Living Each Day in Reparation

Divine Appeal Reflection - 251

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 251: "I want these plagues of sins to be appeased with prayers, reparation and penances daily".

Each passing day is more than the turn of a calendar page—it is a summons from Heaven. Our Adorable Jesus is not distant from the pain and rebellion of our age; He is immersed in it, wounded again by the sins He already bore (cf. Is 53:4-5). The world today is plagued not only by disease or war, but by the deeper spiritual affliction of sin—indifference to God, rejection of His commandments, and the desecration of what is holy (cf. Rom 1:28-32). Yet Christ does not thunder with anger; He whispers with longing. He seeks souls who will stand with Him in love, who will respond not with debate but with devotion. He asks not for applause, but for offering—small, hidden acts of love that form a crown of reparation around His suffering Heart (cf. Mt 26:40). Every moment of our lives can become part of this healing mission: a whispered prayer in a hurried day, a fast offered quietly without recognition, a silent bearing of wrong with forgiveness. These are not meaningless—they are priestly offerings in the temple of time (cf. 1 Pt 2:5). If we dare to unite our hearts with His, then even our tiredness, our loneliness, and our work can become incense that consoles our Crucified Lord (cf. Col 1:24).

For priests and consecrated religious, this call takes on a particularly powerful form. They are not only invited but anointed to live as visible signs of Christ’s sacrificial love. In a world that mocks celibacy, ridicules vows, and scorns visible signs of holiness, their very existence becomes an act of reparation (cf. Heb 5:1-3). A priest who reverently celebrates daily Mass, even when the church is nearly empty, consoles Jesus more than he knows. A sister who wears her habit in public, despite curious stares or whispered insults, testifies to the joy of belonging wholly to God (cf. Lk 1:38). A seminarian who embraces discipline while his peers chase comfort joins Christ in Gethsemane (cf. Mt 26:36-39). Their penances are not confined to the cloister or altar—they are in every moment of fidelity, every humble act of obedience, every rejection of self for the sake of the Bridegroom. Even their hidden interior struggles—times of dryness, weariness, or discouragement—when offered with love, become coals of reparation on the altar of Christ’s mercy (cf. Rev 8:3-4). Their quiet perseverance speaks more powerfully than sermons: it says, “Jesus is worth everything.”

In families, too, the call to become altars of reparation is real and vital. Every family has its crosses: misunderstandings, disappointments, illness, financial strain, or the pain of children drifting from the faith. But these wounds, united to Christ’s wounds, can become fountains of grace (cf. 2 Cor 1:5-6). A mother who wakes early to pray the Rosary before the house stirs; a father who leads bedtime prayers despite a long day at work; a teenager who uses social media to proclaim their faith, sharing Scripture or quotes from the saints instead of worldly distractions, consoles the Heart of Christ. Another who spends weekends serving at the altar or helping in parish ministries, even when peers are out socializing, offers powerful hidden reparation. A child who quietly helps a sibling with homework instead of retreating to their room, or who turns to prayer rather than complaint in hardship, is echoing the sacrifice of Jesus. When parents teach their children to reverence the Eucharist, to fast during Lent, to forgive quickly, and to serve others quietly, they are forming little domestic chapels of reparation (cf. CCC 1657). Even suffering—when endured with trust and offered in union with Christ—becomes holy. A sick grandparent who offers pain as prayer; a single parent who keeps the family centered on Sunday Mass—these are hidden saints, pillars holding up a world falling into ruin. And each act, no matter how unseen, is like a drop of balm on the wounds of Jesus (cf. Mt 6:3-4).

For all of us, whether we are young or old, working or retired, lay or ordained, the invitation remains the same: to make our lives altars of daily offering. Reparation is not just for mystics or monks—it is the Christian vocation (cf. Rom 12:1). We live in a time where irreverence is normalized, where sin is celebrated, and where the sacred is trampled underfoot. But this is precisely why our response must be firm, joyful, and loving. A student mocked for kneeling at adoration is repairing. An office worker who avoids gossip and prays silently during lunch is repairing. A widow who prays for the Church and offers her loneliness for priests is repairing. This quiet army of faithful souls—often unnoticed by the world—is Heaven’s response to the plague of sin (cf. Ez 22:30). Each of us can begin today. Skip a snack in reparation. Offer a Rosary for blasphemies. Make a visit to the Blessed Sacrament, even for five minutes. Say a Divine Mercy chaplet for sinners. Jesus does not ask us to fix the world, but to console His Heart and help open it to others (cf. Jn 19:37). And when we do, even in little ways, grace begins to flow again—grace that can heal the Church, awaken hardened hearts, and push back the shadows of sin.

Prayer:

Our Adorable Jesus, wounded by our sins yet still loving, we offer You our hearts as little altars of reparation. Accept our hidden sacrifices, our prayers, and daily struggles. May our love console You, draw souls to mercy, and help grace flow anew upon the Church and the world. Amen.

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