Chrysostom
Beloved of All
You lack restful sleep, and with it joy and hope have slipped away. This is indeed a heavy burden, yet consider first how great a gift sleep is from our Creator. He who fashioned our toil-worn race did not leave rest to our will, but bound it up in nature, so that even against our wishes, night becomes a haven of solace, a medicine for our wounds. When grief burns worse than fire, when friends and family cannot reach us, sleep comes unbidden to grant relief. So if sleep now flees from you, ask what enemy has driven it off. The wise man says, “The anxieties of wealth drive away sleep.” Perhaps you think, “I am not rich; what wealth do I have?” But riches are not only gold and lands. Any earthly care that masters the heart, a fear, a desire, a grudge, can stand as a tyrant over your rest. Even the rich man trembling at robbers or the glutton choking on his own excess finds that pleasure has brought only sleeplessness. Examine yourself, then: is there some attachment or worldly worry that chases away the peace God means to give you in the night? For often we, like enemies to ourselves, devise a slavery more cruel than nature’s need.
Yet even if no specific care rises to your mind, still take courage from that paralytic who lay by the pool thirty-eight years. He saw others healed while he remained bound, and had not one friend to help him into the water. What hope could sustain such a man? But hear his words: when Christ asked, “Wilt thou be made whole?” he did not snap or despair. He simply told his sorrow, gently, without cursing his lot. He did not know the Lord would heal him; he only hoped for some small kindness. And Christ, seeing his patience, restored him completely. So do not let the long nights or the empty mornings convince you that God has forgotten you. He knows our weariness far better than we do ourselves. The sleepless hours you now endure can become a season for spiritual watchfulness. If you cannot sleep, rise and light the candle of prayer. The Scriptures are a treasury of medicines for every affliction: pour out your complaint there, and you will find patience and comfort. In this way, what the enemy meant for harm can become a time of hidden nourishment for your soul, and the joy and hope you lack will, in God’s time, return not as fleeting feelings but as deep-rooted trust.
Yet even if no specific care rises to your mind, still take courage from that paralytic who lay by the pool thirty-eight years. He saw others healed while he remained bound, and had not one friend to help him into the water. What hope could sustain such a man? But hear his words: when Christ asked, “Wilt thou be made whole?” he did not snap or despair. He simply told his sorrow, gently, without cursing his lot. He did not know the Lord would heal him; he only hoped for some small kindness. And Christ, seeing his patience, restored him completely. So do not let the long nights or the empty mornings convince you that God has forgotten you. He knows our weariness far better than we do ourselves. The sleepless hours you now endure can become a season for spiritual watchfulness. If you cannot sleep, rise and light the candle of prayer. The Scriptures are a treasury of medicines for every affliction: pour out your complaint there, and you will find patience and comfort. In this way, what the enemy meant for harm can become a time of hidden nourishment for your soul, and the joy and hope you lack will, in God’s time, return not as fleeting feelings but as deep-rooted trust.
