A DIVINE APPEAL: 2025

Flock Destroyed by Evil Powers in Nations

Divine Appeal Reflection - 31

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 31: "The devil will cast its evil powers into the nations and in a given moment will destroy the best part of My flock. "

From the heights of divine sorrow, Our Adorable Jesus unveils the gravity of evil’s advance, so that love may be tested and revealed. Evil is permitted to surge, yet the purpose is always purification and fidelity. Scripture (cf. Mt 24:11–12) foretells such hours, when darkness appears organized and truth seems fragile; false prophets will arise, and many hearts will grow cold . This is not despair but disclosure, as Christ speaks as the Good Shepherd who sees the wolf approaching and calls His sheep to vigilance (cf. Jn 10:11–13). The Catechism (cf. CCC 675) teaches that before the final consummation, the Church must endure a trial that shakes the faith of many, involving deception offering apparent solutions at the cost of truth. History echoes this pattern:(cf. Amos 6:1–6) Israel prospered outwardly while drifting inwardly from covenant fidelity . St. Gregory the Great observed that comfort often dulls spiritual vigilance. Daily life mirrors this warning: prayer reduced to habit, moral clarity softened for social acceptance, silence chosen over witness. The flock’s most precious part is endangered not by external forces, but by forgetfulness of God. Christ’s voice remains luminous—He reveals the storm so that the faithful may anchor themselves more deeply in Him.

Evil rarely announces itself with violence; it enters nations through ideas, habits, and systems detached from God. Scripture names this spirit “Babylon,” alluring yet corrosive, rich in power but empty of reverence (cf. Rev 18:2–7). The Catechism explains that personal sin gradually produces social structures that normalize evil and weaken resistance (cf. CCC 1865). Ignatius of Loyola discerned that the enemy prefers gradual compromise to open rebellion. This unfolds when truth is relativized “for peace,” injustice excused “for survival,” faith privatized “for tolerance.” Joseph chose integrity over advancement even when righteousness cost him freedom (cf. Gen 39:7–12). Daniel prayed openly despite political threats, (cf. Dan 6:10) anchoring his soul in God rather than fear . Christ warns that the flock’s strength is interior coherence, not influence or numbers. When conscience is dulled, even the faithful are vulnerable. Yet God allows exposure so that what is rooted in Him may be purified, separating attachment to comfort from attachment to Truth.

Throughout salvation history, God preserves a faithful remnant. Elijah believed all had forsaken God,(cf. 1 Kgs 19:14–18) yet the Lord revealed thousands hidden in silence who had not bowed to idols . God draws good even from the presence of evil, (cf. CCC 311)though the path remains mysterious . Throughout salvation history, God preserves a faithful remnant, often hidden in plain sight. Elijah despaired, (cf. 1 Kgs 19:14–18) believing all had abandoned God, yet the Lord revealed thousands who remained steadfast in silence, hearts unseen but alive in fidelity . What appears as emptiness or defeat may conceal the quiet work of divine grace. Jesus teaches that unless the grain of wheat falls and dies,(cf. Jn 12:24) it remains alone; yet through death, it bears abundant fruit . St. Maximus the Confessor illuminates this mystery: holiness is perfected in obscurity, where love is purified of self-interest and aligned entirely with God’s will. The soul that perseveres quietly in trial participates mystically in Christ’s Passion, sanctifying ordinary life beyond human sight.In the silence of obscurity and trial, the soul consents to God’s will, bearing spiritual fruit invisible to human eyes. Fidelity in hidden suffering, he shows, transforms ordinary endurance into a mystical participation in Christ’s Passion, sanctifying both heart and action beyond what the world can measure. In every vocation, the remnant exists quietly: a mother persevering in prayer for wandering children, a priest remaining faithful amid ridicule, a professional refusing corruption at personal cost, a youth guarding purity against mockery. Ruth’s covenant choice altered the destiny of nations (cf. Ruth 1:16). The “best part” is never lost when united to the Cross. Christ gathers His own even when scattered, marking them invisibly with fidelity.

Christ once asked whether faith would still be found at His coming (cf. Lk 18:8). Vigilance is not anxiety but sustained love. Conscience must be continually formed, lest repeated compromise blind moral judgment (cf. CCC 1783–1785). St. John Henry Newman insisted that conscience remain obedient to truth, not shaped by convenience. Vigilance is concrete: choosing prayer over distraction, truth over popularity, mercy without surrendering justice. Families live this vigilance by blessing, correcting, forgiving; workers through integrity when shortcuts tempt; consecrated souls through fidelity to prayer when results fade. Mary exemplifies supreme watchfulness—pondering mysteries she did not fully understand, (cf. Lk 2:19; Jn 19:25) yet remaining steadfast beneath the Cross . Our Adorable Jesus invites hearts to discern the times without surrendering hope. Darkness spreads when souls sleep spiritually, but light is preserved where obedience quietly endures.

The final horizon is not destruction but victory purified through the Cross. Scripture reveals the Lamb standing as though slain, reigning precisely through His wounds (cf. Rev 5:6–10). The Catechism (cf. CCC 677) affirms that Christ’s Kingdom will not come by human triumph, but by God’s decisive victory over evil . Saint Athanasius resisted heresy, saint Catherine of Siena endured ecclesial decay,saint Maximilian Kolbe embraced death for love of neighbor; all testify that fidelity outlives every empire. In all states of life, hope becomes tangible through perseverance: teaching truth, loving sacrificially, praying when prayer feels barren. The final word belongs to Love, who endured the Cross, rose in glory, and reigns eternally over every heart and circumstance, unseen yet sovereign, shaping even our suffering into redemption and our fidelity into everlasting fruit.Christ promises not exemption from darkness, (cf. Mt 28:20) but His abiding Presence within it . What seems lost may be hidden for resurrection. The flock may be shaken but is never abandoned.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, enthrone Your light within our hearts. Keep us faithful when nations tremble, vigilant when truth is blurred, steadfast when fear whispers retreat. Hide us in Your Sacred Heart, that through every trial, love may reign and never fail. Amen.

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.

Divine Appeal 31

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“There are too many enemies, militant atheists who want to obliterate fraternal love in the world...”

“My daughter, pray a great deal and atone for humanity. Many do not want to believe or to heed My Words. Their hearts are invaded by satan and there are no signs of repentance! Mercy is allowed by Divine Justice. There are too many enemies, militant atheists who want to obliterate fraternal love in the world substituting it with division and bloody wounds. The void provoked by them must be completely filled by Faith, Charity and Humility. My Word is addressed to everyone to do penance and pray. Pray and do penance to save humanity and you will obtain God’s predilection.

The world is in ruins. This sin brings ruin and death, floods, earthquakes, hunger, and famines. The deadly weapons will not only exterminate the armies but also the holiest and most sacred things. People induce the evil forces and are ready to set them loose over the world. They no longer hide their objective. Man is submerged in the muddy tide of corruption which tries to drown the world. The devil will cast its evil powers into the nations and in a given moment will destroy the best part of My flock. My consecrated ones who have lost all love only abuse Me and spit on Me. The roaring lion will advance on... to diffuse his errors. These hurt Me more then sin.

The devil has unleashed the most terrible battle against Me and My Eternal Father. What a pain to Me! He has dragged many souls to the life of perdition. My desire is to save.

What you do is not of you, you remain as if you were asleep and I act in you. This is why you are in a state of slumber.”

“I bless you in My Own Name.”

27th October 1987

Jesus’ Sadness for Unsacramental Marriages

Divine Appeal Reflection - 30

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 30: "... many marriages without sacraments because they have made allowances for this liberty. This is sad for Me."

From the heights of His pierced Heart, Our Adorable Jesus speaks with a sorrow that is wholly divine: the sorrow of the Bridegroom whose covenant is delayed, diluted, or set aside. His lament is not accusation but yearning love. Marriage, conceived in eternity and entrusted to humanity at the dawn of creation, was always meant to be a sacramental echo of God’s own fidelity (cf. Gen 2:24; Mt 19:6). Yet many now live in unions unsealed by grace, persuaded that liberty lies in keeping doors open rather than in giving oneself entirely. This false liberty mirrors the ancient temptation of Eden, where autonomy was chosen over communion (cf. Gen 3:1–7). Christ beholds couples burdened by economic uncertainty, cultural instability, and fear born of broken examples. He sees them striving to love sincerely, yet without the supernatural bond that sustains love when the cross appears. The Catechism teaches that sacramental marriage confers a grace that heals the wounds of sin and elevates human love into a sign of Christ’s union with the Church (cf. CCC 1641–1642). Jesus’ sadness flows from seeing love attempt eternity without eternity’s help. Like houses raised on sand, such unions tremble under storms (cf. Mt 7:26–27). His appeal is the whisper of a wounded Lover: Do not refuse the grace meant to carry you home.

Where the sacrament is absent, a subtle desolation often enters the soul. Couples may share life yet hesitate to give themselves without reserve, guarding the heart against possible loss. This unspoken insecurity weakens patience, erodes forgiveness, and quietly impoverishes joy. Children formed in such climates may inherit fear of permanence, learning to love cautiously rather than faithfully. Our Adorable Jesus, who gathered children into His arms as heirs of the Kingdom (cf. Mk 10:14), grieves when the domestic church lacks sacramental anchorage. Spiritually, many couples drift from the Eucharist, sensing a dissonance between their lived reality and the altar of covenant. The Church (cf. CCC 1118) teaches that the sacraments draw believers into full communion with Christ and His Body . Scripture (cf. Jer 11:10–11) reveals the communal cost of broken covenant: when Israel strayed, the land itself mourned . Yet Christ approaches these wounded hearts as He did the Samaritan woman— (cf. Jn 4:16–18) naming the truth gently while offering living water . His sadness endures because thirst remains unsatisfied where grace is withheld. Still, hope persists: where humility opens the door, healing begins.

