Thursday, 1 February 2018

THE NIGHT IS COME, LIKE TO THE DAY - SLEEP IN SIR THOMAS BROWNE 'RELIGIO MEDICI

Sir Thomas Browne
Sir Thomas Browne (1605-1682). Browne was a noted polymath and churchman and in his Religio Medici (1643), wrote a meditation on sleep that has an autobiographical and confessional sense to it.[i] The fact that Browne reflects on sleep in prayer illustrates the point that sleep is well articulated in Christian understanding in prayer, liturgy and hymnody which, along with the Bible, are the source material for a systematic theology of sleep.

Browne’s prayer (see below) is an example of a non-systematic theology of sleep that is expressed doxologically: doctrinal and Biblical references woven into prayer. It entrusts him to sleep, mindful of its pitfalls and dangers. Throughout it he references scripture and his human experience and says of sleep that it is, ‘the dormative I take to bedward’ and continues, ‘I need no other laudnam than [prayer] to make me sleep’. Browne, who we can now call a theosomniac, writes that on going to bed, ‘truly ‘tis a fit time for devotion; and therefore I cannot lay my head without an orison, and take my farewell in a colloquy with God’.

That captures the impulse to see the boundary between being awake and being asleep as a hallowed time and a time, as Browne puts it, ‘after which I close mine eyes in security, content to take my leave of the sun and sleep unto the Resurrection’. Praying before sleep, in the expectation of waking in the morning, is what Browne calls, ‘an half adieu unto the world’. Sleep is the, ‘moderating point between life and death’, yet in life and in death, the Christian conviction is whilst we sleep, in life or death, the believer’s heart wakes to God.

Browne references many of the themes that will be explored in greater depth in subsequent chapters. His meditation maps out the terrain of a Christian theology of sleep and the doctrinal markers with which we will engage. A brief analysis of the prayer will serve as an introduction to our exploration in two ways. First, there are Biblical references to which he is directly alluding. This is not an exhaustive list of Biblical references to sleep, but is a good starter. Secondly, Browne raises some fundamental theological themes: sin, seeing sleep as possibly a consequence of humanity’s fallen state; watchfulness; the abandon and vulnerability of the sleeping individual; sleep as a regenerative state, both physically and spiritually; sleep and mortality; and the sense that this worldly human condition exists in ‘drowsy days’. 

In a rich set of images Browne’s prayer exposes contradictions and paradoxes in how sleep is treated in the Bible. Importantly though he sets sleep within a doctrine of creation. The opening lines locate sleep in the creative act of God who calls light into being ‘Let there be light’ (Genesis 1.3) and frames it by day and night ‘The night is come, like to the day, / depart not Thou, great GOD, away’. There is an allusion to Christ, the Light of the World, the one who shines in the darkness, and that the darkness has not overcome (John 1.5). Given that sleep is predominantly a darkness-based activity it could be an opportunity to collude with the darkness, and recognising this Browne asks that his own sinfulness does not ‘Eclipse the lustre of Thy light’.

Darkness alludes to sinfulness in Scripture. It contrasts the children of the darkness with the children of the day.  A more lasting concern of traditional Christian approaches to the night and sleep are less about sins of commission and rather more sins of omission. Sleep represents a time of loss of control represented in the possibility that ‘dreams my head infest’. Loss of personal control raises the question of who is in control of the sleeper. Traditionally the most likely suspect is Satan: prayers that ask for protection from ‘nightly fears and fantasies’ usually have Satan in mind, or, as Browne puts it, ‘guard me ‘gainst those watchful foes, whose eyes are open while mine close’. The sense of menace is clear.

It is not that sleep is sinful per se, rather that the opportunity for sin comes through, for example, erotic dreams or sloth in the form of a surfeit of sleep. This is mitigated by the way in which sleep is prepared for. Compline opens with confession as the fall of darkness heightens the acute awareness of sin and failings throughout the past day that can be carried into the long, dark night. As Browne prays that the lustrous light of God is not eclipsed by ‘my sins, black as the night’.

