A DIVINE APPEAL: June 2025

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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

VOLUME II

I want the need and desire for reparation to be re-awakened and

grow among the souls I entrusted souls, religious, faithful and all

souls – for the Majesty of My Eternal Father is profaned.

My daughter, pray a great deal, cloister all souls in your

heart. You must always be aware of the fact that My

word is a command to you.

Do not be afraid because all your human miseries are

known to My heart and My compassion to them is great. My heart is

Love to embrace all souls.

Tell My Apostle of the last days that he may teach the poor souls to

know My clemency – I want the need and desire for reparation to be

re-awakened and grow among the souls I entrusted souls, religious,

faithful and all souls – for the Majesty of My Eternal Father is

profaned. The world is full of sin – I want the world to be saved.

These are grave moments – never has it been in the history of

mankind. My Divine Mercy is followed by My Divine Justice. At

the moment I am never weary of repentant sinners. What I want

from you My daughter is your repentance and penance not only for

yourself alone, for also the many souls who are at the brink of the

pit.

It is not enough to fast – to fast should include abstinence from anger,

grumbling, the fast of tongue from unkind words from your lips.

Watch with me in the Sacrament of My Love. You must walk the

way of self-denial. Do not fix your eyes and heart in your misery

and weaknesses. Allow My Grace to lead you. How long will you

keep Me thirsty.

Do not allow cowardice to put obstacles before My Grace.

I need total obedience from you. My Apostle, I lead him and guide

him that he may lead you according to My Will – you must be patient.

Tell him to tell the poor souls that I will not be mocked forever.

Very soon I will put the whole world in its own casket.

I give my Merciful blessings.

28th July 2005

3.00 a.m.

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 258: "Do not concern yourself with the future. It is not your responsibility. It is totally mine."

To live untroubled by the future is not spiritual naïveté but the highest expression of Christian courage—a trust hammered into being at the foot of the Cross, where every unknown tomorrow is handed over to the Heart pierced for love (cf. Jn 19:34). It is the hard-won freedom that saints, martyrs, and hidden souls have embraced: the missionary priest who dares to whisper “This is My Body” knowing that persecution might strike before nightfall; the cloistered nun whose walls tremble under threat of war, yet whose calm prayer proclaims that history itself rests in divine hands (cf. Ps 31:15); the mother who, despite poverty and fear, teaches her children by her serene strength that Providence is no pious idea but a living care that neither slumbers nor forgets (cf. CCC 305; Mt 6:25–34). Such abandonment is not carelessness but an act of heroic faith: plans are still made and duties still fulfilled, yet the heart clings not to its own designs but to Him who is already present in every tomorrow. Holiness, then, is not mastery over the future, but the humble surrender of it; not fearful control, but a courageous “yes” whispered each day into the eternal Heart that holds all things together (cf. Col 1:17). In this surrender, what the world calls folly becomes in truth the deepest wisdom, and every hidden act of trust ripples silently into eternity.

To entrust the unknown to Christ is not the abandonment of prudence or the neglect of duty; it is the soul’s ascent beyond the narrow tyranny of fear into the boundless liberty of divine sonship (cf. CCC 2730–2732). It is to choose, each dawn, a daring trust: that even what seems wasted, shattered, or unfinished becomes, in the hidden artistry of Providence, threads of glory in His eternal design (cf. Rom 8:28; CCC 313). Abraham set forth toward a promise he could not see, guided not by maps but by the quiet compulsion of faith (cf. Heb 11:8); the widow of Zarephath surrendered her last handful of meal, discovering in her poverty the superabundance of God’s fidelity (cf. 1 Kgs 17:12–16); and the Virgin of Nazareth consented to a mystery that would pierce her very soul, entrusting tomorrow wholly to the Almighty whose ways surpass all thought (cf. Lk 1:38; CCC 494). So too must every heart that hears this call: to kneel before the tabernacle in silent surrender, offering not only sin and sorrow but also every anxious plan and restless ambition—confessing with humility and hope that divine mercy can transform even our frailest fragments into a tapestry far surpassing what our mortal sight could ever conceive (cf. CCC 2090; Ps 37:5; St. Thérèse of Lisieux, Story of a Soul).

Such surrender is not the stillness of despair, but the audacious act of a soul that dares to rest in Love that death itself cannot silence (cf. Rom 8:38–39; CCC 1817). It is this hidden bravery that keeps consecrated women tending the sick in forgotten clinics where medicine runs dry but grace overflows (cf. Mt 25:40). It steadies priests who carry the Blessed Sacrament across ravaged landscapes, where the ruins themselves seem to echo the words, “Be not afraid” (cf. Jos 1:9; CCC 1324). It emboldens young husbands and wives who, against all worldly counsel, open their homes to new life, trusting not in stable markets but in the Providence that fed Israel in the desert (cf. Ex 16; CCC 1604). Each silent act of offering becomes a living confession that tomorrow is not claimed by fear, but consecrated by faith. In this surrender, anxiety is not merely quieted—it is transfigured into peace: a peace deeper than certainty, rooted not in the absence of storms but in the unwavering presence of the One who calms them (cf. Jn 14:27; Mk 4:39). And so, day by day, the soul discovers what saints have always known: the future, yielded entirely to God, is not emptiness to dread, but a canvas for His eternal design (cf. Ps 37:5; St. Thérèse of Lisieux, Story of a Soul).

To entrust the future is not to cast it into an empty silence, but to lay it gently into the Heart of Christ—pierced and open, a refuge vast enough to hold every fear, every unknown, every trembling hope (cf. Jn 19:34; CCC 478). It is to confess with our lives that safety is not secured by flawless plans or human foresight, but by surrender to Him whose providence governs the fall of every sparrow (cf. Mt 10:29–31; CCC 305). In this daily relinquishing, grace loosens the tight knots of anxious self-reliance, setting the soul free: free to love without calculation, to serve where gratitude may never return, and to greet each dawn not as a threat to be managed but as a gift to be welcomed (cf. Lam 3:22–23). The saints teach us this luminous paradox: that peace is not the prize of those who foresee every step, but the fruit of those who dare to walk hand in hand with the unseen God (cf. Heb 11:8; Ps 37:5). Tomorrow no longer becomes a battleground of fear when we give the Heart that was wounded for love control over our job, our families, and our very breath. It becomes instead a sacred horizon where Christ’s providence awaits us, where every step forward is met by grace prepared from all eternity (cf. Eph 2:10; Ps 139:16). Then, even what appears wasted or broken is woven into His design, and the soul learns at last that the safest place for every hope, every wound, and every dream is not in our own keeping—but in His.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, take our tomorrows into Your wounded Heart. Free us from fear that blinds trust. Teach us to live each day anchored in Your Providence, finding strength not in control but in surrender. May our faith shine for others lost in anxiety, leading them to Your peace. Amen.

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

Embracing Holy Communion with Holiness

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 258: "You must always come with a sincere penitent heart to receive My Body and Blood with reverence because I am all holiness from whom you can hide nothing."

