We often treat sleep as a mechanical necessity—a simple recharging of the batteries. For the Christian, however, the passage from waking to sleeping is a spiritual act: a nightly rehearsal for the final letting go.
Why, then, do we sometimes find it so difficult to fall asleep? Often it is because we are unwilling to rest in the arms of God. Instead of being “calmed and quieted, like a child quieted at its mother’s breast,” our souls remain restless, “occupied with things too great and too marvellous” for us (Psalm 131:1–2). We lie awake, trying to solve tomorrow’s problems with tonight’s exhausted mind.
Not long ago I experienced this vividly. I went to bed completely exhausted, yet my mind churned with anger, frustration, and bitterness over a recent conflict. I could feel a nuit blanche setting in.
I tried everything: the blue light of my phone, soothing music, even an audio version of my own recent article. Nothing worked. In the darkness, I suddenly saw the poverty of my soul.
Then, in my helplessness, something compelled me to listen to the Sermon on the Mount. As I listened, Christ’s words alleviated the heaviness that weighed upon me: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you… Look at the birds of the air… Are you not of more value than they?. . . . Do not worry about tomorrow. . .” (Matthew 5:44; 6:26, 34).
That was all my soul needed. The living voice of Jesus calmed the waves. In that moment I was finally willing to let go. I commended my spirit into His hands and fell into a deep, peaceful slumber.
The experience brought home to me how close the grace of a good night’s sleep is to the grace of a good death. Both require the same movement of the heart: the courage to surrender everything into God’s hands.
At the hour of death, as during moments of insomnia, no amount of soothing music or personal achievement will comfort us. What we will need—what I needed that night—is simply the living, consoling, reassuring Voice of Jesus.
There is an old saying worth remembering: “Take care whose words you let sink into your mind before you go to bed. Your tomorrows depend on it.” The last voice we hear in the evening shapes the state of our soul.
Falling asleep, like dying well, demands poverty of spirit. We must loosen our grip, consent to be useless for a few hours, and trust that the world will continue without us. As Charles Péguy (1873–1914) once imagined God saying with tender humour: “They have the courage to work. They do not have the courage to do nothing… They do not lay innocently in the arms of my Providence.”
Do you find yourself staring at the ceiling, fighting the battles of the day or wrestling with a longing nothing can satisfy? Do not reach for distraction. Treat the moment as a dress rehearsal for the Great Encounter.
Acknowledge that nothing in the room—no screen, no book, no achievement—can suffice. Then turn your heart to the Word. Let God’s living voice be the last thing that enters your mind before you drift away.
Move into the darkness of the night claiming as your own the prayer Jesus prayed on the Cross, and which the Church prays every night at Compline:
“Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” (Luke 23:46)
Sleep is a small death. Yet for those who entrust themselves to the Word, it is never an end—only a passage toward waking, toward rising, toward eternal life.
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Fr. Anil Prakash D’Souza, O.P., is a Dominican priest, theologian, and academic specialising in dogmatic theology. Born in Mangalore, India, he was ordained to the priesthood in 2009. He holds a Master of Theology (M.Th.), Licentiate in Sacred Theology (STL), and Doctorate in Sacred Theology (STD) from the University of Fribourg, Switzerland. Fr. Anil currently serves as Professor of Dogmatic Theology at St. Charles Seminary, Nagpur, India; Master of Dominican Students at St. Dominic Ashram, Nagpur, India; and Editor-in-Chief of the quarterly periodical Dominican Ashram. His forthcoming book is: Christian Salvation and the Religions: The Missional Soteriology of Charles Journet (Steubenville, OH: Emmaus Academic Press).