But the issue is not only life and death but our existence before

The words of Hans Urs von Balthasar — “But the issue is not only life and death but our existence before God and our being judged by him. All of us were sinners before him and worthy of condemnation.” — strike like thunder through the silence of the soul. They pierce the veil of ordinary thought and remind us of the eternal scale upon which every human life is weighed. In these words, the great theologian calls us to remembrance — that our days are not only bound by birth and death, but by something greater, more solemn, and more beautiful: the reality of standing before God, the source of all truth and justice.

For too long, mankind has measured life by fleeting years, counting victories and failures as though the grave were the end. But von Balthasar, like the prophets of old, reminds us that beyond the curtain of mortality lies a judgment, not of cruelty but of truth — a moment when all masks fall, when every secret thought is laid bare before the divine gaze. This is not to crush the spirit, but to awaken it. For to know that we live before God is to remember that every heartbeat has meaning, that every act resounds in eternity.

In the ancient world, men trembled not at death but at the thought of being forgotten by heaven. The Greeks spoke of the “eye of Zeus,” ever-watchful, and the Hebrews sang, “O Lord, You have searched me and known me.” In these echoes, von Balthasar’s words find their roots. He speaks from the same wellspring — the belief that life is not random, but moral; that existence itself is a sacred dialogue between the soul and its Maker. The issue, therefore, is not merely to survive, but to live in such a way that when we are called to account, our hearts can bear the gaze of the Eternal Judge.

Consider the story of Fyodor Dostoevsky, the Russian writer who once stood before a firing squad, condemned to die. At the last instant, a pardon came, and he was spared. From that day forward, he lived as one who had looked into eternity and been returned to life by mercy alone. He understood, as von Balthasar did, that the true drama is not between life and death, but between sin and grace. His novels burn with this awareness — that man is not destroyed by suffering, but by forgetting that he stands always before the eyes of God, capable of both ruin and redemption.

When von Balthasar speaks of sin and condemnation, he does not mean to drown us in guilt, but to awaken the soul to its need for grace. For if all are sinners, then all stand in equal need of mercy. To confess this is not weakness; it is strength. The proud believe they can stand before the divine light unshaken; the wise know that only humility can bear its radiance. The awareness of judgment is not a chain, but a mirror — it shows us who we are, and who we might yet become through repentance, forgiveness, and love.

Therefore, the teaching is not one of despair, but of hope. If we are worthy of condemnation, yet still live, it is because mercy is greater than judgment. The Creator does not seek to destroy His creation, but to transform it. Each sunrise is a chance to begin anew, to mend what was broken, to offer kindness instead of cruelty, honesty instead of deceit. To live before God is to live awake — to see that our every choice matters, that goodness is not forgotten, and that evil, though powerful, cannot hide from light forever.

So let this be the lesson for those who come after: do not measure your worth by the world’s praise or scorn, nor your days by comfort or pain. Measure your life by truth, by conscience, by your courage to face yourself in the sight of God. Live each moment as though eternity is listening — because it is. And when you fall, rise again with humility, for the Judge you fear is also the Father who loves. To exist before God is both the greatest responsibility and the greatest honor of man.

Thus, remember: the true battle is not merely to survive, but to be worthy of existence before God. Strive to live as one who has been seen, known, and forgiven. Walk in the light of that mercy, and your life — in all its frailty — will become an offering, not of perfection, but of truth.