To approach the altar of the Lord is not a declaration of one’s spiritual achievement or a public affirmation of being “worthy”—it is a trembling ascent into the mystery of divine mercy, where our Adorable Jesus, all-holy and all-powerful, humbles Himself to be received into frail human hearts (cf. CCC 1385; CCC 1415; St. John Chrysostom, Homilies on Matthew 82). The Eucharist is not a stage where holiness is displayed for others to admire; it is the furnace where holiness begins to be forged through grace (cf. Heb 12:28–29; CCC 1392). When we come forward to receive, we do not declare ourselves righteous—we confess ourselves in need of sanctification. This most sacred of all sacraments is not a reward for perfection, but a lifeline for the soul that longs to be healed, purified, and divinized (cf. CCC 1394; St. Ambrose, De Sacramentis 5). But this healing is not automatic, nor should it be presumed upon.

The Communion line, meant to be a reverent procession of souls humbled by awe and gratitude, often appears more as a habitual motion—one that risks losing sight of the sacred encounter it leads to. Too frequently, communicants approach the altar with little visible recollection, a lack of exterior reverence, and, at times, without the interior disposition required by grace (cf. CCC 1415; St. Catherine of Siena, The Dialogue, ch. 112). This is not a mere matter of etiquette, but of eternal consequence. The Church, as a vigilant and loving mother, solemnly reminds her children that reception of the Eucharist demands a heart prepared and purified—especially through the Sacrament of Penance when one is conscious of grave sin (cf. 1 Cor 11:27–29; CCC 1385). To receive the Lord unworthily is to risk profaning the very mystery of love that seeks to save us. True Communion flows not from entitlement but from contrition; it is the banquet of the redeemed, not a rite of routine. Each step toward the altar should echo the publican’s plea, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner,” and each “Amen” should be an act of trembling faith, aware that we are receiving not bread, but the living Christ Himself (cf. Lk 18:13; Jn 6:51; CCC 1374). This is not a harsh restriction; it is an act of divine protection. It preserves the soul from greater harm and the sacrament from desecration. Holy Communion is not meant for spectators, nor is it a rite of inclusion—it is a sacred meeting between the Savior and the sinner who desires to be made new. When we take the time to prepare—through a sincere examination of conscience, the act of forgiving our enemies, and the Sacrament of Penance when needed—we do not come to show we are saints; we come to be sanctified. We kneel not to perform, but to profess with our entire being that this is no ordinary encounter (cf. Rom 12:1; CCC 1389).

The weight of this mystery demands that our bodies, minds, and souls participate in harmony. Sadly, a growing number of the faithful, and even some clergy, have begun to normalize the neglect of physical reverence. The refusal to kneel, without just cause, is often defended with shallow arguments—“God looks at the heart,” or “kneeling is a cultural relic.” But these claims fail to grasp the sacramental nature of worship, where the body becomes the outward language of the soul (cf. CCC 2703; Phil 2:10). From the burning bush to the throne of Heaven, sacred history is marked by bodies bowing before majesty. Moses shed his sandals as creation trembled before its Creator (cf. Ex 3:5); Isaiah collapsed beneath the weight of unearthly holiness (cf. Is 6:5); wise men from the East fell to their knees before the Infant Word made flesh (cf. Mt 2:11); and the beloved disciple, beholding the risen Christ in glory, dropped as though slain by the vision of Eternal Power (cf. Rev 1:17). In every age, true reverence finds its language in the posture of the body, which becomes the soul’s visible act of worship. Are we, then, so advanced that we need no longer kneel before the Eucharistic Christ? Let us not be deceived. What we do with our bodies shapes what we believe in our hearts. When reverence is lost, belief fades (cf. CCC 1387; St. Benedict, Rule, ch. 19). To remove visible expressions of awe is to starve the soul of its language before the Divine.

The Mass is not a gathering of the accomplished, but a school of grace. It is where the wounded come to be healed, the sinner to be re-created, and the unworthy to be made beloved through the Blood of the Lamb (cf. Rev 7:14; CCC 1432). Thus, the interior and exterior preparation for Holy Communion is not optional—it is essential. We must approach with hearts purified by mercy, made peaceful through forgiveness, recollected through prayer, and reverent in body and spirit (cf. CCC 1386; Ps 24:3–4). And after Communion, the encounter must not be allowed to dissolve into ordinary distraction. Christ, now dwelling within us, longs to speak, to love, to transform. Those sacred minutes of thanksgiving are the most intimate of all, a hidden tabernacle in which the soul is alone with its God (cf. CCC 1378; St. Teresa of Avila, Way of Perfection, ch. 34). It is not the time for noise or routine departure—it is the time for adoration, for awe, for gratitude. The Eucharist is not a moment to consume—it is a Presence to be consumed by. To receive Holy Communion is to offer oneself as an altar, a living sacrifice, a soul whispering, “Take me, purify me, make me Yours” (cf. Rom 12:1; CCC 1396).

Prayer

O our Adorable Jesus, grant us the grace to never approach Your Sacred Body out of routine or pride. Help us to receive You as beggars in need of healing, as sinners thirsting for Your fire. Let our Communion be a silent cry for transformation, that we may become all Yours, now and forever. Amen.

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

Priest's Duty: Restoring Eucharistic Reverence

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 258: "You must always come with a sincere penitent heart to receive My Body and Blood with reverence because I am all holiness from whom you can hide nothing."

One of the greatest wounds inflicted upon the Body of Christ today comes not from the world outside, but from within the sanctuary itself: when priests—those who have been configured to Christ by a sacred, indelible mark—treat the Most Holy Eucharist with casualness, neglect, or irreverence. Among the most grievous offenses is the allowance of the lay faithful to handle the Sacred Host as if it were common bread. Our Adorable Jesus is truly with us in the Host—Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. Yet in many places, He is handled as if He were something ordinary. Without proper teaching or deep interior preparation, the Blessed Sacrament is passed casually from hand to hand. But this is not bread. This is God. He deserves our full attention, our reverence, and a heart ready to receive Him with love and fear of the Lord. When formation is shallow, and preparation is forgotten, the mystery is lost, and hearts become blind to the One they are holding. The Host is sometimes distributed without due silence, without clear expression of the Real Presence, even without clear indication that the communicant believes or is disposed to receive. This is not pastoral sensitivity—it is a slow betrayal of Eucharistic truth. The priest, who has been set apart to offer sacrifice and stand in persona Christi, must tremble before the altar, knowing that he touches what angels dare not touch without veiling their faces. His silence, posture, tone, and careful guarding of the Sacred Mysteries either form the people in adoration—or deform them into indifference.