The modern world, anxious before permanence, offers substitutes for sacrament: trials without vows, contracts without covenant, emotions without sacrifice. These promise safety yet breed restlessness. Our Adorable Jesus reveals a higher wisdom: love bears fruit only when it consents to be broken and given (cf. Jn 12:24). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1601–1604) recalls that marriage belongs to God’s original plan, wounded by sin but restored and elevated by Christ . Scripture testifies that renewal always flows from renewed covenant: families recommit after exile (cf. Neh 10:28–30), Ruth binds herself irrevocably amid poverty (cf. Ruth 1:16–17), and Joseph (cf. Mt 1:24; 2:13–15) embraces perilous fidelity to safeguard the Holy Family . When marriage is stripped of sacramentality, the wound is not merely social but mystical. The covenant ceases to be a visible theology, and love is reduced to emotion rather than vowed self-gift. Our Adorable Jesus grieves not only broken homes, but the eclipse of a living sign through which His own fidelity once preached without words. His sadness is prophetic because He sees generations formed without a grammar for permanence, hearts trained to depart rather than to abide. When cultures forget how to remain, they also forget how God remains—silently, patiently, unto the end. Yet whenever couples choose sacramental fidelity against the current, heaven rejoices. Their vows become a quiet proclamation that grace is stronger than fear.

Christ does not abandon those walking without the sacrament; He walks beside them. The path of healing is marked by accompaniment—slow, reverent, and truthful. Many remain outside sacramental marriage not through rebellion, but through ignorance, shame, or wounds unhealed. Our Adorable Jesus reveals this pedagogy on the road to Emmaus:(cf. Lk 24:13–35) He listens, enlightens, and reveals Himself only when hearts are ready . The Church (cf. CCC 1735) recognizes that responsibility may be diminished by complex circumstances, calling for patient discernment . Healing unfolds where couples are welcomed, catechized gently, and supported concretely. Shared prayer, even in fragility, invites grace to soften resistance (cf. Mt 18:20). Saints knew that God often restores order gradually, healing before perfecting. When priests reflect Christ’s tenderness and families witness joyfully, fear loosens its grip. Jesus’ sadness recedes whenever truth is offered as mercy and mercy leads souls home to truth.

In the end, Our Adorable Jesus lifts His gaze toward hope. He calls couples to rediscover marriage as sacred vocation and ecclesial mission. The sacrament empowers spouses to sanctify one another and to become living signs of Christ’s unbreakable union with His Church (cf. CCC 1642; Eph 5:32). Scripture assures that God delights in restoration: hearts of stone become hearts of flesh (cf. Ez 36:26), fallen apostles are raised into shepherds (cf. Jn 21:15–17),(cf. Lk 24:5–7) and the Cross opens into resurrection . When couples courageously embrace sacramental grace, the effects radiate outward—children learn fidelity, societies recover hope, and the Church’s light intensifies. Jesus’ sadness is thus transfigured into longing love, waiting at the threshold of many homes. He stands as Bridegroom, hands still pierced, whispering to every heart: Let Me seal your love with My own.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, Eternal Bridegroom, draw wounded love back into Your covenant. Dispel fear with grace, heal hearts with truth, and consecrate homes with Your presence. May marriages become living altars of fidelity, where Your pierced love is made visible to the world. Amen.

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.

Divine Appeal 30

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“... many marriages without sacraments... This is sad for Me.”

“My daughter, write down what I tell you. With all My Love I appeal to this humanity. My Heart is pierced by mortal sins and blasphemies of all kinds! The world has united itself to Satan. I want these sins to be appeased by prayer and penance! The world is destroying itself! Italy will be crippled by her assassinations. Rome is readying itself to be destroyed by the surge of godless consciences; corruption has reached the limit! ... are held responsible for many marriages without sacraments because they have made allowances for this liberty. This is sad for Me.

Small fires have been set alight everywhere like a contagious plague which inundates souls and enslaves them to everything. The Romans themselves will betray Rome and all of Italy. Many spies and traitors deny their own fatherland. I am abused and spat upon by My Own consecrated ones. I am denied and profaned! They neither believe in My Mystical Body nor do they want to believe. What a pain! My daughter! Pray a great deal. My Churches will be devastated and sacked and My Sacred Body trampled underfoot. They no longer want to serve My Eternal Father being without grace.”

“I bless you.”

3.00 a.m., 25th October 1987

Prayer Sustained by Grace

Divine Appeal Reflection - 29

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 29: "I give you strength to pray always"

In this Divine Appeal, Our Adorable Jesus speaks not as a teacher imposing a burden, but as the Eternal Intercessor revealing a mystery already at work within the soul. “I give you strength to pray always” is a declaration of grace preceding effort, echoing the primordial dialogue where God seeks man before man seeks God (cf. Gen 3:9). Prayer, therefore, is first divine initiative, the movement of the Spirit crying within us toward the Father (cf. Rom 8:26). The Catechism (cf. CCC 2567–2569) affirms that prayer springs from the heart touched by grace, where covenant is renewed before words are formed . Moses on the mountain, arms upheld while Israel battles below, reveals that persevering prayer sustains the world even when human strength fails (cf. Ex 17:8–13). This strength is not emotional fervor but fidelity sustained by God Himself. Saints perceived this interiorly: Augustine recognized that the very longing for God is already His work within us. In daily life, this mystery unfolds quietly—when fatigue does not extinguish remembrance of God, when the heart returns despite distraction, when silence itself becomes consent. Elijah’s encounter with the gentle whisper teaches that divine strength often comes without sensation . Thus, prayer becomes less an act we perform and more a place we dwell, sustained by Christ’s own abiding presence.

The strength to pray always is inseparable from the Cross. In Gethsemane, Jesus reveals that prayer perseveres precisely where human resolve collapses (cf. Mt 26:38–41). The disciples’ sleep exposes human frailty, yet Christ’s fidelity manifests divine perseverance offered to all. The Catechism (cf. CCC 2725–2729) names prayer a spiritual battle, not won by willpower but by humble reliance on the Spirit . St. Teresa of Ávila taught that when prayer feels barren, love is being purified of self-seeking. The Psalms disclose this truth: (cf. Ps 42; Ps 130) lament and trust coexist within authentic prayer . In contemporary vocations, this strength appears where prayer seems most impossible—parents overwhelmed by responsibility, priests burdened by misunderstanding, the sick enduring prolonged dependence, the young assaulted by constant noise. To pray always here means remaining with Jesus rather than fleeing interiorly. David’s persistence before God, even in desolation, reveals that prayer matures through endurance (cf. Ps 63). Jesus gives strength not by removing weakness but by inhabiting it, (cf. 2 Cor 12:9) fulfilling the promise that divine power is perfected in human frailty .

This Divine Appeal also unveils the Eucharistic heart of prayer. The disciples of Emmaus recognized Christ not through argument but through broken bread, where hearts burned before understanding followed (cf. Lk 24:30–32). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1324; 2697) teaches that the Eucharist is the source from which prayer draws its life and direction . Saints such as Francis of Assisi learned to live Eucharistically, allowing adoration to overflow into ordinary existence. Thus, prayer extends beyond sacred space: work offered in faith, suffering borne in trust, patience practiced in love. Paul’s exhortation (cf. 1 Thess 5:17) to pray without ceasing reveals a life oriented entirely toward God, where every act becomes an offering . Peter’s tears after denial show that repentant prayer can become the birthplace of mission (cf. Lk 22:61–62). Jesus strengthens prayer by teaching the soul to return—again and again—without despair. The strength He gives is mercy renewed daily (cf. Lam 3:22–23). In this way, prayer becomes participation in Christ’s eternal intercession before the Father, who lives always to plead for humanity (cf. Heb 7:25).

Finally, “I give you strength to pray always” reveals prayer as hidden mission. Abraham’s intercession for Sodom discloses the mysterious power entrusted to those who stand before God on behalf of others (cf. Gen 18:22–33). The Catechism identifies intercession as prayer shaped by communion with Christ’s redemptive love (cf. CCC 2634–2636). Saints understood that fidelity in prayer restrains evil and releases mercy into history. In our age of fragmentation, prayer offered in obscurity—homes, hospitals, offices, silent suffering—becomes a bridge between heaven and earth. Mary at the foot of the Cross embodies this strength: (cf. Jn 19:25) silent, steadfast, consenting without comprehension . She teaches that prayer endures not through clarity but through love. In every vocation, prayer becomes a daily fiat, renewing availability to God’s will (cf. Lk 1:38). Jesus does not seek heroic intensity but persevering surrender. Strength to pray always is the grace to remain, to trust, and to love until time itself is gathered into praise and every breath becomes an answer to His Divine Appeal.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, You promise strength beyond our weakness. Sustain our prayer when words fail and courage wanes. Let Your Spirit pray within us, that our lives—hidden or visible—may become ceaseless intercession for the world and glory for the Father. Amen.

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.

Divine Appeal 29

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“My daughter, pray and atone. I give you strength to pray always. I am pierced by many swords but I will forgive all those who will come repentant. Do not worry about what to do. Follow what I tell you. Prepare yourself. My Blood flows and wants to cover this corrupt world. I warn this world, full of horrors, for which a tremendous punishment is prepared. The thin line that separates it from the precipice will break; there will be no other way to salvation because there are many who do not want to hear My Call.

The souls I love very much do not understand that the tyrant has stolen their hearts locking them up in the prison of scandal and all kinds of malicious corruption. Both hatred and emptiness have fettered them to evil. They do not think that they cause Me so much pain. My Gaze does not penetrate them. They do not want to humble themselves again and repent. It is a great pain for Me to see many of My consecrated ones abusing Me anyhow. If they want to be saved they have to accept the forgiveness from the Blood which I shed for them. I want to release them from their sins.

I will shelter them with My Mantle of Mercy if only they repent.

If they continue to live in corruption there will be no mercy but rather tears, mourning, earthquakes, floods, and sickness of all kinds. These poor people are blind and deaf to My call of love. The air is contaminated and everything is full of sin. Men’s hands are armed and a great punishment will befall them. I love them; this is why I warn them before it is too late for them to repent. They should

pray more.”

“I bless you.”

24th October 1987

Pride and Egoism, the Cause of All Destruction

Divine Appeal Reflection - 28

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 28: "Look at the world with My Own Light. You will understand that pride and egoism are the causes of all destruction."