Compline prepares the Christian for the profound vulnerability and abandon of sleep (the state that the evolutionary biologists cannot comprehend). Weaving together both the sense of vulnerability and God’s watchfulness, Browne pleads, ‘Thou whose nature cannot sleep, / on my temples sentry keep’. In that Browne is clearly alluding to the death of Sisera at the hands of Jael who took a hammer and drove a tent peg through his temple because, ‘he was lying fast asleep from weariness’ (Judges 4.21).

The theological assertion of the watchfulness of God - ‘Thou whose nature cannot sleep’ – derives from Psalm 127, ‘The Lord who watches over Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep’, yet equally Psalm 44 implies that God really can sleep, ‘Up, Lord, why sleepest thou, wilt thou be absent from us forever’ (Psalm 44.23). Elsewhere God is described as being aroused from sleep (78.65). Nevertheless, the conviction that God watches over the sleeper is enduringly significant. It assumes a relationship between the Creator and the creature: ‘keep still in my horizon; for to me the sun makes not the day, but Thee’. There is a sense that the watcher and the watched over have a mutual eye on each other.

Keeping watchful is not simply what God ‘does’ when a person sleeps. The believer is called to keep watch too. Sleep, as already noted, is represented both as a time of inattention and deep attention to God. Attentive sleep is primarily shown by Browne in sleep open to the possibility of dreams, ‘make my sleep a holy trance, that I may, my rest being wrought, awake into some holy thought’. Some of the literature about dreams is highly speculative and perhaps over imaginative - and it is not the purpose of this book to analyse dreams - nevertheless it would be counter to Biblical witness and human experience to dismiss the impact and power of dreams.

Icon of Jacob sleeping
and dreaming
It is not unknown that dreams, or at the very least the act of ‘sleeping on it’ can influence a decision or course of action, not unlike Joseph who woke and arose from sleep and led Mary and Jesus to safety in Egypt, having been warned in a dream of Herod’s intentions (Mathew 2.13). In that regard sleep can be the arena for theophany, a manifestation of the divine presence. Sleep is integral to the relationship between mortals and God in God’s self-communication in dreams and nocturnal revelation. That in itself is an ambiguous experience, such as Jacob experienced at Bethel (Genesis 28.10-22) ‘Let no dreams my head infest, but such as Jacob’s temples blest’. We can note that not all dreams are benign or decisive in the Bible. For example, the dreams of Saul are very unsettling and his sleep disturbed as a consequence.

Sleep can be a fearful time, especially when elusive or disturbed. There is a deeper, perhaps connected fear, which is often articulated with regard to the relationship between sleep and mortality. The notion of loss of control connects sleep with death, when all is relinquished in a time when not even dreams will happen, because sleep anticipates death, ‘sleep is a death; O make me try, / by sleeping, what it is to die; / and as gently lay my head / on my grave, as now my bed’. What if, like Sisera, I never wake again: am I prepared? Sleep also relates to the fear of a ‘sudden death’ because it means dying unprepared.

Alongside the positive imagery of light, these fears of darkness, night, sleep and associations with death gives the context to liturgical practices such as the Lucinarium and traditional prayers before bed, both for children and adults. The anticipation of death is also, for the Christian disciple, the anticipation of resurrection, ‘however I rest, great GOD, let me / awake again at last with Thee; / and thus assur'd, behold I lie / securely, or to awake or die’. In the reference to waking again Browne refers directly to sleep and the resurrection and the Christian hope that the believer will be awakened on the Last Day.

Browne speaks of a time when he will ‘never / Sleep again but wake for ever’. That reference alerts us to the eschatological dimension of sleep and the nature of time. The eschatological parables of the Kingdom often have the refrain ‘stay awake’, as does the account of Gethsemane, and sleep is an integral feature.  For example, both the attentive and inattentive character of sleep is deployed as a motif in the case of the sleeping bridesmaids who miss the arrival of the bridegroom, with all its messianic overtones (Matthew 25.1-13).

When exploring sleep it is easy to focus upon the physical act of falling asleep, the phases of sleep and what it signifies and represents. However a theology of sleep is incomplete without the flipside of the wakeful life of the day or at the very least how one wakes, and how sleep has prepared for that. For Christian theology if sleeping speaks of death and mortality, then waking says resurrection. Again Browne captures this,  ‘These are my drowsie days; in vain / I do not wake to sleep again: / O come that hour, when I shall never / sleep again, but wake for ever’. The theosomniac has to be mindful of waking as well as sleeping since sleep delivers waking, and vice versa, a virtuous circle. In other words the theosomniac does not simply focus on sleep, but rejoices in the day as a gift which then makes sense of the entrusting of the self to sleep.