But the tragedy of irreverence is not limited to distribution alone. In many sanctuaries, Christ is further wounded by the abandonment of sacred silence, the use of banal language in homilies, hurried liturgies, and the casual handling of sacred vessels. The tabernacle—His dwelling place—is often pushed aside or hidden, no longer occupying the center of the church’s architecture or the people’s gaze. Sacred music is replaced with entertainment. Vestments are chosen for comfort rather than dignity. When the altar is treated like just another table, and the Mass like just another gathering, something deep begins to fade. A hurried priest, a skipped prayer, or casual chatter may seem small, but they speak loudly to the soul. They say: “This is ordinary.” Yet the altar is not ordinary—it is Calvary. When reverence is lost, belief soon follows, not through loud denial, but quiet indifference. When the sacred is treated as something casual, hearts slowly lose their wonder, and the light of faith begins to fade. But the truth is far greater than what eyes can see. Every Mass brings us to the foot of the Cross—where Jesus gives Himself again, and heaven meets earth. To profane this mystery through carelessness is a wound not only to Christ, but to the soul of the Church.

It must also be said with sorrow that some priests remain silent in the face of grave liturgical abuses, fearing backlash or division. Others permit habitual reception of Communion by those living publicly in mortal sin, those unrepentant or even opposed to the Church’s moral teachings. The altar becomes, for some, a place of false welcome rather than genuine conversion. But mercy without truth is not mercy—it is flattery. Love without reverence is not love—it is sentiment. The priest who fails to teach his flock that Holy Communion requires a state of grace betrays his vocation as shepherd and protector. It is not exclusion to tell a soul it must repent before receiving—it is charity. It is not unkind to ask that Catholics confess their sins before approaching the Lamb—it is justice to Christ and healing for the penitent. Priests must reclaim their prophetic voice: to call souls to holiness, to purify the temple, and to refuse to hand over the Divine Victim to careless hands or unrepentant hearts. They are not mere facilitators of worship—they are guardians of the mystery (cf. 1 Cor 4:1). And they must answer, not before men, but before the Eucharistic Christ, who sees all and judges with love and truth.

The recovery of Eucharistic reverence must begin with the priest. If he kneels, the people will kneel. If he protects the Sacred Species, the faithful will learn to adore. If he treats the altar with trembling awe, souls will rediscover what it means to stand on holy ground. But if he jokes, hurries, compromises, or remains indifferent, then the people will assume there is nothing here to honor—only routine. Holy Communion is not a right. It is not a mark of community membership. It is not a reward for attending Mass. It is a surrender to Christ crucified and risen, a trembling encounter with the Holy One. To receive casually is to court judgment. To distribute without reverence is to deepen the wound in the Body of Christ. Let the Church once more be clothed in awe. Let the liturgy breathe with silence. Let confessionals be filled before Communion lines grow long. Let the tabernacle shine again at the center. For when the Eucharist is truly treated as Christ Himself, present among us, then and only then will the Church begin to be healed, strengthened, and renewed from within.

Prayer

O our Adorable Jesus, hidden in the Blessed Sacrament, have mercy on us for the times we have treated You without love. Raise up priests who will guard Your holiness, and grant the faithful hearts that adore. May reverence return to Your Church, and may You be honored as You deserve. Amen.

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

Weekly Sacrament of Penance

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 258: "Every week you must receive the Sacrament of Penance, Reconciliation as it was from the beginning, adoration, meditation and Rosary."

From the dawn of the Church’s life, the Sacrament of Penance has stood not merely as an avenue of pardon, but as a sacred encounter with the crucified and risen Lord—an extension of His pierced Heart reaching through time to restore fallen man to divine intimacy. To receive this sacrament weekly is to step once more into the upper room of that first Easter evening, where our Adorable Jesus, bearing the glorious wounds of love, breathed the Spirit of reconciliation upon His apostles and entrusted to them the divine authority to loose the bonds of sin (cf. Jn 20:21–23; CCC 1441). Weekly confession is not a sign of scrupulosity, but of spiritual maturity—a bold act of love by the soul that refuses to grow numb to grace. It is the meeting place where divine mercy bends low to lift the fallen, not with reproach, but with radiance. In this sacrament, the wounds of Christ do not accuse; they heal. Each confession is a deliberate act of trust, a return to the Heart that never tires of welcoming us. It guards the soul from the slow decay of compromise and renews the fire of conversion. The saint and the struggler meet here alike, not in despair, but in hope. For those who approach it weekly, confession becomes more than cleansing—it becomes communion. It shapes the heart to resemble Christ’s: pierced, open, and constantly returning to the Father.

This sacred rhythm is not a concession to weakness—it is a participation in the strength of Christ who bore our infirmities. Each week, as sin clings to the folds of our interior life—in thought, in omission, in prideful self-love—the sacrament becomes a sanctuary of light where the soul is bathed in the Blood that still pleads on our behalf (cf. Heb 12:24). It is a grave error to see confession as a clinical moral procedure. It is a divine embrace. The confessor, standing in persona Christi, is not a passive ear but a living instrument of the Divine Heart—he becomes the merciful presence of the Good Shepherd who seeks the lost, the Father who embraces the returning child, the Divine Healer who lays His hands upon the untouchable. In this sacred encounter, the penitent does not merely restore moral standing; he enters into the re-ordering of his very being. Sin, which distorts and disfigures the soul’s orientation to God, is gently but powerfully corrected—brought back into the harmony of truth, goodness, and beauty. In today’s world, going to confession regularly is often misunderstood. But a soul that returns often to this sacrament is not anxious or trapped in guilt—it is awake and watchful. It recognises that sin usually starts with minor lapses that gradually erode the heart rather than major transgressions. Weekly confession turns becomes a means of maintaining a strong relationship with God, preventing spiritual entanglement, and developing true freedom. It keeps the heart yearning for holiness and the conscience clear. This isn’t fear—it’s love. It’s the desire to stay near Jesus and not allow anything, even small faults, to come between the soul and His grace (cf. CCC 1425–1439; Ps 51:10; Jn 20:22–23).

In sacred Scripture, this movement is echoed again and again in the lives of God’s chosen. Consider Moses, who constantly intercedes for a stubborn people, asking again and again for mercy not once but persistently—because covenant requires repetition, not to bore, but to deepen. David, a man after God’s own heart, sins grievously but is remembered not for the sin, but for the psalm of repentance that flowed from it—Psalm 51, a cry not of despair but of love broken open. The prodigal son, too, rehearses his guilt, not to dwell in it, but to let it carry him home. His confession is not eloquent—it is real, and in it the Father lavishes garments and rings, because mercy restores dignity (cf. Lk 15). Peter weeps bitterly, but those tears water the soil of his apostleship. Weekly confession becomes our way of stepping into that same story—of letting our weakness become the soil of grace, our failure the place where God writes His most beautiful victories.

The weekly practice of confession answers the human need for meaning, accountability, and inner order. The human person is a moral being whose actions shape his eternal destiny. Confession acknowledges that sin is not simply error—it is the misuse of freedom. In an age of moral relativism, weekly penance affirms the reality of sin and the greater reality of redemption. It restores man to the truth of his being: not a self-justifying creature, but a beloved child who must be healed, taught, and lifted again and again. There is profound humility in articulating one's sins aloud to another—a priest, yes, but ultimately to Christ Himself. This act cuts through the fog of interior rationalization and invites the light of objectivity. It is a spiritual discipline that protects us from self-idolatry, from the slow hardening of conscience, and from the spiritual paralysis of pride. In this way, weekly confession is an ascetical practice, akin to the monastic rhythm of the early Church, where continual conversion was seen as the normal path of sanctification. It is not reserved for moments of collapse—it is the guardrail for the narrow road, the oil that keeps the lamp burning, the spark that keeps the heart vigilant in love.