Most beloved souls, Our Adorable Jesus does not speak from a distance; He leans close, as one who has walked our roads, felt rejection, tasted fatigue, and loved unto the end. When He asks us to look at the world with His Light, He is inviting us into His own way of carrying humanity in His Heart. This Light is tender, not harsh—clear, not cold. It is the Light that searched Adam in the garden not to accuse, but to restore relationship . Jesus knows that ruin rarely begins in open hatred, but in a quiet inward curve of the heart, where the soul slowly forgets it was fashioned for communion. Scripture unveils this pattern repeatedly (cf. Wis 2:21): when the self quietly occupies the center once reserved for God, harmony begins to unravel. The Church names this mystery with gentle clarity, teaching that pride bends freedom inward until the self becomes its own measure (cf. CCC 398). The saints recognized this drama within themselves. Saints recognized the subtle workings of pride within their own hearts. Saint Gianna Beretta Molla discovered that even noble intentions can shelter the self from complete trust, and only in selfless surrender did her heart rest in God. The Light of Jesus remains tender, for He knows that pride often arises from fear—the fear of being overlooked, unappreciated, or left unguarded before love. To behold with Him is to understand not only what is fractured within, but the hidden reasons that shape its turning, and to draw it gently into the embrace of God’s mercy.

Jesus’ Light reveals that pride is rarely loud. It often lives quietly in ordinary days—in the need to win an argument, the refusal to apologize, the silent judgment of others. Scripture shows us Saul not as a monster, but as a man slowly overtaken by insecurity, until ego eclipsed obedience (cf. 1 Sam 15:17–23). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1849) echoes this human truth: sin grows when the heart clings to itself rather than entrusting itself to God . The saints of our own time learned this truth slowly, often through the surrender of their fragility. Saint John Paul II discovered that suffering, embraced in love, becomes a language through which the body proclaims hope. Saint Teresa of Calcutta allowed obscurity and interior darkness to become a space of fidelity rather than proof of absence. Saint Charles de Foucauld learned that humility flowers when one consents to be forgotten, choosing Nazareth over recognition. In daily life, humility remains deeply human: remaining faithful without applause, serving when gratitude never comes, accepting limits without self-protection. The Light of Jesus reassures the soul that humility does not erase dignity—it reveals it, allowing love to remain pure and free. He knows that egoism exhausts the soul. Pride promises strength but delivers loneliness. Christ sees this and says, gently but firmly: “Let Me show you another way.” His Light restores truth by reminding us that we were never meant to carry life alone.

Jesus’ Light always leads to humility—not humiliation, but truth lived peacefully. He Himself shows us this path, kneeling to wash tired feet, knowing betrayal still lay ahead (cf. Jn 13:3–5). The Catechism (cf. CCC 2559) teaches that humility opens the door to prayer because it accepts dependence as gift, not failure . Saints learned this slowly, often through their own weakness. Saint Gianna Beretta Molla discovered that love reaches its fullness when life is entrusted beyond self-preservation. The saints were initiated into this mystery slowly, through the quiet undoing of self. Saint Teresa of Calcutta learned that darkness itself could become a dwelling place for love when consent replaced understanding. Saint Gianna Beretta Molla discovered that self-gift reaches its summit when life is entrusted without reserve. Saint José Sánchez del Río revealed that even youth can pass through fear into luminous fidelity. In daily life, humility unfolds as a sacred descent: surrendering the need to be right, loving without being mirrored, resting in limitation without resistance. The Light of Jesus does not diminish the soul in this descent—it transfigures it, revealing dignity hidden within surrender. For when we stop protecting the ego, love finally has room to grow. Scripture (cf. 2 Cor 12:9) assures us that Christ’s strength rests precisely where self-sufficiency ends . Pride tightens the heart; humility softens it. And softened hearts heal worlds.

Jesus’ Light exposes how egoism slowly dismantles joy from the inside. Judas did not wake up desiring betrayal; (cf. Jn 12:6) his heart gradually closed as self-interest replaced intimacy . The Catechism (cf. CCC 1865) reminds us that repeated interior choices shape the soul’s direction. Saints understood this human fragility. Saint Bernard warned that self-love, if unexamined, turns even good intentions inward. In daily routines—how we speak, decide, react—egoism subtly asks, “What do I gain?” Jesus’ Light gently asks instead, “Whom do you love?” Egoism reduces others to functions; humility restores them as persons. In marriages, this Light heals silent resentment. In community life, it dissolves competition. In work, it restores integrity. Christ knows that destruction often looks like exhaustion, cynicism, and distance from prayer. He sees the soul growing tired under the weight of self. His Light offers rest by re-centering love.

When Jesus gives us His Light, He entrusts us with hope. Mary’s lowliness becomes the place where salvation enters history (cf. Lk 1:48). The Church (cf. CCC 1733) teaches that true freedom flourishes when the heart consents to truth . In every vocation, humility quietly rebuilds what pride dismantles. Parents form peace by patience. Priests heal by transparency. Consecrated souls witness by surrender. Professionals sanctify by integrity. Saint Benedict described humility as a ladder—each step downward restoring order within. Jesus’ Light teaches us to recognize pride not only in the world, but gently within ourselves, without fear. For Scripture promises that grace flows naturally toward the humble (cf. Jas 4:6). Divine Appeal 28 is therefore deeply human: it names our wound and offers its remedy. To look with Christ’s Light is to let love reclaim the center, allowing God to heal the world—one humbled heart at a time.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, give us Your way of seeing. Gently uncover the pride we hide and the ego that weighs us down. Teach us humble love in ordinary moments. Reorder our hearts with Your truth, that peace may return within us and quietly heal the world. Amen.

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.

Following the Narrow Paths

Divine Appeal Reflection - 28

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 28: "The world cries when suffering but I tell you the souls that follow Me by the narrow paths are very few."

From the eternal heights of divine wisdom, Our Adorable Jesus speaks not as a judge of human pain but as its Redeemer. His word descends from a gaze that sees beyond the noise of lament into the hidden orientation of the heart. The world cries because it suffers, yet suffering alone does not lead upward; it can turn inward, harden, or scatter the soul. Christ reveals a more luminous mystery: pain becomes salvific only when it consents to be carried with Him. Scripture unveils this pattern early— (cf. Ex 14:10–13) Israel groans in bondage, but trembles when freedom requires trust without signs . Jesus Himself learns obedience through what He suffers, not to escape pain, but to transfigure it into filial surrender (cf. Heb 5:8–9). The Catechism (cf. CCC 309, 314) teaches that divine providence does not remove suffering mechanically but orders it toward a greater good within freedom . The narrow path, therefore, is not an elite route but the interior ascent where love chooses fidelity over relief. In daily life, this ascent unfolds quietly: when truth is upheld at personal cost, when prayer is chosen over distraction, when endurance replaces complaint. The world cries outwardly; Christ invites an inward consent. Few follow because the narrow path requires stillness, trust, and the courage to let suffering become a place of encounter rather than escape. Yet it is here that the soul begins to participate in divine wisdom.

Our Adorable Jesus discloses a piercing truth: many carry suffering, but few allow it to convert desire. The narrow path is entered when the will yields—not in resignation, but in love. The rich young man’s sorrow reveals a heart divided between God and security (cf. Mk 10:21–22). Job, stripped of every assurance, dares to question yet remains turned toward God, and is led into deeper knowledge rather than explanation (cf. Job 42:1–6). The Catechism (cf. CCC 618, 1521) affirms that Christ invites every disciple to unite freely in His redemptive suffering, making it a participation rather than a burden imposed from without . A good soul is forged in trial. St. Maximus the Confessor teaches that suffering strips love of self-interest, refining it to move toward God alone. Spouses choose covenant over fleeting emotion; young adults embrace integrity over acceptance; priests remain faithful amid misunderstanding; the sick offer dependence without bitterness . In this purification, love becomes transparent, resting wholly in God. Such souls, rare and hidden, console the Heart of Our Adorable Jesus through their enduring fidelity.The world cries because it seeks relief without transformation. Christ walks the narrow path because He knows that love matures only when tested. Few follow because this way strips illusions gently but thoroughly. Yet those who remain discover that suffering, (cf. Rom 8:17–18) once consented to in love, becomes a teacher of freedom and a wellspring of compassion .

Salvation history reveals that God often advances His designs through a faithful remnant rather than the multitude. Elijah’s despair is answered by the revelation of hidden souls preserved by God (cf. 1 Kgs 19:14–18). Simeon and Anna, shaped by waiting and silence, recognize the Messiah missed by the learned and powerful (cf. Lk 2:25–38). The Catechism (cf. CCC 769, 677) teaches that the Church herself journeys by this narrow way—purified through trial, sustained by hope, often appearing small and powerless . This unveils the vocation of “small hosts” in every state of life: souls who consent to be quietly offered with Christ for the salvation of many (cf. CCC 1368, 958). St. John Climacus writes that hidden fidelity fashions the soul more profoundly than visible achievement. This vocation is lived when ordinary sacrifices are embraced without spectacle: patient caregiving, unseen honesty, persevering prayer amid dryness. The world cries because it equates significance with visibility. Jesus reveals that hidden offering sustains the world from within. The Beatitudes proclaim this divine inversion,(cf. Mt 5:3–10; CCC 1716–1717) where meekness, mercy, and purity carry eschatological power . Few accept this call because it offers no immediate reward. Yet these small hosts become interior sanctuaries where Christ continues His redemptive self-gift.