The night is come, like to the day,
Depart not Thou, great GOD, away.
Let not my sins, black as the night,
Eclipse the lustre of Thy light:
Keep still in my Horizon; for to me
The Sun makes not the day, but Thee.
Thou, Whose nature cannot sleep,
On my temples Centry keep;
Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes,
Whose eyes are open while mine close.
Let no dreams my head infest,
But such as Jacob's temples blest.
While I do rest, my Soul advance;
Make my sleep a holy trance;
That I may, my rest being wrought,
Awake into some holy thought;
And with as active vigour run
My course, as doth the nimble Sun.
Sleep is a death; O make me try,
By sleeping, what it is to die;
And as gently lay my head
On my grave, as now my bed.
However I rest, great GOD, let me
Awake again at last with Thee;
And thus assur'd, behold I lie
Securely, or to awake or die.
These are my drowsie days; in vain
I do not wake to sleep again:
O come that hour, when I shall never
Sleep again, but wake for ever.

Thomas Browne. Religio Medici.

© Andrew Bishop, 2018




[i] Thomas Browne. Religio Medici. Edited by John Winney. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963).

‘I COMMUNE WITH MY HEART IN THE NIGHT’

This piece comprises excerpts of notes that I made after staying at a convent on retreat during which I rose in the night, at 2.30 a.m., to watch and pray. This represented an intentional disruption of sleep to watch and pray.

‘I sleep, yet my heart wakes’ (Song of Songs 5.2)

Something I have found to be a source of great comfort to those who cannot sleep is for them to know that they are being prayed for. As I wrote in my journal during that retreat:

Yet so many [other people] are awake too: all those suffering from the distress of war, the displaced; those in perils; travellers. Such a comprehensive list made me more aware, as I prayed, of the diversity of life and human society and its needs. Waking in the night opens up new vistas of prayer. Is it always sleep we need, or is it prayer? My inconvenience, albeit intentional, of waking is nothing compared to those at a death bed; identifying a dead body at the morgue; sitting on their bed contemplating not God, but contemplating the ending of their life. I prayed for the sleeping, working, those lying awake, and those tempted to sin: drug dealing, burgling, deceiving, ‘sleeping’ with someone in their bed by lust or force. I had the joy of praying for those being born, for new mothers and midwives.

This expresses the solidarity of prayer with all who go to that familiar yet deeply strange place, the place we call sleep.

And so I wrote:

The alarm went off. I woke. I felt refreshingly alert. I had gone to sleep early, straight after compline, having already prepared the place where I would pray. It was at a prie dieu in the other room. There was a crucifix, an icon and a candle. I had set out a prayer stool with the order of service and an intercessions list.

I made my way from my bedroom to where I would pray, in the small amount of light that seeped through from the bedside lamp. It was not pitch black, but dark enough that when I struck the match to light the candle the flash of light flared and momentarily lit up the room. Lighten our darkness we beseech thee, O Lord. Breaking sleep broke the darkness with the created, and inadequate, light of the candle. The uncreated light of Christ shines in the darkness.

I was intensely aware of my body, which had switched from the depths of sleep into a quite different mode. I felt almost more prepared than normal. The posture helped, i.e. the prayer stool, and I had made a point of wearing a cross around my neck. Take up your cross daily and follow me...

The ‘tea-light’ candle needed lifting up like a lantern.  So I lifted it up on a saucer. The candle did not light the whole room. It cast an inconvenient shadow and had to be in exactly the right position to illuminate the order of service. The candle placed by the icon on the top of the prie dieu was insufficient for reading the order of service. Indeed, as soon as I got to elements I knew by heart I put the candle down: Your word is a lantern to my feet and a light upon my path (Psalm 119.105).