Prayer

O our Adorable Jesus, draw us weekly to the fountain of Your pierced side. In the Sacrament of Reconciliation, clothe us again in Your mercy. Teach us to come not out of habit, but out of hunger—for truth, for healing, for union with You. Make us lovers of Your mercy, now and always. Amen.

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

Eucharistic Strength and Perseverance

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 258: "Let your strength and your perseverance be in the Most Holy Eucharist."

True discipleship is inseparable from the mystery of the Cross, and no cross—whether borne in solitude, in mission, or in martyrdom—can be carried without a strength that exceeds nature. In this solemn call, the Lord does not invite us to a vague resilience, but anchors us to the inexhaustible core of divine sustenance: the Most Holy Eucharist. In an age where many hearts falter beneath the burdens of inner unrest, moral confusion, external persecution, and the creeping paralysis of indifference, Christ draws His own back to the living Heart of the Church—the very pulse from which She draws breath, light, and power (cf. CCC 1324–1327). This Sacrament is not merely a culmination of liturgy; it is the fountain of endurance for the saints. From tabernacles aglow in golden sanctuaries to the veiled ciborium in a field tent or a shattered church in a war zone, the Eucharistic Christ remains: omnipotent in stillness, triumphant in silence, unyielding in love. It is here that priests, cloaked in danger, utter the consecration while bombs fall and threats encircle. It is here that consecrated women, walking amid tents of the displaced and trauma-stricken, draw a strength the world cannot explain. They do not persist because of strategy or human stamina, but because they have been crucified inwardly with the Lamb—and in His Eucharistic presence, they are raised each day with the strength of the risen Christ (cf. Rev 5:6; CCC 1367; Gal 2:20).

To persevere Eucharistically is to carry within oneself the memory of Heaven under the weight of earth. It is to rise after failure, to kneel after insult, to forgive in the absence of apology, because Christ has first done so in the Sacrament. A missionary religious woman serving among the terminally ill, without medical supplies or support, draws not from a motivational talk but from the tabernacle where Love remains wounded and silent. A diocesan priest, falsely accused or isolated in a remote parish, may find his only companionship in the Host he raises each dawn, the same Host that whispers to him, “Remain with Me.” The Eucharist is not a symbol, but a haven for the spouse who endures abandonment, the youngster navigating a broken home, and the catechist who works without gratitude. Christ teaches in it how to endure suffering without giving up hope, rather than how to get out of it (cf. Heb 4:15–16; CCC 1391–1392).

Perseverance is no longer reactive—it becomes Eucharistic, transformative, and fruitful. The Eucharist does not numb; it illumines. It invites daily approach: not only during Holy Mass, but through Adoration, reparation, and frequent spiritual visits to His Presence—even if only for a moment, even if in hidden chapels or makeshift spaces where the world has no interest. In places where faith is mocked, where vocations are misunderstood, where consecrated lives are ridiculed as wasted potential, the humble act of genuflection becomes a defiant act of fidelity. It says, “My strength is not in being seen, but in being known—by the One who dwells behind the veil.” Those who draw their perseverance from the Eucharist do not leave its presence untouched by the mystery. They may bear the marks of trial—fatigue, misunderstanding, even hidden wounds—but they carry something far more powerful: a transfigured interior. As they grow in silent mercy and solidify their roots in truth, they transform into living temples of the Divine Presence. The inexhaustible flame of Eucharistic glory, which never burns nor fades but instead shines divine light on the path of a world shrouded in darkness, is mute evidence that the Almighty is revealed not in thunder or worldly praise. God is still among His people, veiled, vulnerable, and victorious in the Sacrament of His Love (cf. Ex 3:2; Mt 11:29; CCC 1374, 2715). The humble see this in this brightness, something the proud cannot.

But this grace demands guardianship. Eucharistic strength is not a vague consolation to be squandered in self-pity or spiritual passivity. It is entrusted for mission. Those who draw from this fire must keep it alive for the sake of others. Their perseverance must inspire, their fidelity must convict, their love must console. The Eucharist is not meant to be stored—it is meant to overflow. To receive such strength and not become a source of strength to others is to betray the gift. The hidden adorers, the daily communicants, the suffering faithful are called to become living monstrances, radiating strength to those too tired to approach the altar. In them, the Church rediscovers its courage, its silence, its witness. They are not many, but they are enough—for it is not numbers that preserve the faith, but souls who draw their life from the Living Bread (cf. Jn 6:51; CCC 1374; St. Peter Julian Eymard).

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, present in the Most Holy Eucharist, be our strength in frailty, our perseverance in darkness. Teach us to live from Your Heart, not our own limits. Make us faithful in love, tireless in sacrifice, and steadfast in hope. May every Communion become a renewal of our surrender. Amen.

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

Jesus' Voice in Fasted Silence and Attention

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 258: "I will also be speaking to you in the silence of your heart if you allow Me your attention and fasting."

There is a sacred silence known only to souls who have drawn near the Fire of the Eucharistic Heart — a silence not of absence, but of overwhelming Presence. In this Divine Appeal, Christ discloses a truth of eternal consequence: that He speaks most tenderly, most personally, in the quiet of the soul prepared through fasting and focused love (cf. CCC 2716, 2717; 1 Kgs 19:11–13). The soul must become like the tabernacle — still, surrendered, waiting — so that the Eternal Word may resound within (cf. CCC 2696). Priests who carry the weight of many souls must seek this silence with reverence, letting their hours before the Blessed Sacrament become a school of divine intimacy (cf. CCC 1566; Mt 6:6). Religious brothers and sisters are called to guard this silence as a sanctuary where their consecration is renewed daily (cf. CCC 931, 940). And even in the vocations of marriage and youth, where the rhythm of life pulses fast and loud, Christ pleads for hearts willing to pause, to fast — not only from food, but from the endless noise that drowns out His whisper (cf. Mk 6:31; CCC 2210, 2705). Only in silence can the Divine Friend reveal His secrets. Only in fasting does the soul grow sharp enough to discern them (cf. Mt 9:15; St. John of the Cross, Sayings of Light and Love, 54).