Our Adorable Jesus speaks this Appeal with grave tenderness, for He knows that the world’s endurance depends upon these hidden fidelities. Like Moses whose raised hands determined the unseen tide of battle, their perseverance mediates grace beyond measure (cf. Ex 17:8–13). The Catechism (cf. CCC 2634–2636) affirms that within the communion of saints, the sufferings and prayers of one mysteriously benefit all . Small hosts do not seek suffering; they consent to offer it. They unite fatigue, loneliness, misunderstood obedience, and persevering love to the Eucharistic sacrifice, where Christ perpetually offers Himself for the life of the world . A heart widened by compassion becomes a temple where God’s mercy can dwell. This is the hidden vocation of the “small hosts”: souls who receive the world’s suffering as a quiet gift, offering it in union with Christ. It is lived not only in chapels or cloisters but wherever life unfolds—the exhausted parent who bends over a restless child, the nurse who holds a trembling hand in silence, the office worker who refuses corruption despite pressure, the stranger who offers a smile to one unnoticed. The world weeps because its suffering cannot find a resting place; it is open, scattered around and frequently turned down. But Jesus looks for those hearts which are ready to receive it, not through condemnation or neglect but with awe and care, letting every tear and every suffering be enclosed in His own wounded Heart and lifted up in prayer to the Father. In this mystical exchange, the pain is turned into the holy: it is given, changed, and returned to the world as mercy. The small host lives at the point where the seen and the unseen meet, and where the silent, unnoticed, and consistent acts of love become the paths connecting human despair with divine compassion. There may be very few who tread this way, but each secret loyalty adds to the strength of creation, making God’s mercy open, felt, and mysteriously present in the midst of a weeping world. Though few walk this narrow path, their hidden offering restrains darkness and hastens mercy, until suffering itself is gathered into eternal love (cf. Col 1:24).

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, lift us into Your wisdom and draw us onto Your narrow path. Make us small hosts in every vocation, offering our daily sufferings with You. May our hidden fidelity console Your Heart and obtain mercy for a suffering world. Amen.

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.

Divine Appeal 28

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“I want all to be saved. It is My Desire –pray and atone.”

“My daughter pray and never tire. Abandon yourself completely to My call so that I am able to act as I want in you. I will reveal My desire to you. I have saved the world through sufferings on the Cross. Sin is an infinite offence against My Heart. Offer your sufferings united to My Heart’s merits for restitution, for the scandals of others. The world cries when suffering but I tell you the souls that follow Me by the narrow paths are very few.

I have come to you all of a sudden and am afflicted by the sins of this humanity. Many hearts are still distant from Me and My Divine Will. Nevertheless I love them all. Even those who hate Me I love them. My great pain is to see My own... spitting on Me as if I did not come in the world for their salvation. Woe to those who disdain My Words! They have a serious responsibility on their shoulders. Look at the world with My Own Light. You will understand that pride and egoism are the causes of all destruction. If hatred, prejudice and reproach are in their hearts as well, what can I do with them? I want all to be saved.

It is My Desire –pray and atone. Above all accept the trials that come your way reminding yourself that everything has an exact purpose which is to prepare you. Accept whatever could humiliate you; above all, trials that place you in contradiction with the world and with all who surround you.”

“I bless you.”

3.30 a.m., 22nd October 1987

Good Souls, Rare and Radiant

Divine Appeal Reflection - 27

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 27: "Good people are scarce."

Most beloved souls, there is a softness in the lament of Our Adorable Jesus that feels almost fragile, as though Love itself has learned to whisper so as not to frighten wounded hearts. He does not grieve with thunder. He sighs with the sorrow of One who knows every soul by name. He notices what the world overlooks: truly good souls are rare—not because goodness is distant, but because total surrender is costly. A heart that remains open beneath His Gaze becomes exquisitely sensitive, easily misunderstood, often hidden beneath the veil of ordinary life. These souls do not announce virtue or curate holiness. They remain faithful when unseen, echoing the hidden years of Nazareth (cf. Lk 2:51). Their goodness is not rigid but living— (cf. Jn 3:21) breathing, trembling, persevering. They reject the fleeting approval of crowds and choose the quiet ache of truth . Jesus recognizes them as one recognizes a familiar presence in darkness. They are hidden springs beneath cracked ground, sustaining life invisibly (cf. Is 58:11). Saint Catherine of Siena burned with fearless truth amid chaos, while Saint Benedict Joseph Labre wandered unnoticed, carrying heaven in poverty. Scripture confirms this mystery: “The path of the just is like the light of dawn” (cf. Prov 4:18; CCC 1803–1805). The sadness in Jesus’ Heart is not disappointment—it is longing. For every heart fully His becomes quietly, dangerously powerful in love.

A good soul lives from an interior place few ever enter. Its center is not success, noise, or control, but Presence. Life becomes a hidden liturgy. Mundane tasks—washing, waiting, enduring misunderstanding—become sacred altars (cf. Rom 12:1). Like Mary “pondering all these things in her heart” (cf. Lk 2:19), the good soul carries God within daily rhythms. Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton sanctified maternal and domestic burdens, while Saint Joseph of Cupertino revealed that surrendered weakness becomes a doorway to intimacy. The good soul notices what others miss: a faltering voice, a silent grief, a moment where restraint loves more than speech . Nothing is wasted. Every act passes through God before touching the world . From this interior sanctuary, grace radiates outward— (cf. Phil 2:15; CCC 2563) into families, workplaces, and communities—often unnoticed yet deeply transformative . Without interiority, goodness becomes performance; with it, even silence proclaims Christ.

Love within a good soul is forged slowly, in the hidden alchemy of sacrifice. It is patient love—sometimes weary, often costly, always freely chosen again (cf. 1 Cor 13:4–7). Saint Damien of Molokai did not glorify suffering; he remained present. Saint Seraphim of Sarov did not flee the world; he transfigured it through union with God. This same mystery unfolds daily: gentleness under pressure, integrity when compromise tempts, mercy toward those who wound us . Each hidden sacrifice mystically echoes Calvary, where love and obedience met unto death (cf. Phil 2:8; CCC 618–619). Scarcity intensifies their impact. One faithful heart can steady many drifting ones (cf. Wis 3:7). When love is united to sacrifice, the good soul becomes a living sanctuary where Christ continues His redemptive work.

Good souls rarely draw attention, yet they change atmospheres. Their presence softens rooms, slows conversations, makes truth possible. They witness without spectacle, mirroring the quiet authority of Christ before Pilate . Saint Kateri Tekakwitha endured isolation without bitterness; Saint Vincent de Paul reshaped societies through persevering charity. Today, a good soul may defend truth gently, refuse cruelty in digital spaces, protect dignity in hidden decisions, or choose silence over division . Even unseen fidelity becomes light on a stand (cf. Mt 5:14–16). Mystically, the world bends—slowly, quietly—before integrity rooted in God (cf. Heb 3:4). Noise fades. What remains is clarity born of truth lived.

Scarcity, then, is not a verdict but a summons. Jesus’ soft lament is also an invitation. Hearts are formed through prayer, listening, repentance, and repeated surrender (cf. CCC 1428). Saint Maximilian Kolbe and Saint Teresa Couderc became heroic not through spectacle but through daily, hidden 'yeses'. Every pause to pray, every forgiveness offered, every refusal to harden the heart cooperates with grace . The responsibility is sacred: to remain light, to multiply grace, to allow love to pass through us undiminished. True greatness hides itself (cf. Mt 6:3–4). It kneels. It endures. It remains. And in doing so, it consoles the Heart of Our Adorable Jesus and quietly heals the world (cf. Prov 31:30; Phil 2:15).

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, draw us into the depth of Your Gaze. Form in us faithful, hidden hearts. Let our ordinary days become altars of surrender, love, and truth. May our quiet fidelities console Your Sacred Heart and draw weary souls back to Your eternal light. Amen.

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.

Divine Appeal 27

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“I allow myself to be seen after so many warnings. I give many signs. My Heart is overflowing at the same time as God’s anger! The Chalice is filled. Good people are scarce. They do not pray.”

“My daughter, pray for the whole of humanity. I want them to listen to Me. I am above this earth. I allow Myself to be seen after so many warnings. I give many signs. My Heart is overflowing at the same time as God’s anger! The Chalice is filled. Good people are scarce. They do not pray... I give you My Word to speak. I command you to hear what I tell you.

“I tell you, I am very pleased with My servant for starting the Mass of atonement. It is time to pray and to speak to people and reach their consciences. I am warning them because I love them.

“My daughter, I want to speak again and again without tiring: more prayers and sacrifices are needed to prevent the destroying of the Church and... Trampled upon, prayer and penance will save. I feel more consoled by you. The world is full of terror. The devil has taken possession of souls and this sinful humanity does not repent. This is why I really need to proclaim My Messages in all parts of the world. It has already been done but I still need them to hear that this is the grave hour. Do not be afraid. I have chosen you to hide Me in your heart. I will still reveal My love to you. Be an example. Suffer. I assure you that sufferings elevate to eternal life. Look! The light discerns good from evil.

“My daughter, pray especially in this secret hour. The freemasons, led by the Red Lucifer, their master, are trying to plan all the evil so that they do harm. But I tell you, I am all powerful enough to carry out My purpose beyond human understanding. All their evil will be in vain.”

“I bless you.”

3.00 a.m., 21st October 1987

Jesus’ Gaze on Loved Souls in Darkness

Divine Appeal Reflection - 26

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 26: "The souls I love so much do not understand that the tyrant has stolen their hearts, locked them up in the prison of scandal and all kinds of malicious corruption. Both hatred and emptiness have fettered them to evil. They do not think that they cause Me so much pain. My Gaze does not penetrate them. They do not want to humble themselves and repent and to beg forgiveness for the Blood which I shed for all of them."

There is a silent sorrow in the Heart of Our Adorable Jesus, deeper than emotion, born of love that sees and waits. He gazes upon humanity as a Father watching a child drift, not in rebellion, but in forgetfulness. The danger comes quietly, disguised as safety. Hearts are not seized by darkness; they are gently misplaced. Small compromises loosen their anchor, tolerated lies dim the inner light, unoffered fatigue creates distance. Grace is not expelled—it is crowded out. Jesus feels this drift within Himself, for every soul rests first in His Heart, and its quiet wandering wounds Love most. Scripture already knew this ache: a people hearing but not truly listening, seeing yet not perceiving (cf. Is 6:9–10). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1733, 1849) explains that when freedom is misused, it does not disappear—it collapses inward and becomes slavery . In daily life, this feels like waking up successful yet restless, surrounded yet lonely, busy yet hollow. Humanity does not feel captured; it feels distracted. Like Samson,(cf. Jgs 16:19–21) whose strength faded while he rested comfortably in deception , many discover loss only after it has already settled in. Saints recognized this pattern with painful clarity. Saint Augustine discerned that the heart fractures when it loves many things without returning to the One. Mystically, Jesus beholds this scattering as an inner exile. His sorrow is gentle yet piercing: souls drag unseen chains through life, mistaking weight for gravity, unaware that their weariness is the soul remembering the rest it once knew in Love.

