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Chapter XIII

Asleep in the ship

And there arose a great storm of wind: and the waves beat into the ship, so that the ship was filled. And He was in the hinder part of the ship, sleeping upon a pillow. Mark 4, 37-38.

Lord Jesus, this day which I wanted to spend with You is drawing to a close. Behold the night is falling and the first stars appear. They reveal to me the immensity of the worlds.

Sometimes they give rise to a question in my soul. Is it possible that, in this universe whose order is measured by science, a lowly human creature benefits from the continuous attention and help of the creative power? Is this not anthropomorphism, the imagination of primitive man?

But I remember that the star “stood over where the child was.” The star which guided the Magi symbolized this physical universe whose limits we do not know. The standing of the star, over where the child of Bethlehem was, signified the subordination of this great universe to the humble incarnation of our God and to the salvation of men.

Likewise, O Lord, You showed Yourself to the visionary of Patmos with seven stars in Your right hand. Your face was as the sun and your voice as the sound of many waters.

And the frightened visionary fell at Your feet as if dead; but You laid on him that same right hand which held the stars and You said to him: “Fear not.” The Creator of the world is a personal Saviour. The salvation of a soul – and hence of my soul – is of more importance in Your eyes than the order of the entire, material universe.

The night is falling. Every nightfall evokes, in the spiritual realm too, the triumph of darkness.

Your Evangelist expresses in an accurate and moving way this collusion of night and of evil; when mentioning Judas’ departure after the Last Supper, he observes: “And it was night.”

For many men the night is the time of temptation and sin. And then the night falls in their soul even more than it exists physically. Lord, I entrust to Your mercy all those men and women who this very night will look for and commit what is evil in Your sight.

But nightfall is also the time of lights. The lamps are lit. In the midst of the darkness, they tell me that they cannot dim Your brightness.

In this night which is coming, I adore You, the joyous Light, the cheerful Light, who said: “I am the light of the world.”

Physical obscurity can increase. Moral darkness can also weigh upon me. Its depth can appear to swallow me up. But what I shall fear if I take You Yourself, if I possess You Yourself as my light, an interior light against which all outside powers remain ineffective. I repeat the psalmist’s words: “And in Thy light, we shall see light.”

Now is the time when the disciples from Emmaus constrained You to stop with them saying: “Stay with us . . .because the day is now far spent.” And not only did You stop with them, but You went into the house to share their meal and to open their eyes to Your Presence.

At the close of this day, I likewise beseech You: Stay with me this evening, this night. Do more than just stay with me. May these last hours of the day be privileged hours when I shall feel You close to me, when I shall feel You within me!

May these hours facilitate that personal conversation which I need so much! May they bring me one of those intimate words which fall from Your lips and give life!

The night is the time of sleep. Like the psalmist I shall comply with this necessity of human nature: “I will sleep, and I will rest.” I am going to sleep.

And yet You exhort Your disciples to watch. You said to Peter: “Simon, sleepest thou! Couldst thou not watch one hour?” Again You said to Your followers: “Watch ye: and pray that you enter not into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

It is true that all our nights are not the night at Gethsemani. But can I not give You at least one hour in an intimate conversation at night?

Nocturnal prayer seems to have a special efficacy. One of Your parables concludes with the description and hearing of a prayer made “at midnight” : “Ask and it shall be given you: seek, and you shall find: knock, and it shall be opened to you.”

Lord, give me the desire and the strength to seek You, at least sometimes during the hours of the night, taking a certain time from my sleep, the length of which I beg You Yourself to determine.

You prayed during the nights. May my nocturnal prayer be a participation in those secret prayers and above all in those of the garden, the night before Your death!

Oh, it is certainly from a distance that I am able to associate myself with the Saviour imploring His Father before entering into His Passion! But, were it only for the duration of a lightning flash, grant that this redeeming emotion of Yours which is both striking and vivid might spread to my heart.

Even in sleep I do not wish to be separated from You. Before falling asleep I repeat secretly the great cry which You emitted from the Cross at the moment before You expired: “Father, into Thy hands, I commend My spirit.”

Here it is that my prayer is one with Yours. It is my soul together with Your soul which You commend and which I too commend to the Father. We commend our souls together, Yours and mine, to the uncreated, loving Father. I commend my soul by uniting it to Yours and in this way I am without fear.

I am asleep but I do not cease being with You. How is that possible? All our human situations are rooted in Your human situations.

Each night my sleep forms a part of Your own earthly slumbers. You slept in order to sanctify our sleep, to penetrate it with Yourself. The Gospel shows You sleeping once. Only once. But this single time blesses and transfigures what would remain a purely animal act without You.

One day You got into the ship and some of the disciples followed You. A storm arose. The waves assailed the ship. Already the waves had got in the ship, the disciples were afraid, but You were asleep with Your head on a cushion. The disciples who were frightened woke You , saying: “Lord, save us, we perish.” And then after You got up, You imposed silence on the wind and the sea, “and there came a great calm.”

This image of Jesus sleeping in the ship’s stern, while the storm broke, is, if I may say so, the icon of my sleep. I am sharing Jesus’ sleep. It could be that before falling asleep I was beset with great difficulties.

In sleep I lose consciousness of them. Yet these difficulties continue to exist. I will find them again tomorrow. Nevertheless they do not interfere with my sleep.

The winds and waves can rage. Jesus will not permit them to disturb that sleep which I take so close to Him. A great calm is brought about for me, and this is the very calm of Jesus Himself.

Perhaps, O Lord, you will give me tonight more than Your calm, more than trustful sleep and the serenity which were Yours and which through You are now mine.

Perhaps You will even approach me mysteriously in my sleep. In Sacred Scripture sleep is the time of dreams and signs. Beyond the poor symbols which the psychologists take into account, the night is sometimes rich in divine signs.

It was in a dream that Jacob saw a ladder standing on the ground, the top of which touched heaven; God’s angels went up and down this ladder. In alluding to this episode, you have told us that we shall see “the heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.” O Lord, would that at least some of my nights be like that night at Bethel!

When You appeared before Pilate’s tribunal, the Procurator’s wife sent word to him to say that he should have nothing to do with that just man, with You, for she explained: “I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of Him.”

Lord, I most willingly agree to suffer because of You, in a dream, if I can catch a glimpse, if not of Your face, at least of Your shadow and the trace of Your steps. We dream of what we desire, of what we love. Visit my dreams and penetrate them. You often showed Yourself to Your martyrs in the nights which preceded their witness.

I do not beg for the graces which were granted to them and of which I am so unworthy. Oh, that I might sometimes, I do not say “see” You, but, in a vague, though not uncertain way, “feel” Your Presence!

Perhaps tonight my soul will be asked of me. But I commend it to You before going to sleep. My body sleeps, but my soul is awake in you. As the Sulamitess says: “I sleep, and my heart watcheth.” If I fall asleep uniting my soul to Yours, casting myself entirely upon You, I shall not be afraid when the cry is heard: “Behold the Bridegroom cometh. Go ye forth to meet Him.” I shall get up with joy, saying: “My Saviour, how I have waited for You!”

Yet it seems that this night will not be my last and that still another day will be granted to me, so that I might adhere more closely to You.

Already the night which was black is becoming gray. The day will soon dawn. Do I not hear You coming? Is that not the sound of Your steps?

Is that not Your voice, still afar off? It is “the voice of my Beloved. Behold He cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping over the hills.” O Jesus, come to me in the new day!