This fasting is not merely external abstinence — it is a spiritual nakedness, a dispossession of anything that clutters the soul’s gaze (cf. CCC 1430, 2043). The married mother rising early to pray before the house stirs, the young man deleting his social media to reclaim his interior life, the cloistered nun sacrificing even the comfort of routine for longer adoration — these are fasts that pierce Heaven (cf. Joel 2:12–13; Mt 6:17–18). The seminarian who renounces worldly ambition to make room for divine formation, the elderly widow who silently offers her loneliness in union with Christ’s desolation — they, too, fast with eternal fruit (cf. Lk 2:37; Phil 3:8). Christ’s Voice is not missing; it is muffled by inattentiveness. Attention is the golden thread upon which the divine Word descends (cf. CCC 2709; St. Teresa of Avila, Interior Castle, 4.1). And when one truly listens, Heaven breaks open. Divine direction, burning love, warnings, consolations, corrections — all flow in that silence which is not empty, but full of God (cf. Ps 46:10; CCC 2711). This is the ground where saints are formed.

But to receive this grace is to shoulder a responsibility as weighty as it is glorious. Those who are granted the gift of divine speech within their hearts must protect it, treasure it, and above all, use it well — not for self-satisfaction, but for the salvation of souls (cf. Mt 25:14–30; 1 Cor 9:16; CCC 2034). The priest must let it form his homilies, his confessions, his entire way of being alter Christus (cf. CCC 1548). The consecrated religious must embody that Word in hidden intercession and Eucharistic offering, radiating Christ to a world that does not see (cf. CCC 926; Col 3:3–4). Married couples must let it inform how they raise their children and sanctify their homes (cf. CCC 1657). Young adults must use it to resist the world's seduction and instead become living witnesses of divine fire (cf. Rom 12:1–2). Those given such a blessing must not squander it in complacency or pride, but guard it jealously — for it is a voice not given only for them, but through them for others (cf. CCC 2003; Lk 12:48). To misuse, neglect, or forget this grace is to let other souls remain in darkness who might otherwise have been guided by their faithfulness.

This invitation to silence is not merely personal, but ecclesial — it is a summons to all who are willing to cooperate in the redemption of the world (cf. CCC 618, 852; Col 1:24). It is the training ground of apostles, prophets, hidden victims, and true lovers of God. Here, the priest becomes anointed not by rhetoric, but by fire; the religious becomes fruitful not by activism, but by union; the married couple becomes an icon of Trinitarian love; and the young soul becomes a torch in the night (cf. CCC 1534, 1659, 2105; Mt 5:14–16). Christ is raising a generation of interior apostles — souls ablaze with silent communion (cf. St. Thérèse of Lisieux, Story of a Soul, Manuscript B). He is not looking for performers, but adorers; not strategists, but saints (cf. CCC 2715; Jn 4:23). These souls will be unknown on earth but renowned in Heaven. Let each one who hears this call know that Christ is not far — He waits in the silence, He speaks through the fasted heart, and to those who listen with trembling love, He entrusts His deepest desires (cf. Rev 3:20; 1 Sam 3:10). Such a grace must never be wasted — it must be safeguarded for the salvation of many (cf. Phil 2:12; Heb 2:1–3).

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, draw us into the silence where Your Heart speaks. Teach us to fast from distractions, to attend to Your voice with love, and to treasure Your whisper as fire. May we guard this grace faithfully, and use it to bring souls to the safety of Your merciful embrace. Amen.

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

Divine Mercy in the Dark Night

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 258: "This dark night I assure you of My infinite Divine Mercy."

In the chilling silence of life’s most desolate moments, when the heavens seem shut and the soul gropes through what St. John of the Cross called “the dark night,” our Adorable Jesus offers not a mere word of comfort but an absolute assurance: “This dark night I assure you of My infinite Divine Mercy.” These are not sentimental words, but the echo of the Divine Heart, bleeding with love, spoken from within the very depths of Gethsemane and Calvary. He does not promise an escape from the night, but He reveals that Mercy itself chooses to descend into it. What a staggering mystery—that Infinite Mercy is most radiant not where there is light, but precisely where there is none. This Divine assurance is not temporal consolation; it is ontological truth. In the darkest trials—spiritual abandonment, grief, illness, failure, loss of direction—the Mercy of Christ is not merely present, it becomes the foundation upon which we walk. As the Catechism teaches, faith must sometimes walk in darkness; yet in that hiddenness, God draws closer than ever before, purifying and elevating the soul in a silence more eloquent than words (cf. CCC 164). Christ becomes not only the Light, but the sustainer of the soul when all lights are gone.

To receive this Mercy in the dark night, we must first be honest with our weakness and our need. The Lord does not ask us to be strong, only to be humble and open. This is the path of trust. When the soul can no longer feel God’s presence, when prayer feels cold or mechanical, when nothing seems to “work,” that is precisely the moment to remain faithful. Saying “Jesus, I trust in You” in the dark is more pleasing to Him than a thousand prayers said in comfort. We do not need to understand everything—we need to believe that He sees us. Divine Mercy is not given because we deserve it; it is poured out because we are in need. In such times, we should cling to the Sacraments. Go to Confession, receive the Holy Eucharist, even when the soul feels nothing. These are not empty acts. They are places where Mercy waits for us, quietly and surely (cf. CCC 2003; Jn 6:54).

Even more, the Lord wants us to offer our suffering back to Him, united to His own. If we place our pain—whether physical, emotional, or spiritual—on the altar of His Heart, it becomes part of His own sacrifice. This is the beauty of Catholic life: nothing is wasted when given to Jesus. Every sorrow, every tear, every moment of confusion becomes powerful when offered in love. In this way, we do not simply survive the night—we grow through it. We become more like Him. And He, the Merciful Savior, takes our offering and gives us in return a deeper peace than before—not always a feeling, but a sure knowledge that we are His, and He is ours. The saints knew this. They did not become holy through ease and clarity, but through trusting God in hiddenness and trial. Divine Mercy shines brightest when all else is dark. It is then that the soul learns not just to speak of mercy—but to live in it.

Living in this Divine Mercy amid the dark night is ultimately about having a supernatural hope that endures even after all other natural supports have failed. When one endures the darkness in unity with Christ, it transforms from a prison into a sanctuary—a hallowed space of encounter where the soul is cleansed, reorganised, and purged. Paradoxically, when nothing else can fulfil or uphold, that is where one discovers what it is to have God in His most pure form. The soul must make the decision to stay, like Mary beneath the Cross, pierced yet steadfast, rather than to run away from the Cross, from silence, or from spiritual emptiness. Such perseverance is itself the fruit of Mercy, which holds the soul even when it cannot feel held. In such surrender, Divine Mercy is no longer merely a refuge—it becomes the soul’s identity. When daylight eventually arrives, the soul has been transformed, not lessened; it is now bright in humility, strong in weakness, and alive in God. In order to access Divine Mercy during a dark night, we must embrace it in faith and allow Mercy to sustain us, rather than trying to avoid it.

Prayer

O our Adorable Jesus, in the silence of our darkest hours, teach our hearts to trust in Your infinite Mercy. Hold us close when we cannot feel You. Help us to suffer with You, love through You, and hope in You. Let our wounds become doors through which You enter. Amen.

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

Eucharistic Gaze, Oblative Heart

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 258: "Look at Me, and Me the oblation of yourself."