Whilst I was aware of my body, the impact of the words was considerable. Phrases referring to light, darkness, sleep, night etc. were predictably, perhaps, ringing with connections, but also familiar texts in a new setting, context, were very powerful. The Trisagion [holy God, holy and strong, holy and immortal] made the very floor tremble, and was deeply stirring to my body that was moving from deep sleep. This bodily awareness made St Patrick’s Breastplate touch me in a new way. It moved from head to heart: Christ be with me (in the darkness), Christ within me…Christ beside me (as I pray with you ‘beside’ me in my bed)…Christ in quiet, Christ in danger (whose danger? Mine or his? He is with me in danger, but I was with him in the darkness of the night in which he was betrayed. But I had been a sleeping disciple prior to waking. I was too weak, too late to bed with me in his danger, like Peter I trailed in late).

On rising from sleep, we fall down before you. That was exactly it! As was You have roused me, Lord, from my bed and sleep…I had been roused from my bed... In the darkness the light, poor as it was, felt more searching than I have known before: You have searched me out and known me, You know my sitting down and rising (Psalm 139.1) In the darkness you see me more clearly, if that is possible, or, at least, I see more clearly that you are with me. This is my meditation in the watches of the night.

I read Psalm 3, the psalm of someone waking in adversity. As I was waking up I wondered what a waking/sleeping 24/7 world would make of what I was doing, how many there are who say, ‘There is no help for you in your God (Psalm 3.2). Stephen Hawking had said on the television the previous day that belief in the afterlife was a ‘fairy story for people afraid of the dark’.[i] He combined two strands of psalm 3, ridicule and the night.

I lie down and sleep and rise again, because the Lord sustains me (Psalm 3.5). Yes, that night I lay down, I rose up again with the benefit of the iPhone alarm. But, waking, deliberately, in the night raised bigger questions than in the morning. After all, in the morning I can rejoice in the gift of the new day and get on with it. At night I am going to lie back down on my bed and seek sleep. Where had I been when I was asleep, unconscious, and ‘dead to the world’? I was not there. I was not waking to breathe, pump blood, digest, perspire etc. but I was doing it. Where was I? What is it, then, that sustains me? …the Lord sustains me…waking and sleeping. Just as the seed grows whilst the farmer worries, sleeps and rises, so I continue to live and change.

If sleep anticipates death at all then I face it confident that in the life of the world to come the Lord sustains me. Since, as Paul says, nothing, not even death, can separate us from the love of God (Romans 8.38, 39).

The psalm also led me into the Paschal Mystery of the Exodus. Rise up, O Lord; set me free, O my God (Psalm 3.7). The plea that the Lord will be awake to my cry and, by the Holy Spirit, free me into all the truth. How the Spirit does that exceeds the expectation of the psalmist. Yes, regrettably, enemies are struck, drowned, no less, in the Red Sea. The people moved and escaped by night, led by the pillar of fire. My Night Prayer was a pale shadow of the vigils of Maundy Thursday and the Triduum but centred on God, and so I knew afresh, in the night, deliverance belongs to the Lord, I could claim his blessing (Psalm 3.8)…

A special prayer to me concluded the intercession: ‘Keep watch, dear Lord…and give your angels charge over those who sleep…’ And then mindful of God’s great mercy, the Kyries. The final collect took me back to the eternal beginning, Let there be light. I had lit my candle some ten minutes before, but by rising in the dead of night had felt the pulse of another rhythm throbbing in the world. This was the rhythm of day and night, morning and evening, inaugurated by the Creator, Logos and Spirit, which brooded over the waters in the beginning and whispered, Let there be light. And there was light (Genesis 1.3)

In that light I returned to bed. Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes. I sleep, but my heart wakes.

© Andrew Bishop, 2018



[i] ‘Dara O Briain meets Stephen Hawking’ 12th June 2015, accessed 15th June, 2015. http:www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p02tjndb accessed 15th June, 2015.

SLEEP IN BEDE'S 'LIFE OF CUTHBERT'

Bede's account of the Life of St Cuthbert has intriguing references to sleep: is it a blessing or a curse?


There are different ways of responding to the gift of grace. One way is to welcome it and succumb to it (always alert to the distortions of that: sleep becoming sloth; eating becoming gluttony and so on). If sleep is a gift given by God, then it should be enjoyed. Another way to respond is to cherish the gift in such a way that prompts a disciplined response. This is the sort of response that fasting is about. It acknowledges scarcity in the face of abundance, as well as solidarity with the hungry, for whom scarcity is a reality. This way of receiving grace is also grace-ful, but is also open to being characterised as grace denying.