Hatred and emptiness do not arrive shouting; they seep in quietly. Hatred often begins as disappointment, emptiness as boredom. Cain’s story shows this slow descent—his heart grew heavy before his hands grew violent (cf. Gn 4:6–8). The Catechism (cf. CCC 2284–2287) warns that when evil is normalized, it spreads silently, shaping consciences without resistance . Our adorable Jesus observes how modern life subtly steals hearts—not by coercion, but by subtle, seemingly harmless diversions: endless scrolling takes the place of the hallowed quiet where His voice lingers, anger simmers in place of introspection, and self-comparison dulls the straightforward joy of thankfulness. This stealthy theft was detected by saints such as John Chrysostom; while resentment may initially feel powerful, it eventually hollows the heart, leaving it tired and restless. This fatigue is intimate; it creeps into laughter that dies too soon, into nights that feel too long, into a ceaseless need to fill silence with noise. Mystically, the soul clings to what is familiar, even if it confines it: like Israel longing for Egypt when the desert demanded trust , the heart chooses small chains over the vulnerability of freedom. Jesus sees this exile in every human being as though it were His own; His broken heart is marked with the compromises, resentment, and silent surrender of trust. However, His eyes do not criticise; instead, they wait patiently and tenderly, reminding every soul that freedom is about communion rather than comfort. He challenges us to take a chance on letting go, to leave the comfortable prison and enter the freeing mystery of His love.Jesus watches in silence as hearts settle beneath their heritage, mistaking survival for the joy they were meant to have and numbness for serenity.

What pierces the Heart of Christ most is not rebellion, but unawareness. Humanity does not realize that love can be hurt. The prophets dared to speak of God’s pain so that people might understand the seriousness of indifference (cf. Hos 11:1–4). The Catechism (cf. CCC 598, 616) reminds us that Christ’s sacrifice is not distant history; it remains personally involved with every refusal of mercy . Saints who lived close to His Heart understood this well. Saint Margaret Mary spoke of a love that continues to give, even when unnoticed. In daily life, this wound in the Heart of Jesus shows itself quietly—when prayer is hurried without longing, when conscience is muted instead of listened to, when injustice is noticed yet passed by for the sake of comfort. Like David, the soul often feels no weight until truth, (cf. 2 Sm 12:7–13) spoken in love, finally awakens it . Likewise, Jesus does not accuse; He reveals. His pain is the pain of a friend left waiting, of a Savior whose gift is treated as ordinary.However, Love waits like a silent fire, ready to ignite at the slightest stir of the soul—a whispered sigh, a hesitant stride towards Him, a concealed turning inward—converting sorrow into grace with the gentleness only He can provide. This is why even this wound in His Heart turns into mercy.

The soul won't feel the heat of His gaze until it rises from the shadows it has cast—shadows formed by pride, doubt, and the minor comforts of familiarity that it mistakenly believed to be protection, but which actually only left it more estranged from the waiting Heart. There is a hidden reason the Gaze of Jesus sometimes does not penetrate the heart: fear—a trembling of the soul that shields itself from the intensity of Love, hesitant to surrender, yet longing secretly for the healing and freedom only His gaze can bring. Scripture (cf. Ps 139:1–4) tells us that God knows us completely—our thoughts, our hesitations, our contradictions . Yet the Catechism (cf. CCC 2002, 1742) insists that grace never forces itself; it knocks and waits . Saul was not overpowered on the road to Damascus; he was interrupted by truth . Saints teach that humility is simply letting oneself be seen. Saint Benedict described pride as self-protection, and humility as trust. In practical life, resistance looks like defending ourselves before listening, avoiding confession because it feels too exposing, filling every quiet moment with sound. Parents fear admitting mistakes, leaders fear appearing weak, believers fear discovering how much they need mercy. Jesus’ gaze heals only what is uncovered. He does not shame what He sees; He restores it. When the spirit bravely remains in silence under the look of Jesus, it finds a peculiar liberation—similar to coming out into the sunlight after having spent many years in darkness, where each inhalation is filled with the taste of unmerited grace.

Each person is invited into a place where grace meets vulnerability and love bends low to meet even the tiniest act of surrender by the very personal invitation to humility and repentance, which touches the soul like a whispered secret from the Heart of Jesus. Scripture reminds us that forgiveness is costly— (cf. Heb 9:22; 12:24) that blood was poured out so consciences could be cleansed . The Catechism (cf. CCC 1427–1431) teaches that conversion is not a single moment but a daily turning, again and again, toward mercy . Saints never grew tired of repeating this truth: the world changes when hearts soften. Saint Catherine of Siena insisted that renewal begins in honest self-knowledge held in God’s love. In daily life, this repentance becomes simple and concrete—saying “I was wrong,” choosing integrity when no one is watching, seeking reconciliation before sleep. To ask forgiveness for the Blood is to admit both our poverty and our worth. It is to say, “What You gave was precious, and I do not want to live as if it were cheap.” Humanity is not asked to be flawless, only truthful. When it kneels, it discovers that mercy has been waiting longer than its pride. The prison door opens from the inside.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, have mercy on us and all souls bound by hatred, emptiness, and scandal. Open our hearts to Your Gaze. Teach us humility and repentance. May Your Blood wash away corruption, restore love where there is coldness, and set all humanity free to rejoice in Your mercy and grace. Amen.

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.

Clearing the Contaminated Air of Sin

Divine Appeal Reflection - 26

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 26: "This poor humanity is blind and deaf to My call of love. I would like to insist on this and ask, 'Why don’t they pray more?' The air is contaminated; everything is full of sin. What a pain!"

The soul often loses sight not through rebellion but through saturation. Christ’s gaze falls upon hearts dulled by constant exposure—noise, urgency, compromise—until the interior senses grow weak. Scripture already names this condition when wisdom cries out in public places yet remains unheard (cf. Prv 1:20–24). The first movement of this roadmap is attentive sobriety: choosing to wake up interiorly. The Catechism teaches that recollection is not automatic;(cf. CCC 2691) it is a grace welcomed through discipline and humility . Consider Saint John of Avila, who warned that spiritual blindness begins when souls no longer notice God passing by. This awakening occurs in overlooked moments: a market vendor refusing dishonest weights, a commuter choosing silence instead of cynical talk, a farmer offering fatigue to God at dusk. These are not heroic gestures but attentive ones. Biblical personalities show this realism—Samuel learned to recognize the Lord’s voice only after repeated confusion and patient listening (cf. 1 Sam 3). Attentiveness grows through intentional pauses: stopping before decisions, blessing hands before work, consciously offering exhaustion. Each pause becomes a response to Christ’s gaze: “I am present, even if unclear.” Over time, attentiveness restores interior hearing, allowing grace to interrupt routine again. This first step does not purify the world, but it reopens the soul to being purified within it.

Prayer weakens when the heart adapts to spiritual pollution as normal. Scripture compares this to incense choked by foreign smoke (cf. Jer 6:20). The second movement is rehabilitation of prayer, not as eloquence but as fidelity. Saint Peter Julian Eymard observed that souls stop praying not because God is absent, but because they no longer expect Him to act. The Catechism (cf. CCC 2733) insists that prayer perseveres not by feeling but by decision, especially when dryness exposes hidden attachments . Prayer must be reinserted where life feels most compromised. For a shopkeeper, prayer may mean blessing the till before opening; for a nurse, offering hands before touching patients; for a teacher, entrusting difficult students silently. Biblical figures show this adaptability—Esther prayed amid political danger, not in sanctuary peace (cf. Est 4:16). Saints like Madeleine Sophie Barat taught that short, repeated invocations purify the heart gradually. Even prayer spoken without consolation cleanses the interior air, because fidelity resists suffocation. Each return to prayer—however imperfect—repositions the soul beneath Christ’s gaze, where contamination is not ignored but slowly healed.

Sin often spreads not through deliberate choice but through environmental absorption. Scripture speaks of cities whose injustice became habitual rather than shocking (cf. Am 6:1–6). The third movement is lucid discernment: learning to recognize what deforms vision. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1791) explains that repeated sin dulls conscience, making conversion appear unnecessary . Saint Catherine of Genoa described this as rust forming on the soul—gradual, unnoticed, yet obstructive. Discernment requires naming what clouds prayer: sarcasm normalized at work, impurity disguised as humor, small dishonesties justified as survival. For a driver, it may mean resisting road rage; for a politician, refusing quiet corruption; for a young adult, rejecting relational manipulation. Biblical personalities teach this vigilance—Lot’s distress in Sodom shows that remaining sensitive amid corruption is itself a grace (cf. 2 Pt 2:7–8). Daily examination of conscience becomes not self-accusation but clarity-seeking. Sacramental reconciliation restores transparency because it places the soul again before merciful sight . Each act of discernment clears space for prayer to breathe and for love to act without distortion.

True sight always seeks embodiment. Scripture consistently unites seeing God with walking rightly (cf. Mic 6:8). The fourth movement is transfiguration of duty: letting Christ’s gaze shape how tasks are performed. Saint Josephine Bakhita lived holiness through obedience in hidden labor, teaching that dignity restores vision even in oppression. This means offering excellence without applause: a mechanic repairing honestly, a caregiver maintaining patience, a religious fulfilling routine without complaint. The Catechism (cf. CCC 2013) affirms that holiness is accessible in every state of life through charity expressed concretely . Biblical figures model this integration—Bezalel served God through craftsmanship, not prophecy (cf. Ex 31:1–5). Each task, consciously offered, becomes intercession. Even resistance to sin—guarding speech, honoring boundaries, refusing exploitation—becomes apostolic. The gaze of Christ, received in prayer, is reflected outward through faithful action. Over time, environments begin to shift—not dramatically, but perceptibly—as integrity interrupts moral decay. Thus, the soul does not escape polluted air; it becomes a place where clarity quietly spreads.