In this striking appeal, our Adorable Jesus beckons the soul into a divine exchange that transcends human comprehension. The invitation to “look at Me” is not a call to mere observance, but to contemplative immersion in the mystery of the Incarnate Word. It is a gaze that penetrates appearances, drawing the soul into the abyss of divine love where Christ, the Eternal High Priest, offers Himself eternally to the Father. This gaze becomes the first act of participation in His self-offering. To look at Christ is to allow oneself to be drawn into His Eucharistic mystery, into that total gift which culminated on the Cross and is perpetuated in every Mass. Such a gaze, steeped in faith and purified by grace, becomes transformative—it does not leave the beholder the same. For in the liturgical and mystical tradition of the Church, to contemplate Christ is already to be configured to Him. As the Catechism teaches, Christ’s sacrifice is not merely an external event but a living mystery in which we are called to share through baptism, Eucharist, and interior surrender (cf. CCC 1368; 2011). This is the beginning of becoming the oblation: to allow the gaze of love to inflame our being with divine purpose.

But Christ does not stop at the gaze. He calls us to the unfathomable: “Me the oblation of yourself.” In these words, our Adorable Jesus identifies Himself as both the model and the end of our self-offering. This is the mystical path of oblative union, where the soul no longer lives for itself but becomes wholly His, not symbolically but substantially. Theologically, this oblative identity is a participation in Christ’s own kenosis—the self-emptying of the Word made flesh (cf. Phil 2:7). It is not a poetic surrender, but a profound ontological reorientation where the soul consents to be “taken, blessed, broken, and given,” like the Bread of Life upon the altar. The act of becoming an oblation is the death of the autonomous self and the birth of the soul-in-Christ. In the language of the saints and mystics, it is the total immolation of the will, the annihilation of all that is not of God, so that only divine love may live and act within. This is not self-denial for its own sake—it is self-offering unto divine communion, where the soul is divinized by grace and becomes a living flame united to the eternal Sacrifice.

As Mater et Magistra (Mother and Teacher), the Church uses the Sacraments, particularly the Most Holy Eucharist, which is a living testament to Christ's self-gift, to nurture and perfect this oblative vocation. The sacrifice of Christ and the sacrifice of the Church are offered to the Father in the unity of the Spirit at the sacred liturgy (cf. CCC 1322–1324; Heb 10:14). In addition to prayers and deeds, every baptised soul, sealed in confirmation and conformed to Christ the Priest through baptism, is called to offer the fullness of their being—affections, sufferings, hopes, and labors—as a spiritual sacrifice (cf. Rom 12:1). This is not a pious accessory to Christian life—it is its apex. Within the Mass, especially at the moment of consecration, the soul that lives the oblation unites itself invisibly to the crucified Lord upon the altar, participating in the eternal liturgy of heaven. It is here that the saints were formed, here that martyrs found their strength, and here that ordinary lives are transfigured into instruments of divine mercy. To “be” the oblation is to cease resisting the Cross and to become its silent companion, carried in love and consumed in glory.

Philosophically, this mystery reveals the essence of the human person not as self-defining, but as self-giving. Freedom, properly understood, is not the power to choose anything, but the power to give oneself totally to the Good. In Christ, the fullness of Being is revealed not in domination but in surrender, not in possession but in offering. Thus, to be the oblation is to live according to the trinitarian rhythm of gift, reception, and return. It is to enter the interior life of God, where the Son eternally offers Himself to the Father in the Spirit. In this light, we see that sanctity is not a personal achievement but a total surrender to divine action. This is the high calling of every soul: not merely to imitate Christ, but to become so united to Him that He lives, prays, suffers, and offers Himself in and through us. The mystery of Christian existence is not merely moral—it is sacrificial, Eucharistic, nuptial. And so, our Adorable Jesus calls: “Look at Me,” not to admire, but to enter. “Be the oblation,” not to act for God, but to be consumed by Him. This is the mystery of love in its purest form: to vanish in Him and to remain forever in the burning center of divine charity.

Prayer

O our Adorable Jesus, gaze upon us with the fire of Your eternal love, and draw us into the mystery of Your divine oblation. Consume our hearts, our wills, our entire being, until nothing remains but You living in us. Make us perpetual offerings in the hands of the Eternal Father. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 258

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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

VOLUME II

Let your strength and your perseverance be in the Most Holy

Eucharist. Every week you must receive the Sacrament of Penance,

Reconciliation as it was from the beginning, adoration, meditation

and Rosary.

My daughter, watch with Me during these dark hours. Watch, pray

and atone. Look at Me, and Me the oblation of yourself. Do not be

afraid. In the Sacrament of My Love I allow you to enter into My

Distress.

This dark night I assure you of My infinite Divine Mercy. I will

also be speaking to you in the silence of your heart if you allow Me

your attention and fasting. Let your strength and your perseverance

be in the Most Holy Eucharist. Every week you must receive the

Sacrament of Penance, Reconciliation as it was from the beginning,

adoration, meditation and Rosary. You must always come with a

sincere penitent heart to receive My Body and Blood with reverence

because I am all holiness from whom you can hide nothing. You

must pray with total simplicity – My ways are simple.

My daughter, I allow temptation and I will always allow to teach

you discernment of spirits. Never attempt to foresee My plan or My

aim for you and your life. My word is a command, it serves to save

mankind.

Simply write My words as I tell you. Do not concern yourself with

the future. It is not your responsibility. It is totally mine. Do not

harbour attachment to persons or things of the world. In Me and

through Me and with Me is your fulfilment.

You have to be totally obedient to My Apostle of the last days. He is

your spiritual Director. I guide him to guide you. I implore you to be

attentive to him with patience. Do not be afraid – be at peace. Pray

unceasingly for My Apostle with no worries.

Part of your mission involves praying and cloistering in your heart

the souls I entrusted souls. My Apostle is one of them. Through him

I will instruct you each step of the way. It is for you to be very

obedient only.

Attain your inheritance through humility with no pride. Pray and

do acts of contrition not only for yourself. Do not waste any of My

precious time for the salvation of poor souls.

I assure you truly these are grave moments in the world. Never has it

been in the History of mankind. Offer daily Sacrifices in Reparation.

This world is passing away minute by minute. I implore you to live

each day as your last day on Earth.

My Eternal Father will not be mocked forever, for this reason, very

soon I will put this world into its own casket.

1st June 2000

12.58 a.m.

Divine Appeal Apostolate

Divine Appeal Reflection - 257

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 257: "I bless My Apostle, you My daughter, together with all the persons who I will send to work and contribute for this work."

When the Incarnate Word bestows His blessing, it is not a momentary affection nor a symbolic act, but an impartation of divine vitality — a communication of His very Self. Flowing from the inmost sanctuary of His Eucharistic Heart, this grace penetrates beyond the senses, engraving a soul with the hidden power of divine election (cf. CCC 2008, 2012). Such a blessing is not a simple consolation; it is a consecration. It envelops the soul in the mysteries of the Cross, drawing it into that sacred intimacy where the wounds of Christ become both altar and anointing. These chosen ones are not marked by sentiment, but by sacrifice — by the silent imprint of the Divine will, accepted and lived. The transformation is interior, unseen by men, but luminous to Heaven — a deep conformity to the Lamb whose silence redeems and whose love consumes (cf. CCC 618, 1085).