This latter approach is something that the Life of Cuthbert by St Bede opens up. The question of the disciplining of the body in the context of that verse becomes harder to bring together in some of the ascetic practices associated with sleep. However, what this excursus into Anglo-Saxon piety will reveal is how the gift of sleep can be understood through deprivation. It will further prepare the ground for a consideration of vigilance.

The incorrupt body of Cuthbert from
Bede's Life of Cuthbert, 12th century.
Bede includes details of many elements of Cuthbert’s life, some of which enter the realms of legend and fable, and some of which bear the ring of authenticity. It is most certainly in the genre of hagiography which was intended, ‘to stress that the saint was a man of God and shared in divine qualities and even in the power of miracles’.[1] It is also known that Bede greatly admired Cuthbert, Aidan and the Irish monks. As far as sleep is concerned Bede details both miraculous instances and ascetic. Reading them in the context of contemporary sensibilities some of Cuthbert’s exploits in relation to sleep seem extreme and negative about the body in general and sleep in particular.

The first miracle concerns a servant, Baldhelm, who was ailing to such an extent that, as Bede records, King Ecgfrith’s bodyguards reported that, ‘his extremities look dead already and he is only just breathing’.[2] Cuthbert blessed some water and gave the sick man to drink. Bede continues:

The third time it was poured down his throat he fell into a deep sleep – a complete contrast to his previous condition. This happened in the evening. He passed a quiet night and the following morning the master found him restored to full health. Baldhelm is still alive and now a priest of the church at Lindisfarne.

Bede says of this incident, ‘it is sweeter than honey to [Baldhelm] to recount Cuthbert’s miracles to any who care to know them; he told me this one himself’. On one level the account is simply of rehydration and rest. Nevertheless in terms of what Cuthbert told Bede, and what Bede recorded, sleep plays a not incidental part, and Bede chose to render the sleep a ‘deep sleep’. The phrase ‘deep sleep’ echoes the ‘deep sleep’ induced, or bestowed by God upon Adam. Baldhelm’s sleep was a restorative sleep given by God. As well as demonstrating Cuthbert’s holiness and wisdom Bede is also pointing to the divine agency of the healing through the gift of sleep.

In another instance Bede recounts how Cuthbert and some companions were stranded, ‘languishing’, on an island following a violent storm, ‘Cuthbert, however, did not waste this leisure time in idleness, nor did he merely sleep through. Night after night was spent in prayer’.[3] Bede relates, ‘One night when his companions had gone to sleep he was keeping watch and praying as usual, he suddenly saw light steaming from the skies, breaking the long night’s darkness, and the choirs of the heavenly host coming down to earth’.[4] The angels had come to receive the soul of St Aidan, not that Cuthbert was aware that at the time that Aidan had died. There are echoes, perhaps deliberate, in Bede’s account of the shepherds seeing the angelic host at the nativity of Christ. More illuminating in terms of Cuthbert’s attitude to sleep is not that he was rejecting the gift of God to his beloved by being the only one staying awake but that he was awake to witness something others missed, and as shepherd, a lookout, it is always necessary that someone is awake whilst others sleep. Cuthbert’s own account runs as follows:

‘What wretches we are, given up to sleep and sloth so that we never see the glory of those who watch with Christ unceasingly! After so short a vigil what marvels I have seen! The gate of Heaven opened and a band of angels led in the spirit of some holy man’.[5]

Cuthbert’s emphasis is more on the account of Jacob at Bethel, when he declares ‘this is the gate of heaven’ (Genesis 28.17) as he sees a vision of angels ascending and descending. Yet, it is worth noting that Jacob was asleep in that instance. Nevertheless the question remains: is Cuthbert hostile to sleep or pro watching and waiting awake? Bede’s Life suggests the latter, as he says later, ‘[Cuthbert] watched, prayed, worked, and read harder than anyone else’.[6]

Cuthbert ministered to by otters after
spending a night in the sea without sleep
One of the things Cuthbert is famed for is his connection not only with the ways of heaven and people but with the animal kingdom too. Bede tells of a night when Cuthbert prayed all night in the sea and on leaving the sea and resting on the beach he was ministered to by otters who ‘warmed his feet with their breath, and tried to warm him with their fur’. The encounter with the otters is preceded by what might be called ‘sleep fasting’:

[Cuthbert] was in the habit of rising at the dead of night, while everyone else was sleeping, to go out and pray, returning just in time for morning prayers. One night…he went towards the beach beneath the monastery and out into the sea until he was up to his arms and neck in deep water. The splash of the waves accompanied his vigil throughout the dark hours of the night.[7]

Again this suggests that denial of sleep may be because of a loathing of sleep or subjugation of the body. Cuthbert does not appear to have regarded it that way. When he encountered a monk who had been watching him he asked him, ‘Have you been spying on my night’s work?’ For Cuthbert denial of sleep was akin to fasting. Both practices are about denial of a gift that God has given to a particular purpose.

Speaking of fasting David Brown refers to, ‘the strangeness of the extreme asceticism that characterized the lives of so many of the Church’s saints’.[8] Sara Maitland is blunter about this suggesting that, ‘fasting and sleep deprivation, for example, produce some very particular physiological results that have little or nothing to do with holiness as we understand it’. Maitland’s concern seems more to be ‘eating disorders’ but poor sleep hygiene over a prolonged period can be said to fall into the same category. This strangeness of practice was evident in Cuthbert. One of Bede’s accounts tells of him fasting for five days using only an onion to relieve his mouth. After five days he had nibbled a third of one onion.[9] Cuthbert may have been aware of the traditions of the Egyptian Desert which set something of a paradigm for the eremitical life. Verna Harrison cites Poemen’s account of the practice of St Antony and other desert monks in their rigours and by staying awake at night.[10] In notes to directors and exercitants of the Spiritual Exercises Michael Ivens commends that,

it is not a penance to go without the superfluous, the finer quality and more comfortable, but penance begins when we go without what is in itself suitable in the way we sleep. Again, the more this is done the better, as long as the constitution is not harmed and no serious illness results, and provided nothing is retrenched from needful sleep, except in order to arrive at a just mean, if we have the bad habit of sleeping too much.[11]

Ivens’ approach to sleep, in the spirit of St Ignatius of Loyola, is demanding yet humane. In contemporary church life and spirituality fasting is often associated with subjugation of the body, even if accompanied by prayer, and the conquering a bodily need. Yet, as Brown comments, fasting was (and is) more than just a physical act. Food, sexual intercourse and sleep have been subject to this ‘fasting’ or self-denial. Brown believes it would be wrong to think of even the medieval extremes of ascetic as hatred of the body.[12] Radcliffe suggests that the point of fasting is to appreciate the food one does have rather than punish the body for the food one does not have. The same may be said of sleep. Deprivation of sleep is not to punish oneself, but to enable the self to be thankful for the gift of sleep.[13] In the way that Jesus multiplied food in the wilderness so abundance is powerfully expressed in the context of scarcity, so intentional creation of scarcity of sleep, sleep deprivation becomes a means of receiving God’s grace.

Bede concludes the Life  saying, ‘such is the grace of the almighty God whose property is to cure many even in this world, and to heal all infirmity of body and mind in the world to come, satisfying our desires with good things and crowning forever “with loving kindness and tender mercies”’.[14] That is an affirmation of the healing of body and soul, and not a repudiation of them. Bede’s Life of Cuthbert is an account of a graced body whose relationship with sleep and the body was deeply ambiguous in many ways to contemporary sensibilities, and was even noteworthy in the exacting standards of his own day. In Cuthbert three key lessons are learnt: the value of sleep, in partnership with healing, as illustrated in the story of Baldfrith; the vigilant attentiveness of seeing the things of heaven on earth, as in the death of Aidan; and, that deprivation of sleep, even though it is a gift, heightens the gratuity of the gift and does not repudiate it. For Bede, ‘the sublimity of the saint’s earthly was well attested by his numerous miracles’ and no further proof of Cuthbert’s sanctity was required.[15] Whilst post-mortem miracles are recorded by Bede, more striking is account of the state of Cuthbert’s body when it was exhumed by his erstwhile brethren eleven years after his death. His body was found to be uncorrupted and, ‘it seemed not dead but sleeping’.[16]