The final movement is patient endurance. Christ’s gaze remains even when transformation is slow. Scripture assures that those who sow in tears will reap in joy, though seasons pass between (cf. Ps 126:5–6) . The Catechism (cf. CCC 2730) teaches that perseverance joins the believer to Christ’s own steadfast obedience . Saint Charles de Foucauld spent years unseen, yet his fidelity became seed for future fruit. Endurance looks like remaining honest when dishonesty prospers, remaining chaste when mocked, remaining prayerful when distracted. For widows, it is hope amid loneliness; for the chronically ill, trust amid unanswered petitions; for missionaries, love amid apparent failure. Biblical personalities reveal this patience— (cf. Gen 6–7) Noah labored long before rain justified obedience . Perseverance is sustained through Eucharistic life, Scripture, and remembrance of past mercies. Each day lived consciously before God becomes resistance against blindness. Gradually, the soul discovers that clarity has been growing quietly. The gaze of Christ, patiently endured, stabilizes sight and makes fidelity fruitful beyond what is visible.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, remain with us as light within confusion. Purify our sight, steady our prayer, and strengthen fidelity in ordinary duties. In every vocation, let our perseverance beneath Your gaze heal what is polluted, awaken what is numb, and quietly restore love where it has grown faint.

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.

Divine Appeal 26

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“The souls I love so much... Both hatred and emptiness have fettered them to evil.”

“My daughter, pray a great deal. I need your company at this particular time. Keep awake with Me. The souls I love so much do not understand that the tyrant has stolen their hearts, locked them up in the prison of scandal and all kinds of malicious corruption. Both hatred and emptiness have fettered them to evil. They do not think that they cause Me so much pain. My Gaze does not penetrate them. They do not want to humble themselves and repent and to beg forgiveness for the Blood which I shed for all of them. I came to seek, to save what was lost.

I would shelter them with My mantle of mercy if only they would repent; if they continue to live in corruption there will be no mercy but rather tears in all the nations, mourning, punishment, earthquakes, floods and sickness of all kinds. This poor humanity is blind and deaf to My call of love. I would like to insist on this and ask, “Why don’t they pray more?” The air is contaminated; everything is full of sin. What a pain!

My daughter, humanity has united itself completely with the devil. The priests are tranquil and worriless. They step all over Me and permit everything. I now ask them to open their eyes before it is too late. Let them know that My Arm falls inexorably and I only grant them time to reflect and repent. I ask again and again that all men may listen and come back to Me. I am stretching forth My Hands waiting to embrace any who will come to Me repentant.”

“I bless you.”

3.00 a.m., 20th October 1987

Jesus Begging for the Change of Lives

Divine Appeal Reflection - 25

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 25: "I, Jesus, have personally come to this earth to beg you to change lives"

At certain hours, the soul becomes aware of being held by a presence—light as breath, yet impossible to escape. It is not an inspection, nor a verdict, but a steady nearness that knows without accusing. In that quiet exposure, something within begins to loosen: a hidden truth rising, a resistance softening. God speaks here without words, drawing the heart into honesty: “Come as you are; nothing in you frightens Me.” It is the unsettling realization that God has drawn close, not to instruct from above, but to stand quietly before the human heart. Scripture reveals this intimacy when God asks, almost vulnerably, “Where are you?”—not for information, but for relationship (cf. Gen 3:9). This is the mystery of divine humility: the Eternal One approaching fragile freedom with reverence. The Catechism affirms that God’s call is always personal, always adapted to the human condition (cf. CCC 2567). Saints perceived this nearness as a divine condescension of love—God lowering Himself to be received. This gaze is experienced in everyday life in profoundly human ways, such as discomfort following hurtful remarks, a subtle pull towards reconciliation, or a desire for prayer that cuts through distraction. Parents may experience it when they watch a kid sleep; employees may experience it when they perceive the meaninglessness of accomplishment; and older people may experience it when memories come back to them with both sorrow and compassion. God does not invade these moments—He waits within them. Conversion begins not with fear, but with being touched by a love that dares to ask for change rather than impose it.

The Catechism teaches that conversion is a continual process, a daily turning that keeps the heart supple before God (cf. CCC 1428).What most resists this nearness is not sin itself, but postponement. The heart often says “later,” imagining time as neutral. Yet Scripture shows that delay slowly thickens the interior air. Jerusalem’s tragedy was not ignorance but reluctance (cf. Lk 19:44). Saints observed that grace neglected does not accuse—it fades into silence. Humanly, this silence appears as routine prayer, dulled conscience, relationships maintained but no longer tended. In families, it looks like unresolved tensions normalized; in professional life, compromises justified as survival; in spiritual life, fervor replaced by mere correctness. Still, God remains close. The Gospel repeatedly shows Him waiting for the smallest opening:(cf. Lk 19:5; Lk 22:62; Mt 9:9) Zacchaeus willing to be seen, Peter willing to weep, Matthew willing to rise . These were not grand resolutions but honest movements. Mystically, conversion begins when attention shifts—from self-protection to truth. God does not hurry us, but He does not grow indifferent. Love remembers the moment when the heart almost said yes.

There is a sorrow in God that almost cannot be spoken, because it is so delicate, so tender it feels alive. Christ’s tears are its voice—(cf. Lk 19:41) a quiet ache not born of failure, but of love left unopened . Sin is more than missteps; it is a gentle refusal of communion, a closing of the heart to the One who only seeks closeness .This vulnerability was felt by saints who stayed close to the Passion: God gives Himself up to our freedom, waiting for our permission rather than demanding it. This sadness can settle like a gentle weight in the quiet of prayer; it's not heavy, but it's demanding, a call to integrity that nudges rather than pushes. In ordinary days, it shows itself when life feels hollow, when routines no longer satisfy, when peace retreats despite our busyness, when we sense something essential within left unattended. God whispers here, as He did to Elijah—not in thunder, not in spectacle, but in the hush of intimacy . Peter’s restoration came gently, with patient questions instead of reproach (cf. Jn 21:15–17). To open ourselves to this call consoles the Heart of Christ, restoring the closeness that He longs for. Heaven rejoices when a soul finally leans in, allowing love to gather it. Surrender heals—not only the soul, but the tender, wounded love of God waiting to be embraced.

The Church teaches that grace is already at work before we choose it, sustaining every sincere desire for truth and life; no genuine movement towards the good begins in us alone (cf. CCC 1996). Saints consistently testified that holiness begins where self-reliance collapses into trust. Saint Bernadette Soubirous embodied trust in God’s voice at Lourdes, obeying even when understanding failed. Saint Giuseppe Moscati, through his medical practice, surrendered daily decisions to divine providence, offering ordinary work as a channel of grace. These saints witness that true holiness emerges where self-reliance dissolves into trust. In human experience, this moment often comes through exhaustion, failure, or success that feels strangely hollow. Nicodemus approached Jesus under cover of night—learned,(cf. Jn 3:2) respected, yet inwardly restless . Jesus did not demand reform; He invited rebirth. This pattern unfolds across all vocations: leaders learning humility, spouses rediscovering tenderness, ministers returning to love beyond function. Conversion is not moral renovation but surrender to a new source of life. Mystically, it is consenting to be carried where we once insisted on walking alone. God stoops not to expose weakness, but to dwell within it. To allow this is to exchange fragile autonomy for living dependence, where grace becomes breath.

When a heart consents—even without words—it becomes translucent to God.Grace, as light through pure water, passes by unnoticed but still giving life. Grace passes through it as light through clear water, unnoticed yet life-giving. Scripture reveals that conversion never remains private: Andrew does not argue;(cf. Jn 1:41) he simply brings Peter, as one who has been found . The Samaritan woman does not preach;(cf. Jn 4:39) she testifies from encounter, and a village stirs . Paul, once seized by mercy, carries within himself a fire that reorganizes entire communities (cf. Acts 9:20).In each case, mission flows not from strategy but from transformation. The Catechism quietly confirms this mystery: baptism inserts every believer into Christ’s own outreach, making ordinary lives channels of divine presence (cf. CCC 900). Mystically, the soul that yields becomes a dwelling where God is recognizable to others. In daily life, this appears as peace that disarms, fidelity that steadies, mercy that invites trust. No effort is made to convince—God convinces through the changed heart. Such lives speak because they have first listened. Saints understood that holiness persuades not by argument but by presence. In ordinary settings—homes, offices, schools, hospital rooms—renewed hearts become places of encounter. This is why God waits with such hope: the world is healed through transformed humanity. Hidden fidelity matters. A parent choosing patience, a worker choosing truth, a sufferer choosing trust—these are luminous acts. Mystically, God believes in the human heart because He fashioned it for Himself. To respond to His nearness is to allow our lives to echo His love, becoming silent invitations for others to return to communion.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, You draw near with unspeakable tenderness. We feel Your waiting within our restlessness and longing. We surrender our delay, our fear, our self-protection. Enter our ordinary lives and reshape us from within. Let our changed hearts console Yours and awaken hope in the world. Amen.

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.

Divine Appeal 25

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“I, Jesus, have personally come to this earth to beg you to change lives.”

“My daughter, do not fear. Pray a great deal. I must repose sacramentally in your heart. Every second you must be all Mine. You must embrace the whole of humanity. I want your complete will. The blasphemers, the drugged, the image of the worldly man, the action of his diabolical spirit brings destruction and ruin. Abused and crucified, I am in the midst of the people, whipped and spat
upon.

You have only to obey My Will because God, My Eternal Father, has His designs for you and you must abandon yourself completely. There is a satanic power which walks...

They are commanded by that legion and they destroy everything that falls into their hands. Evil has grown and God’s Hand weighs over their head. The world will be in ruin like the deluge that swallowed entire nations. Many important people are accomplices; spies who tumble governments, churches... The time is coming when men will no longer be listened to. They do not want to listen to the salutory doctrine but rather follow their own desires.

Rome will be... an immense scourge: it will be worse then Babylon! The damnation of souls! I, Jesus, have personally come to this earth to beg you to change lives. In the final hour the earth will tremble and the world will be darkened with great thunders and flashes of lightning, floods, mountains that split open. It will destroy bridges and rapid volcanic eruptions bringing death and ruin. If they repent and come back, out of My great mercy, I, Jesus, will pardon them and love them.”

“I bless you.”

3.00 a.m., 19th October 1987

When the Eucharist Is Stolen

Divine Appeal Reflection - 24

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 24: "My Divine Sacrament is always stolen by them. Just like Judas they sell Me yet I came to save them."

