesses. Serve society. Pursue excellence.

But remember the distinction between using the dunya and being possessed by it. Own wealth, but do not allow wealth to own your heart. Seek position, but do not allow position to make you arrogant. Enjoy life, but do not allow enjoyment to make you forget the One who gave you life. The tragedy is not that we possess dunya. The tragedy is when dunya possesses us.

The ultimate measure of a life is not simply how long it lasted, but what was placed inside it. A long life can be empty. A short life can be immensely consequential. A wealthy person can die spiritually impoverished, while someone of modest means can leave behind a wealth of good deeds.

So the question is not simply how much we had, but what we did with what we had.

Not how many people knew our names, but how many lives became better because we were here. And ultimately: What will Allah find in our record?

When the world ends for you. There will come a final moment.

The world we spent decades pursuing will slip away. We will not take our houses, money, positions, possessions or reputations with us.

What remains is faith, deeds and the record of our lives. That is why the time to prepare is not tomorrow. It is now.

Repent now. Forgive now. Return people’s rights now. Settle debts. Give charity. Repair broken relationships. Turn back to Allah.

Tomorrow is a promise nobody has received.

Today is the opportunity. One day, whether we are ready or not, the world will end for us.

The question is not whether it will. The question is: what will remain when it does?