© Andrew Bishop, 2018



[1] David H. Farmer ed. Introduction to, The Age of Bede, (London: Penguin, 1965/1983), 17.
[2] Bede, “The Life of Cuthbert”, The Age of Bede, (London: Penguin, 1965/1983), 78.
[3] Bede, “The Life of Cuthbert”, 59.
[4] Bede, “The Life of Cuthbert”, 49.
[5] Bede, “The Life of Cuthbert”, 50.
[6] Bede, “The Life of Cuthbert”, 53.
[7] Bede, “The Life of Cuthbert”, 58.
[8] David Brown, God and Grace of Body: Sacrament in Ordinary, (Oxford: OUP, 2007), 202.
[9] Bede, “The Life of Cuthbert”, 92-3.
[10] Nonna Verna Harrison, God’s Many Splendored Image: Theological Anthropology for Christian Formation, (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2010), 109.
[11] Michael Ivens, Understanding the Spiritual Exercises, (Leominster: Gracewing, 1998,) 84.
[12] Brown, God and Grace of Body, 203.
[13] Radcliffe, T,. 2012. Taking the Plunge: Living Baptism and Confirmation. London: Bloomsbury Publishing Plc. p. 108.
[14] Bede, Life of Cuthbert, 103-4.
[15] Bede, Life of Cuthbert, 98.
[16] Bede, Life of Cuthbert, 98, my italics.

SLEEP AND THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY

Preached as an address before Compline (Night Prayer, the prayer before sleep) on the 15th August, the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The Western Church knows this as the Assumption and in the Eastern Church it is known as the Dormition, the Falling Asleep of the Mother of God (Theotokos).

+ In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

'Jesse Tree' icon, Guildford Cathedral
The Lady Chapel of Guildford Cathedral contains within it an icon of the Jesse Tree. At the heart of its branches is the Mother of God with her Son, the focal point of the icon, enthroned upon her lap. Jesse sleeps at the foot of the tree. He sleeps not inattentively but in a generative repose of deep sleep as Adam did. Out of Adam’s side a rib was taken to create the mother of all the living, Eve, and out of Jesse’s side comes the tree from which the New Adam is descended and the mother from whom he is born.

St John of Damascus calls Mary New Eve. This title is used to ‘correct’ the action of the first Eve. So, as Kallistos Ware says, ‘where Eve is disobedient, Mary is obedient. Where Eve is unguarded and inconsiderate, listening all too readily to the deceitful words of the serpent, Mary is watchful and prudent, only accepting the Archangels’ message after she has carefully questioned him’.[1] So for John, Eve brings the ‘sleep of death’ upon humankind, but Mary is, ‘initiator of life for the whole race’.[2] Mary’s is the ‘unwedded bride’ or ‘Bride without bridegroom’ she is the Wise Virgin who watches for, and points out, the bringer of the New Wine (John 2.5)and resists the Eve-like sleepy behaviour of the foolish bridesmaids in the gospels who fall asleep yet wake unprepared.

Dormition of the Theotokos, the Mother of God
The Eastern Church proclaims that, ‘Neither tomb nor death overpowered the Mother of God, unsleeping in her prayers, unfailing hope in intercession’.[3] This proclamation is for the feast of the Falling Asleep of the Mother of God, the Dormition. It recalls the declaration of the Saviour at the bed of Jairus’ daughter, ‘she is not dead, but sleeping’ (Luke 8.52). This is the proclamation made to all who hear the voice of Mary’s Son, ‘Very truly, I tell you, the hour is coming, and is now here, when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live’ (John 5.25). She who is declared by the angel to be ‘the favoured one’ (Luke 1.28) falls asleep and the human body of one of God’s creatures is ‘crowned with mercy and loving kindness’ (Psalm 103.4). Mary remains alive, both waking and sleeping.

It can now be said:

The virgin of the Magnificat, on whose lips is placed the message that God is exalting the humble and casting down the powerful, finds her life confirmed and glorified by the Father of Jesus. Mary’s assumption – seen in the light of Jesus’ resurrection – is hope and promise for the poor of all times and for those who stand in solidarity with them; it is hope and promise that they will share in the final victory of the incarnate God.[4]

For John of Damascus Mary is ‘Ladder of Jacob’. She is the ladder whose two extremities touch earth and heaven whilst Jacob, and humanity, sleeps. She was awake and alert, though fearful at first, of an angel who stepped off the ladder to call her to be mother of the Saviour.