This Appeal is not spoken from accusation but from wounded love. Jesus does not say they reject Me—He says they steal Me. Theft implies closeness, familiarity, even trust. Judas did not seize the Eucharist through violence or open rebellion; he remained close to Jesus while slowly consenting to an inward distance. Scripture notes almost in passing that he held the common purse, yet this quiet detail unveils a long formation of the heart—hands trained to weigh silver until they forgot the weight of grace (cf. Jn 12:6). In monastic wisdom, this is the most dangerous form of infidelity: not departure, but divided presence. Many souls know this silence well. We come to the altar faithfully, our bodies kneeling, our lips reverent, while the heart shelters a private enclosure where Christ is not permitted to reign. You may remain here, Lord—but not there.

The Eucharist is not profaned only by grave public sin, but by concealed refusal—resentments carefully guarded, addictions quietly justified, pride left untouched, dishonesty baptized by habit.The Catechism cautions that Eucharistic communion requires interior truth, not the choreography of devotion (cf. CCC 1385).In such moments, Christ is not rejected outright; He is received under conditions. Monastic tradition names this as spiritual theft: to take the Bread of Life while withholding one’s life. Yet even here, the mystery remains severe and merciful. Jesus still allows Himself to be placed into wounded hands, not because He is deceived, but because He waits. The Eucharist endures our slowness, but it does not bless our divisions. It calls the soul, patiently and relentlessly, toward undivided truth. Saints like Charles de Foucauld described this as “living beside Jesus without living from Him.” In daily life, this theft is very human: a parent exhausted and bitter, receiving Communion but refusing tenderness; a worker praying yet justifying small injustices; a consecrated soul faithful externally but inwardly numb. Jesus allows Himself to be taken into such hearts because His desire to save exceeds His desire to be defended. The sorrow of the Appeal is not that He is taken, but that He is not allowed to change us once He enters.

Why is the Eucharist sold? Because the human heart fears losing control. Every Christian faces this same interior crossroad. We sell the Eucharist when we turn Communion into reassurance instead of surrender. Judas did not want a suffering Messiah; he wanted outcomes, clarity, power. When Jesus refused to conform, Judas cashed out(cf. Mt 26:14–16) . When that cost feels too high, the Sacrament is quietly reduced to comfort. For professionals, this sale happens when success matters more than conscience. For students, when integrity is sacrificed to pressure. For priests and ministers, when the Eucharist becomes a function rather than a flame. Saint John Vianney wept over communicants who received Christ but refused conversion, saying, “They leave Him at the door of their lives.” Scripture shows this tragedy in the rich young man who desired eternal life but walked away when possessions were threatened (cf. Mk 10:21–22). Practically, Jesus is sold every time we say yes at the altar and no in our choices. Yet He does not withdraw. He remains, hoping that love will eventually soften what fear has hardened.

The Eucharist is also stolen when its suffering is ignored. “This is My Body, given up for you” (cf. Lk 22:19) reveals that Communion is inseparable from sacrifice. Judas accepted the Body but rejected the path of self-emptying. Many believers desire Eucharistic closeness without Eucharistic crucifixion. The Catechism explains that the Eucharist draws us into Christ’s offering to the Father (cf. CCC 1368). When daily crosses are resisted—patience with illness, fidelity in dryness, forgiveness when wounded—the Sacrament is stripped of its transformative power. Saints who lived close to Calvary understood this deeply. Saint Teresa of Calcutta taught that the Eucharist extends itself in small, hidden sacrifices offered with love. In family life, theft occurs when prayer is maintained but self-gift is withheld. In marriage, when vows are honored publicly but neglected privately. In suffering, when bitterness replaces offering. The Eucharist does not wait for flawless souls but for truthful ones. Christ consents to enter wounded and divided hearts because He knows that pain united to Him can restore what human effort alone cannot heal. Scripture places Judas and Peter side by side: both fell, yet only one let grief open the door to conversion (cf. Lk 22:62).

This Appeal also exposes a collective tenderness: the Eucharist is stolen when reverence fades into routine. The moment the holy turns into a routine, we can lose the sense of awe without even realizing it. The Catechism urges the soul to go back to the practices of giving prior thought, being quietly still, and attending to the Eucharist with adoration (cf. CCC 1378, 1387). It was hardly imaginable for saints such as Francis of Assisi, who had the greatest devotion, that the Lord of the universe would actually want to be very close, very unprotected, and even very simply accessible to the touch of man. For catechists, when doctrine is taught without awe. For liturgical servants, when service replaces prayer. For leaders, when public piety masks private compromise. Scripture recalls how sacred things were mishandled when treated casually, not maliciously (cf. 1 Sam 4). Yet Jesus remains. “I came to save them” reveals a God who chooses vulnerability over distance. Practically, this Appeal invites simple remedies: pausing before Communion, frequent reconciliation, time before the tabernacle. When reverence is restored within, the Eucharist ceases to be stolen and begins again to be received as fire—gentle, purifying, and demanding love in return.

At its deepest level, Divine Appeal 24 reveals mercy’s strange patience. Jesus knows He will be sold, yet He gives Himself anyway. Like Joseph betrayed by his brothers yet becoming their salvation(cf. Gen 50:20) , Christ allows human infidelity to become the very place redemption unfolds. More demanding still, it means allowing Communion to shape costly choices: refusing unethical gain even when finances are tight, stepping away from relationships that compromise conscience, accepting professional loss rather than betraying truth, remaining present in a difficult marriage or vocation, and trusting God’s providence when obedience appears to threaten security rather than protect it. For the young, it means resisting the slow normalization of sin. For workers, refusing corruption. For the elderly and sick, offering dependence and pain as participation in Christ’s gift. Saints teach that the Eucharist works slowly, like leaven, when received with humility. Judas fled despair; Peter stayed in sorrow. Every Communion invites that same choice. Christ is still stolen, still sold—but always still saving. This Appeal does not arise from judgment but from a wounded tenderness that seeks full communion. The Eucharist is not asking to be taken and fitted into our plans, but to be trusted enough to shape our lives from within.This Appeal is not a rebuke but a gentle call to stop holding back and finally come home.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, so patient in Your Eucharistic humility, forgive us for receiving You without fully surrendering to You. Enter our compromises, our fears, our divided loves. Do not withdraw from us. Remain, heal us, and teach our lives to echo the gift we receive. Amen

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.

From Private Revelation to Shared Mission

Divine Appeal Reflection - 24

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 24: "I order you after writing My Words not to keep it to yourself. The evil one is now very much against you because through you I have started converting souls in a very private way; for this reason if you keep My Words yourself it will be very dangerous. The evil one will try to use one of your own in order to destroy My Messages through you. So I command you not to keep them to yourself. This is what I want."

Though the words were given personally to Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, the principle applies universally to every baptized soul entrusted with light. The Divine Appeals are entrusted by Christ not as private possessions but as living seeds meant to pass quietly from heart to heart within the Body of the Church. When such words are withheld through fear or false humility, grace is constrained; when they are shared in obedience, love is multiplied and souls are gently drawn back to God. Divine Appeal 24 reveals a striking spiritual law long recognized by Scripture and the saints: grace received but withheld becomes a vulnerability rather than a refuge. Jesus’ instruction against keeping the gift confined to oneself reflects the Gospel image that light concealed does not protect but allows darkness to spread (cf. Mt 5:15). The Catechism clarifies that faith is never meant to remain enclosed within the individual but is given for communion and outward mission (cf. CCC 849). Scripture further shows that when divine revelation is withheld through fear or misplaced humility, it becomes vulnerable to distortion and opposition. Jeremiah tried to keep God’s word silent within him, yet found it became “a fire shut up in my bones” (cf. Jer 20:9). The saints understood this interior pressure not as ambition, but as obedience ripening into charity. Saint Catherine of Siena warned that unspoken truth corrodes the soul from within, while Saint Teresa of Ávila taught that humility never contradicts obedience to God’s prompting. In daily life, this Appeal confronts professionals who hide faith at work, parents who avoid spiritual leadership at home, and consecrated souls tempted to reduce revelation to interior consolation alone. Christ here reveals that silence motivated by fear is not neutrality—it becomes a spiritual exposure.

Jesus’ warning that “the evil one is now very much against you” unveils another sober reality: fruitful souls attract resistance. Scripture consistently affirms that conversion provokes opposition, not peace with darkness (cf. Jn 15:19). Yet the Appeal clarifies that the danger is not persecution itself, but isolation. The Catechism teaches that temptation intensifies when one acts outside ecclesial communion (cf. CCC 409). The devil’s strategy, as seen in Eden and later in the life of David, often begins not with overt sin but with withdrawal into self-reliance (cf. Gen 3:1–6; 2 Sam 11). Jesus warns that if the words are kept private, the enemy will exploit familiarity—“one of your own”—to distort or destroy the message. Saints such as John Chrysostom observed that the devil prefers subtle sabotage through trusted voices rather than open assault. In family life, this may appear as discouragement from sharing faith openly; in parish life, as suspicion toward spiritual initiatives; in religious life, as pressure to dilute charisms. The practical safeguard Christ gives is not secrecy but obedient transparency. Saint Ignatius of Loyola taught that consolation shared under obedience loses its venom, while unshared consolation often becomes deception. Thus, Jesus reveals that sharing God’s work—prudently, humbly, within the Church—is not exposure; it is protection.

The command “So I command you not to keep them to yourself” must be read through the lens of biblical obedience, which is always relational and salvific. Obedience in Scripture is not submission to control, but alignment with truth (cf. Jn 8:31–32). Abraham’s faith matured only when expressed outwardly, leaving private certainty behind (cf. Gen 12:1–4). Mary’s fiat became salvific not because it was interior alone, but because it was spoken and lived publicly (cf. Lk 1:38). The Catechism affirms that God’s initiatives demand human cooperation expressed through concrete acts (cf. CCC 2008). For laypeople, this Appeal becomes a call to simple, faithful witness—sharing spiritual fruits naturally in conversation, integrity in work, and mercy in conflict. For priests and religious, it guards against the illusion that hidden grace excuses disengagement. Saint Francis de Sales insisted that holiness grows when communicated gently, not when preserved anxiously. Importantly, Christ does not command indiscriminate broadcasting, but faithful transmission according to one’s state of life. Even silence, when chosen obediently, differs radically from silence born of fear. This Appeal teaches discernment: what God gives for others must eventually reach others, lest the gift decay into self-protection. The Christian vocation, in every form, becomes missionary not by strategy, but by obedience.

