Divine Appeal Reflection - 245
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 245: "The most important work is not which you do but it is that which you allow Me to do. I am full of compassion!"
In the spiritual life, there is often an invisible threshold between genuine surrender and the illusion of doing God’s work in our own strength. Our Adorable Jesus, in His infinite tenderness, lovingly dismantles our activism with these words. He reminds us that holiness is not a project we engineer but a relationship we consent to. The soul that seeks to be transformed must first be still enough to let Christ take possession of its depths. To allow Him is not weakness; it is union.
To allow Jesus to act is first to listen—not superficially, but with the inner ear of the heart. It is to be attentive not only to His teachings but to His tone, His pauses, His wounds. Silence becomes sacred space. In the noise of self-management, we often drown out His compassionate whisper. St. Teresa of Ávila taught that “prayer is nothing more than a conversation with a friend who loves you.” That friendship requires not more effort but more receptivity. Christ does not ask us to produce great acts but to create room for Him—space unoccupied by pride, fear, or false urgency. In the language of the saints, this is the spirituality of littleness, of interior poverty that says, “I have nothing, and therefore, I await everything from You.”
But how do we begin to allow Him to work? We must resist the temptation to define our worth by results. So much of modern life—even in apostolic mission—is haunted by the desire to be seen, to be successful, to be affirmed. Yet God often works most powerfully in obscurity. Our Lady did not accomplish salvation; she said “yes” to it. Her greatness is her docility, her openness to divine initiative. In the same way, allowing Jesus means holding back our impulse to fix, control, and explain. It means admitting our limits and welcoming grace as the primary agent. This is deeply countercultural—and deeply Catholic.
Allowing Christ also means accepting His timing. There will be moments when nothing seems to change, when we feel abandoned or fruitless. But these are often the seasons when He is doing His most profound interior work. St. John of the Cross called this the “dark night,” not as punishment, but as purification. Trusting Him in these hidden stretches is one of the greatest acts of love we can offer. We must remember: Jesus does not want slaves of service but lovers who wait with open hearts. He wants to enter the cracked places, the places we hide—even from ourselves. If we let Him into the unpolished, unfinished corners of our soul, His compassion will not crush but remake us.
To allow Jesus is to say daily, “Not my work, Lord, but Yours.” It is to step back from our anxious striving and stand in the stream of divine mercy. When we stop obstructing Him with our self-will, He moves with gentleness and power. What He desires most is permission—permission to carry our burdens, to reorder our chaos, to act where we are powerless. This is the mystery of the Christian life: not that we do things for God, but that He does unimaginable things through us when we become empty enough to be filled.
Prayer:
O Our Adorable Jesus, You who wait patiently for us to yield, teach us to step aside. Strip us of the need to prove, to control, to accomplish without You. Grant us the grace to welcome Your compassionate work in every corner of our lives. Be the Master within us, the Peace that moves us, the Power that transforms us. In our fatigue, be our strength; in our silence, be our Word; in our waiting, be our fulfillment. Teach us to trust Your hands more than our own. Amen.
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
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