Towards the end of Surah al Mu’minun, Allah paints a remarkable scene from the Day of Judgement. He asks humanity a question that seems simple, yet quietly dismantles the way we think about life:
قَـٰلَ كَمْ لَبِثْتُمْ فِى ٱلْأَرْضِ عَدَدَ سِنِينَ
He will ask, “How many years did you remain on earth?” (112)
The choice of words is deliberate. Allah does not ask, How long did you live? He asks, kam labithtum, How long did you remain? The verb labitha means to stay somewhere temporarily, like a guest before moving on. Before anyone even answers, the question has already revealed the reality: this world was never our home. We were only passing through.
Their reply is striking:
قَالُوا۟ لَبِثْنَا يَوْمًا أَوْ بَعْضَ يَوْمٍۢ فَسْـَٔلِ ٱلْعَآدِّينَ
They will reply, “We remained only a day or part of a day. But ask those who kept count.” (113)
Notice that they do not answer with seventy or eighty years. Instead they say, “A day or part of a day.” Then, almost uncertainly, they add, “Ask those who kept count.” Whatever confidence they once had in the length of their lives has disappeared.
Perhaps that experience is not as foreign as it first seems. As we grow older, time compresses. Childhood, school, marriage, the birth of our children, events separated by decades can feel as though they happened only yesterday. If fifty years can already feel like a season in this life, what will it feel like when viewed from the perspective of eternity?
Allah then replies:
قَـٰلَ إِن لَّبِثْتُمْ إِلَّا قَلِيلًۭا ۖ لَّوْ أَنَّكُمْ كُنتُمْ تَعْلَمُونَ
“You remained only a little, if only you had known.” (114)
The point was never the exact number of years. Whether a life was long or short, Allah describes it simply as qalīlan, only a little.
The rebuke is not that they miscalculated the years. It is law annakum kuntum ta’lamūn, “if only you had known.” They knew life was brief, but they had never allowed that knowledge to shape the way they lived. The problem was not a lack of information but a failure to let that truth govern their priorities.
Once the length of our stay has been settled, the Qur’an immediately asks the question that really matters:
أَفَحَسِبْتُمْ أَنَّمَا خَلَقْنَـٰكُمْ عَبَثًۭا وَأَنَّكُمْ إِلَيْنَا لَا تُرْجَعُونَ
“Did you then think that We had created you aimlessly, and that you would never be returned to Us?”(115)
The word ʿabathan means far more than simply “without direction.” It describes something done without wisdom or purpose. Having established that our stay was only qalīlan, Allah asks the obvious question: What was that brief stay for?
Its brevity does not make life less important; it makes it more important. A short examination does not matter less than a long one. Every minute simply carries greater weight.
Perhaps this is why Allah begins with time rather than wealth, achievements or failures. Time is the container that held every blessing, every trial and every opportunity to draw closer to Him. Once that container is revealed to have been only qalīlan, everything else finds its proper proportion.
The passage ends by lifting our gaze away from ourselves altogether:
فَتَعَـٰلَى ٱللَّهُ ٱلْمَلِكُ ٱلْحَقُّ ۖ لَآ إِلَـٰهَ إِلَّا هُوَ رَبُّ ٱلْعَرْشِ ٱلْكَرِيمِ
“So exalted is Allah, the Sovereign, the Truth; there is no deity except Him, Lord of the Noble Throne.”(116)
What a fitting ending.
Our stay was qalīlan. His Kingdom is eternal. The One who asked, “How long did you remain?” is al-Malik al-Haqq, the Sovereign, the Truth, whose dominion outlasts every generation, every empire and every human life.
If our whole life will one day feel like a day, or part of a day, then perhaps the real question is not whether we know that life is short. It is whether we will allow that knowledge to change how we live before we stand before the One who asks it.
|QUR’ANIC REFLECTION · SURAH AL MU’MINUN 112-116|
Living For Islam 