The ones thus marked are not summoned for mere religious involvement or outward ministry. They are drawn into the divine economy where salvation unfolds through silent suffering, hidden fidelity, and radical union with the crucified Redeemer (cf. CCC 1368, 1370). Their vocation is not external function, but mystical participation — a surrender that permits Christ to labor, weep, and redeem through them. The world may not perceive their purpose, but the eyes of God behold in them a living liturgy. Their lives become extensions of the altar, vessels of intercession whose fruit is measured not by human calculation but by divine communion. It is in the obscurity of prayer, the monotony of duty, and the trials no one else sees, that grace is dispensed and souls are rescued from peril. These are not accidental lives; they are chosen threads in the tapestry of redemption — each essential, each bearing a hidden flame.

But such grace is not given for private elevation or spiritual contentment. It is a sacred charge — a trust of immense weight. To be touched by the fire of Christ’s Heart is to be made accountable before the throne of mercy for the souls that will be drawn, lifted, or protected through one's fidelity (cf. CCC 2051, 946–948). Those who receive this interior summons must live with holy vigilance, for their perseverance is the lifeline of many. Grace unused becomes stagnant; grace squandered risks darkness not only for the soul that received it, but for those it was meant to reach. It must be safeguarded like a Eucharistic flame — by humility, vigilance, and hidden acts of reparation. As was seen in Nazareth and Gethsemane alike, greatness in the Kingdom comes by silence, surrender, and the total availability to God’s mysterious designs (cf. CCC 494, 2602). One must not only treasure the blessing but steward it, lest the vessel prepared for divine mercy become closed by indifference or pride.

Thus, this blessing must be carried with trembling reverence. It is not bestowed for one’s adornment, but to echo Christ’s kenosis — the total self-emptying of the Son who came not to be served, but to give His life. Those who are drawn into this hidden communion must allow their hearts to be pierced, that others may be healed. Their mission is to become sanctuaries — not of comfort, but of crucified charity. Whether they be priests shaping destinies through hidden Masses, religious interceding in cloisters unseen, or laity living fidelity in the shadows of daily toil, their yes sustains the Church from within (cf. CCC 953, 2011, 2549). The world may dismiss them as irrelevant; Heaven names them co-laborers of redemption. They are not building kingdoms, but giving Christ a place to rest His weary Heart. What is asked of them is not brilliance nor perfection, but a heart laid open — willing to burn, willing to be broken, willing to love beyond the veil.

Prayer

Adorable Jesus, seal our souls with the fire of Your blessing. Draw forth those You have called from every corner of the earth. Form us into one family, one mission, one Eucharistic Work of reparation and renewal. Give us hearts pierced by Your love, obedient to Your will, and steadfast in Your service. May Your Church be consoled, Your Heart find rest, and Your glory shine forth through hidden fidelity. Amen.

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

Preparing for the Holy Hour

Divine Appeal Reflection - 257

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 257: "The Holy Hour must be prepared and prayed as also Rosaries, meditation, Adoration and listening to Me in the Sacrament of My Love."

There is no true worship without preparation. There is no authentic communion without reverence. And there is no encounter with the Living God without interior poverty—a soul emptied, attentive, and desirous of the One it seeks. In this Divine Appeal, Our Adorable Jesus reveals what modern hearts have too often forgotten: the sacred is not casual, and prayer is not a formality. He longs for hearts that prepare, for souls that approach the sanctuary of prayer as Moses approached the burning bush—with trembling, with awe, with love. The Holy Hour is a spiritual relationship with Gethsemane, not a certain time frame on a calendar. The Rosary is the beating heart of the Gospel, not just a list of words. Adoration is not merely presence before the Eucharist; it is an immersion into the Divine Presence. Meditation is not just thinking about God—it is a surrender to His light. In a Church increasingly tempted by activity without interiority, Jesus cries out for souls who will listen to Him in the Sacrament of His Love. Not rush. Not fill the silence. But listen. And in listening, be transformed.

What is lost when prayer becomes unprepared? The loss is incalculable. Grace is offered but not received. Vocations grow cold. The Liturgy, though valid, becomes sterile. A soul may kneel, speak, and even adore—but unless the heart is prepared, prayer is but sound, not sacrifice. We forget that the greatest miracles in Scripture were preceded by preparation: Abraham's sacrifice, Elijah's cave, Mary's fiat, the Cenacle of Pentecost. The Church herself was born in a room of waiting. Today, many approach prayer as though God must adjust to our pace, our distraction, our moods. But the logic of divine love is reversed: we must conform to His rhythm. Preparation is the liturgy of the heart. It is where reverence is formed, where distractions are stilled, where desire is purified. The Catechism teaches that prayer is both a gift and a response, but this response requires vigilance, humility, and love (cf. CCC 2725–2731). Without preparation, we reduce the sacred to the superficial. And the sacred, when treated casually, ceases to sanctify.

The decline of preparation is not accidental. It is symptomatic of a deeper sickness: the loss of the fear of the Lord. Secularism has not only infiltrated the world; it has crept into the sanctuary. There are Catholics who frequent Eucharistic Adoration and yet do not believe in the Real Presence with trembling love. There are priests who recite the breviary mechanically, who offer the Sacrifice without tears or preparation. There are religious who pray the Rosary out of habit but not from the heart. And perhaps most tragic of all, there are countless lay souls—busy, burdened, and longing for peace—who have never been taught that prayer begins before the words begin. That it begins in silence. In recollection. In the longing to listen. Our Adorable Jesus waits for these souls. He remains hidden in tabernacles across the world, often unvisited, often unheard. He waits not merely to be acknowledged, but to be loved—with a love that prepares the heart like an altar. Only then can prayer be fruitful. Only then can grace descend with power.

This is a call to reclaim the sacred rhythm of preparation in every state of life. Let the priest enter the sacristy not as a functionary, but as one about to ascend Calvary. Let him sit in silence before his Holy Hour, allowing the agony of Christ to become his own. Let the religious sister kindle her Rosary with meditative fire, pondering each mystery with Marian purity. Let married couples lead their families into moments of stillness—before meals, before sleep, before chaos—forming a domestic altar in the home. Let the young set aside their screens and rediscover the beauty of silence, not as emptiness, but as divine invitation. All must prepare. All must listen. For it is in this preparation, this listening, that the heart becomes capable of adoration, the soul becomes capable of transformation, and the Church becomes radiant again with the light of the One she worships. Let every Holy Hour be a Gethsemane. Let every Rosary be a ladder to Heaven. Let every meditation draw the mind into truth. And let every act of Adoration be the kiss of a soul prepared to meet her Beloved.

Prayer:

Our Adorable Jesus, hidden in the Sacrament of Love, awaken in us a deep desire to prepare before we pray. Cleanse our distractions, pierce our indifference, and form in us hearts ready to adore. May our Holy Hours, Rosaries, meditations, and adorations become altars where grace descends and souls are made radiant. Amen.