Jesus’ words reveal a merciful paradox: what feels safer to hide is often safer to offer. The Catechism reminds us that grace deepens when it is lived in love (cf. CCC 1827). Scripture reveals that hiding God’s gifts leads to loss, while placing them in God’s hands brings growth and strength (cf. Mt 25:24–30). Saint Gregory the Great affirmed that spiritual insight expands only when it is shared. In daily life, this Appeal confronts the temptation to privatize faith—to pray but not speak, to believe but not act, to receive but not give. Parents may fear imposing faith; professionals fear appearing unmodern; consecrated souls fear misunderstanding. Yet Jesus reveals that withholding divine words creates interior pressure where the enemy finds entry. Biblical characters such as Esther and Peter demonstrate how delayed bravery puts oneself and others in jeopardy, (cf. Est 4:14; Acts 4:20) whereas obedient witness releases grace . Practically, this may mean sharing a testimony at the right moment, writing what God inspires under guidance, or simply refusing to hide one’s Christian identity. Christ’s command is not burdensome—it is liberating. What is given in trust must move in love.

Finally, Divine Appeal 24 situates personal revelation within the heart of the Church. Though entrusted to Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, its purpose is ecclesial, not individualistic. Thus, what Christ entrusts in silence must one day be offered in obedience, for love sealed within the heart is not preserved but diminished. When the Divine Appeals are shared humbly and within the Church, they remain protected, fruitful, and alive—accomplishing quietly what God alone desires for the salvation of souls.The Catechism teaches that private revelations help believers live the Gospel more fully in a particular time, never replacing it (cf. CCC 67). Jesus’ insistence—“This is what I want”—reveals divine urgency shaped by mercy. Ezekiel reveals that God’s word is always spoken with life in view, calling His people to change course so that they may live (cf. Ez 33:11). Saints such as Peter, who trembled yet still spoke, and Joan of Arc, who obeyed God despite fear and misunderstanding, discovered that fidelity in passing on what was entrusted to them kept their mission honest and alive. Their humanity reminds every Christian vocation that God’s gifts are not given for safe keeping, but for courageous stewardship ordered toward the saving of others. Silence may feel humble, but obedience is the truest humility. In families, workplaces, parishes, and cloisters, Christ continues converting souls “in a very private way”—through faithful witnesses who refuse fear-driven silence. Divine Appeal 24 is thus not a threat but a protection, not pressure but grace. Jesus commands sharing because love cannot survive confinement. When the Word is given away, it remains alive.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, You entrust Your words not for possession but for love. Free us from fearful silence. Teach us obedient courage, gentle discernment, and humble fidelity. Let what You give flow through us for souls, protected by Your will and hidden in Your Heart. Amen.

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.

Divine Appeal 24

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“My Divine Sacrament is always stolen by them. Just like Judas they sell me.”

“My daughter, the hour is drawing near. The Red Lucifer has already made known that his time is very short. Pray and put yourself in My Presence at all times. I order you to be very serious and to be alert. The evil one knows what I want. He is terrible angry. In all things he will try and prevent you from Me. He will trouble you as well without your awareness. Yesterday you did not write all what I told you. The evil one was very angry that souls were taken from him by the power of the Mass so he will not get rid of them again. This is why he tries to take revenge my preventing you and confusing your mind. He took away My Words from you. Do not worry. Be strong.

My daughter, I order you after writing My Words not to keep it to yourself. The evil one is now very much against you because through you I have started converting souls in a very private way; for this reason if you keep My Words yourself it will be very dangerous. The evil one will try to use one of your own in order to destroy My Messages through you. So I command you not to keep them to

yourself. This is what I want.

My daughter, I have come to exhort sinners to change their lives because punishment is near; the earth will burn with smoke; blood is covering the streets. A war threatens humanity. The devil claims victims; thieves join ranks with demons. My Divine Sacrament is always stolen by them. Just like Judas they sell Me yet I came tosave them. What more could I have suffered for mankind !

“The hour is drawing near. (In Italy a political revolution will take place. The Church will be crazed with the pride of violence). My Eternal Father’s justice will be inexorable with all those magistrates

who live without remembering God because they do not live My life. The fallacies in their brutal conceptions of life will constitute their sentence. They tragically cut the innocent into pieces and those who are faithful to Me.

“I bless you.”

3.00 a.m., 18th October 1987

Adoration and Offering at Calvary

Divine Appeal Reflection - 23

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 23: "follow Me along the painful way to Calvary where I am. Adore it and offer it so that My Eternal Father’s anger will be appeased."

“Follow Me” is spoken in the depths, not the intellect. It is a pull more than a command, a gravity the heart feels before the mind can resist. Scripture shows that Christ’s call precedes readiness; He calls while lives are still tangled (cf. Jn 1:43). The Catechism teaches that faith begins as a surrender of the person, not mastery of meaning (cf. CCC 150), because grace always moves first (cf. CCC 2001).Saint Bernard of Clairvaux refers to this vocation as a 'wound of love'—pleasant, disturbing, and not to be overlooked. To follow Christ interiorly is to consent to being led where one would not choose alone. It is the slow loosening of self-direction. In daily life, this call is quiet: an interior nudge to forgive, to remain, to be faithful when escape feels easier. Peter followed with a divided heart, yet the gaze of Christ never withdrew (cf. Lk 22:61). Saint Francis of Assisi teaches that following the Crucified is allowing one’s life to be gradually rearranged around love rather than self-preservation. “Follow Me” does not ask for clarity, only consent. The soul senses that resistance will cost more than surrender. Christ does not pull violently; He waits, drawing gently, until the heart dares to move.

The painful way is entered not with courage but with poverty. Christ names pain without disguise because illusion cannot survive here (cf. Is 53:3). Saint John of the Cross asserts that the soul must go through the suffering to be healed; pain is the only force that can loosen what pleasure has gripped. The Catechism asserts that only through union with Christ, and not through understanding, does suffering get transformed (cf. CCC 1521). This way is long, repetitive, and inward. It is the quiet ache of remaining faithful when consolation withdraws, the weight of unanswered prayer, the fatigue of doing good without being seen. Christ says “daily” because the Cross settles into the ordinary (cf. Lk 9:23). Simon of Cyrene does not choose the Cross;(cf. Mk 15:21) it is placed upon him, and in that unwillingness, grace begins . Mystically, the painful way is where the false self weakens. Control loosens. Defenses fall. The soul learns to stop negotiating and simply remain. Saint Alphonsus Liguori teaches that suffering embraced in love becomes a door rather than a wall. Grace does not erase pain; it gives the soul endurance that feels strangely like peace . The painful way becomes a silent purification, where love deepens because nothing else remains to cling to.

Calvary is not found by searching; it is discovered when strength ends. Christ says “where I am” because He remains eternally offered before the Father (cf. Heb 7:25). According to the Catechism, this sacrifice is made present in the Eucharist, allowing the soul to come into direct contact with His self-gift (cf. CCC 1366). According to Saint Catherine of Siena, love and truth are unveiled at the foot of the Cross. Mystically, Calvary is the place where the soul stops asking “why” and begins to stay. Mary stands without explanation (cf. Jn 19:25). John remains without defense (cf. Jn 19:26). The good thief arrives with nothing but trust (cf. Lk 23:42). In daily life, Calvary appears when all strategies fail: illness removes control, obedience costs identity, fidelity feels barren. “Where I am” reveals that Christ does not wait for us above suffering but within it. The Catechism affirms that believers are invited to unite their sufferings to Christ’s for the life of the Church (cf. CCC 618). Saint John of the Cross teaches that God is closest when He seems most hidden. Calvary becomes a dwelling, not an event. The soul discovers it is not abandoned—it is accompanied.

Adoration is silence before mystery. It is the soul saying yes to God and staying attentive. The Church's teaching indicates that all baptized Christians share in Christ's priestly ministry, thus offering spiritual sacrifices in and through the normality of their daily living (CCC 1546). Saint Bernard teaches that the Cross must be contemplated until love, not fear, fills the heart. Offering follows gently: pain is no longer clenched but placed into God’s hands (cf. Rom 12:1). Mystically, this happens beneath words. A sigh becomes prayer. Endurance becomes worship. Saint Alphonsus teaches that suffering offered in silence consoles Christ deeply. The Catechism explains that praise and offering transform suffering into communion (cf. CCC 2637). Saint Francis of Assisi adored the Crucified until love marked his very flesh. In daily life, this offering is hidden: a patient endurance, a restrained word, a faithful return to prayer. Adoration keeps the heart from hardening; offering frees it from isolation. Pain becomes language spoken directly to God, understood without explanation.

Here the mystery deepens. God’s “anger” is not emotion but holiness confronting disorder . The Catechism teaches that divine wrath is love refusing to coexist with sin (cf. CCC 1861). On Calvary, justice and mercy meet without conflict . Christ freely offers Himself to restore communion shattered by sin . Scripture shows this pattern: Moses stands in the breach (cf. Ex 32:11–14), Esther risks herself (cf. Est 4:16), Job’s offering heals others (cf. Job 42:10).Saint Catherine of Siena writes that love, carried to the end, satisfies justice more perfectly than punishment ever could. Mystically, the soul participates not by effort but by union. Offered suffering becomes intercession . The Catechism affirms that intercession draws believers into the mediating Heart of Christ (cf. CCC 2634). Quiet, loving daily sacrifices restore balance and grace in the hidden realms of life. Saint Bridget records Christ lamenting sufferings wasted through resistance. Appeasement is not fear-driven; it is love healing what sin disordered. Calvary reveals that mercy is costly, but it reorders the world from within.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, take us by the hand and lead us to Your Calvary. Teach us to adore before we resist, to offer what hurts, and to trust when strength fades. Unite our small daily crosses to Yours, for love of the Father and salvation of souls. Amen.

Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.

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