When Comfort Feels Like a Cross

 

Preamble: A Humorous Confession

A day after a trip from my mission residence, while giving an update about my trip and welfare to our lone-Monk back at home I added this line:

“Meanwhile, my system calls for extra rest 😃

The mattress is both quite tempting and a punishment...

My body is not used to such embarrassing softness... 😊”

So went the note — half-humorous, half-true.  Yes, within that jest lies a truth that has long instructed the saints: that even comfort can become a cross when one’s soul has been schooled in discipline.

 The Uneasy Truce Between Body and Spirit

It is a strange thing — how what was meant to soothe the body can awaken unease in the soul.

The flesh, once trained to restraint, feels uneasy in indulgence. The body that once rejoiced in sacrifice feels the sting of softness as though it were a reproach.

“The flesh, when indulged, soon grows proud.” — St. Bernard of Clairvaux

Comfort is not evil; but it is dangerous when sought for its own sake. Ease dulls the edge of vigilance. When the senses are always pleased, the conscience often falls asleep.

The monk who once fasted for purity now finds that a soft bed can tempt him more than a sleepless night. Not because the mattress is sinful, but because ease has a way of whispering: “You have done enough.”

The Discipline of the Desert

Our fathers in the faith understood this well.

The desert fathers slept on reeds, not because God demanded pain, but because they feared forgetfulness. They knew that every comfort carries the seed of complacency, and every indulgence, if unguarded, invites spiritual drowsiness.

Yet the saints did not despise comfort absolutely. They used it, as they used suffering — to glorify God.

When comfort came, they accepted it as from His hand; when deprivation returned, they welcomed it as a teacher. In both, they practiced obedience.

Sanctifying Comfort

Here lies the secret: the aim is not to reject comfort, but to sanctify it.

Even a soft bed can become a cross when accepted with the right intention. There are times when God wills rest more than penance, silence more than labor, gentleness more than austerity.

Illness, fatigue, or the weariness of long travel — these are not moments to mortify the body, but to mortify the will that complains about the form of obedience God sends.

The soul that resists such rest out of pride — preferring its chosen mortifications to God’s will — is not yet truly detached. For pride can wear the garments of penance as easily as those of pleasure.

“Obedience is better than sacrifice.” — 1 Kings 15:22

 The Bed That Preaches

Let the mattress then preach!

Its softness humbles the flesh that once gloried in its strength. It says gently:

“Child of dust, thou art weak. Rest, and remember who sustains thee.”

Not all crosses are made of wood; some are woven of linen and down.

To sleep when Providence commands sleep — though one’s zeal would rather pray — can be as holy as rising for vigils when penance calls.

The test is not the material of the cross, but the obedience of the heart that carries it.

 Penance in Obedience

There are souls who will accept hunger but not health, who endure cold yet resent comfort. But the perfection of love lies in this: to prefer the will of God to our own preferences, whether they be harsh or tender.

When God sends sickness, we learn patience;

when He sends recovery, we learn gratitude;

when He sends softness, we learn humility.

Even comfort, rightly offered, becomes a prayer.

Rest as Prayer

To lie still in obedience is not idleness. It is a hidden sacrifice — a quiet “Fiat” whispered beneath the blanket.

The heart at peace in God’s will has already conquered both the temptation of comfort and the vanity of chosen austerity.

“Whether you eat or drink, or whatsoever you do, do all to the glory of God.” — 1 Corinthians 10:31

A holy rest, sanctified by intention, is not far from the peace of Heaven. It teaches that God’s will, not our rigor, is the true measure of sanctity.

The Science of the Saints

The saints were not merely heroes of penance; they were scientists of grace.

They learned to measure the weight of every moment — the pain that purifies, and the comfort that tests detachment.

They discovered that holiness is not in what we endure, but in how we obey.

Thus they could embrace both the hard plank of penance and the soft bed of obedience with equal peace, saying in all things:

“Not my comfort, but Thy will be done.” — cf. Luke 22:42

The Final Lesson

So when comfort feels like a cross, thank God — for He is teaching you a subtler obedience.

He is proving whether your love is for austerity or for Him.

And when your flesh sighs under the weight of softness, whisper instead with joy:

“Even this, Lord, is Thy will; let it be sanctified.”

Then rest becomes prayer, the bed becomes an altar, and the weary heart learns at last the deepest peace:

that the Cross is not always pain, but always love.

Closing Invocation

 O Crucified Lord, teach me to accept every season Thou sendest —the vigil of toil and the hour of rest.

Let not comfort corrupt me, nor penance make me proud.

Whether upon the hard wood or the soft pillow, may I find Thee —and finding Thee, rest in Thee. Amen.

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