You tremble at the thought of sickness, yet tremble more at the thought of sin. For what is diabetes, what are bodily ailments, but a light affliction compared to the eternal fever of hell? You cry out for a clean bill of health from your physician, but where is your cry for a clean soul before the Judge? This is the disease you ought to dread: the soul swollen with pride, the heart hardened by ease, the tongue that never confesses its own poverty. You ask God to grant you good blood work; I ask you to consider: if the blood of Christ does not cleanse you, all earthly health is but a well-painted tomb.
Do you not know that tribulation is the great schoolmaster? Affliction brings patience, and patience experience, and experience a hope that does not make ashamed. The body that enjoys too much blood, too much flesh, too much ease, is the very one that falls quickest into sickness. So it is with the soul: a life of comfort, a life grasping after temporary security, grows slack and is easily overcome. You fear becoming poor in body; should you not fear becoming poor in virtue? The one who has nothing yet desires many things is truly destitute. The one who clings to health as a good, and sees not the Giver, is poor indeed.
Look at the rich man in the parable: his body was fed, his health was present, but his heart had no pity, no remembrance of God. His eyes, in torment, saw only the beggar he had ignored. That earthly well-being did not keep him from the flame. Will your blood work save you from that, if your soul remains unhealed? It is better to lie on a sickbed with a contrite heart than to dance in the marketplace with a seared conscience.
Do not say, “I will be of good cheer, for no man is immortal.” That speech is for fools. Over the bier of the proud, they chant such empty words, but the dead man hears nothing and gains nothing. You, while you yet breathe, have time to fear and tremble, time to lift up your hands which hang down and your feeble knees. Neither despair as one cast away, nor be confident as one already standing. Many of the sick become healthy in soul, and many of the healthy grow infirm through remissness. The Deacon cries, “The holy things for the holy!”, separating the healthy sheep from the scabbed. Dare you approach that Table pleading only the health of your veins, while your spirit is full of feverish cares and love of the world?
Cast yourself upon the mercy of the Physician of souls. Say with Abraham, “I am but dust and ashes,” even if your body shows no flaw. Let your affliction, if it comes, teach you patience; let your health, if it remains, teach you watchfulness. Give thanks in all things, not sinking under the fear of death, but using every state to gain what is truly good: a heart that stands in need of nothing but God, a soul washed clean by tears, a mouth that speaks justice and not mere complaint. For what is the use of fasting and watching, if the tongue is still a channel of filth? What profit is perfect blood, if the soul lies neglected, putrefying like a member of Christ’s body left untended? Seek first the health that does not fade, and then trust the Lord for the rest.