Mary is not a goddess, not immortal, but as John of Damascus teaches emphatically, she who fell asleep was raised as expression of love.[5] It is out of this love, and echoing Song of Songs that, John places on the lips of Mother and Son these words, ‘Into your hands my child, I commend my spirit, says the Mother to her Son as she dies; and her Son replies, ‘Come, my blessed Mother, into my rest…Arise, come, my beloved, beautiful among women’.[6]

At the coming of sleep we entrust ourselves into the hands of God and pray that we will sleep in peace ready to be raised to the life of the new day, as Mary in her Dormition was swept up, like Elijah (2 Kings 2.1-12), to the very presence of God. Hence why the Church for centuries has associated sleep with the maternal care of Mary.

Monks at prayer
Dom David Steindl-Rast describes the monastic practice of Compline at his community:

At the very end of Compline, it has become a custom for the Abbot to bless the whole community by sprinkling them with holy water, a sort of evening dew. The monks then file into the Lady Chapel for a final hymn to Mary. This hymn changes with the seasons. For most of the year it is Salve Regina; at other times, there are Marian antiphons like the Regina Coeli or the Alma Redemptoris Mater, jewels of chant.

This custom has always reminded me of children being tucked up in bed at the end of the day by their mother. It brings a smile to my face to think of all those monks sweetly singing at day’s end to their Mother, opening themselves to the anima realm of their psyche, and entrusting themselves to the infinite darkness as maternal. Thus the part of the monastery indelibly linked for me with Compline is the Lady Chapel, where we return to our spiritual womb to be reborn again next morning.[7]

Jean-Luc Nancy’s words could almost have been written as a meditation to be placed on Mary lips as she gazed upon the Christ-Child, the Bread of Life, in whom all our hungers are satisfied:

Tomorrow morning, God willing, you will awake again: sleep my child, sleep my soul, sleep my world, sleep my love, sleep my little one, the child will sleep soon, already he’s sleeping, look he goes to sleep with the first night of the world, the divine child who plays with the dice of the universe and of all its centuries, he sleeps with every night that rocks anew, tirelessly the repetition of the first, of the initial nocturnal lullaby where the first day fell asleep with the first sleep.[8]

The new day will come, before which we sing, ‘Ave Regina caelorum’:

Hail, Queen of Heaven, beyond compare,
To whom the angels homage pay;
Hail, Root of Jesse, Gate of Light,
That opened for the world’s new Day

Rejoice, O Virgin unsurpassed,
In whim our ransom was begun,
For all your loving children pray
To Christ, our Saviour, and your Son.

As we prepare now to lay ourselves down to sleep let us close in prayer before sleep with the words of St Alphonsus Liguori (1696-1787) entrusting us to the care of Jesus Christ, Blessed Mary and the angels.

Jesus Christ my God, I adore you and thank you for all the graces you have given me this day. I offer you my sleep and all the moments of this night, and I ask you to keep me from sin. I put myself within your sacred side and under the mantle of our Lady. Let your holy angels stand about me and keep me in peace. And let your blessing be upon me. Amen.

May we say, with Our Lady, ‘I sleep, yet my heart wakes’ (Song of Songs 5.2)


© Andrew Bishop, 2018




[1] “‘The Earthly Heaven’ – The Mother of God in the Teaching of St John of Damascus” in McLoughlin, W, & Pinnock, J,. 2002. Mary for Earth and Heaven: Essays on Mary and Ecumenism. Leominster: Gracewing. p. 358.
[2]
[3] Kontakion Tone 2 www.monachos.net/idomel accessed 19th March 2014
[4] Ivone Gebara and Maria Clara Bingemer, Mary, Mother of God, Mother of the Poor, trans. Phillip Berryman, (Maryknoll N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1989),119.
[5] Ware, ‘The Earthly Heaven’, 364.
[6] Dormition Sermon 2.10.
[7] David Steindl-Rast and Sharon Lebell, Music of Silence: A Sacred Journey Through the Hours of the Day. (Berkeley CA: Ulysees Press, 1998, 2002), 109.
[8] Nancy, The Fall of Sleep, 32-33.