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

The Wound of Consecrated Betrayal

Divine Appeal Reflection - 257

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 257: "How many of the souls I entrusted souls are going to perdition! How many of My consecrated men and women pierce My heart day and night! Their dishonesty is a diabolical leaven. They have lost their dignity and their light of reason."

The anguish of Our Adorable Jesus resounds with unbearable sorrow: souls once entrusted with the care of other souls have become, through betrayal, the very agents of their destruction. In every age, Christ entrusts His most delicate works to fragile vessels, not because they are worthy, but because His love transforms weakness into strength. Yet when those chosen to guard and shepherd souls instead become instruments of ruin—through moral duplicity, spiritual sloth, and contempt for the sacred—they do more than falter; they desecrate their own anointing. The dishonesty that festers in their hearts becomes a leaven of corruption, slowly penetrating the Body of Christ with apathy, confusion, and scandal. This is not merely human failure; it is a spiritual defection that tears open the Heart of Christ, night and day, in the cloisters and rectories of His Church. It is betrayal under the appearance of holiness, and its damage is not confined to the individual—it cascades across generations, distorting vocations, crushing innocence, and obscuring the light of truth.

This betrayal is rooted in a profound spiritual amnesia: a loss of the fear of the Lord, which the Church recognises as a gift of the Holy Spirit (cf. CCC 1831) and which Scripture declares to be the foundation of wisdom (cf. Proverbs 9:10). Consecrated souls were once guardians of this sacred fear, their lives configured to the Cross, marked by reverence and sacrificial love. Today, many walk the corridors of convents and rectories not with awe, but with entitlement; not with trembling love, but with rationalized rebellion. Secularism has infiltrated the sanctuary. It has replaced contemplation with activism, obedience with autonomy, and sacrifice with comfort. The sacred is now handled as familiar, no longer feared. The altar is approached with casual hearts, the Liturgy offered with distracted minds, the vows worn as ceremonial relics rather than living flames. Reason becomes unanchored from Revelation, and thus collapses into self-deception. The result is devastating: shepherds lose their compass, communities lose their light, and souls—entrusted to the care of the consecrated—plunge into confusion and ruin.

The theological wound is deep because it distorts the very nature of consecration, which is a divine claim upon a soul. Vows are not contracts; they are mystical unions by which the soul is espoused to Christ. To betray such a vocation is not simply to break rules—it is to profane the sacred. It is to pierce Christ anew, not with nails, but with indifference. When reverence is lost, dignity follows. And when dignity falls, reason itself becomes clouded, as St. Paul warned: "their foolish hearts were darkened" (cf. Romans 1:21). A priest who no longer prays, a sister who scorns obedience, a bishop who chooses popularity over truth—these are not just flawed individuals; they are signs of a Church wounded from within. Yet in His divine patience, Our Adorable Jesus does not withdraw His mercy. He grieves, He waits, and He pleads for return. His Heart remains open even to those who wound it, but His justice will not remain asleep forever.

Now more than ever, the Church must reclaim holy fear—not as terror, but as wonder-filled awe before the majesty of God. This fear restores order to reason, dignity to the soul, and integrity to consecrated life. It reignites the mystery of vocation, not as status, but as cruciform love. Priests must again tremble at the altar, knowing they handle the Eternal. Religious must rediscover the beauty of hidden obedience, which conforms the soul to Christ’s own fiat. Bishops must cease their calculations and return to the rock of Peter with filial loyalty and supernatural courage. And lay faithful must no longer remain passive observers, but become fervent intercessors, repairing what has been profaned by silence, sacrifice, and prayer. In this age of apostasy from within, God is raising up saints—not the visible ones only, but the hidden, the faithful, the broken who still burn. Through them, the tide can turn.

Prayer:

Our Adorable Jesus, we grieve for every wound inflicted upon Your Heart by those You have set apart. Restore reverence to Your Church, awaken holy fear, and cleanse the sanctuary of pride and betrayal. May consecrated souls once more be icons of Your love, and may divine dignity rise from holy repentance. Amen.

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

Divine Providence through Holy Obedience

Divine Appeal Reflection - 257

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 257: "Be obedient and the providence will come."

Obedience is the sacred architecture of divine communion. It is the form through which the Church reflects the inner harmony of the Most Holy Trinity, where the Son eternally submits to the Father in a bond of infinite love. In God’s design, obedience is not weakness but the pathway to divine strength—it is the door through which the Almighty pours forth His providence upon those who dwell in fidelity. The voice of Our Adorable Jesus, echoing through this Divine Appeal, is not calling us merely to institutional compliance but to a profound return to the supernatural logic of love. To be obedient is to allow God to be God—not just in the creed, but in the governance of one’s entire life and vocation. In the Church, this obedience is not negotiable; it is constitutive. It is the posture of Christ, the model of the saints, and the key that unlocks the graces that sustain the Body of Christ on earth (cf. CCC 2825, 306, 874–875).

But when this obedience is cast aside, something far deeper than structure collapses—the divine order itself is wounded. The sorrow of Heaven is stirred when consecrated souls, called to mirror the humility of Christ, choose instead to mirror the rebellion of Lucifer. There is a spiritual violence in the disobedience of a priest who twists the sacred liturgy to his liking, in the religious who scoffs at her superior’s counsel, in the theologian who publicizes dissent as though it were fidelity. These acts pierce the mystical Body like fresh thorns. Disobedience is never private; it spills into the Church’s life, distorting vocations, silencing the Holy Spirit, and disrupting the flow of God’s provision. The proud claim to follow their conscience, but it is a conscience unmoored from ecclesial communion, unillumined by grace, and deaf to the harmony of the Church’s voice through time. It becomes not a conscience but an echo chamber of self.

And yet the call to obedience is not one-directional; it ascends and descends through every level of the Church’s life. Bishops, too, must kneel before the Divine Will as expressed through the Holy Father, whose ministry as Successor of Peter safeguards the unity of the faith. Episcopal authority is not autonomous—it is sacramentally configured to a greater obedience, without which the diocesan Church becomes an island cut off from the apostolic sea. Even the Supreme Pontiff, in his unique office, is bound in obedience to Christ the Head and to the deposit of faith. The entire Church breathes only when this obedience flows uninterrupted—like blood through the veins—giving life, order, and nourishment to every member. In families, young couples, and single persons striving for holiness, obedience is no less essential. When lived out in trust, it sanctifies, clarifies, and opens the soul to divine provision that no human striving can achieve.

This is the sacred law woven into the very fabric of divine economy: where obedience reigns, God cannot withhold Himself. Not always with comfort, but always with supernatural sufficiency, He answers the humble heart. The priest who offers the Holy Sacrifice in hidden fidelity, far from applause or acclaim, becomes an invisible pillar upholding the world. The cloistered nun who surrenders her will in silent fidelity is a burning lamp before the throne of God, outshining multitudes of voices clamoring for relevance. The bishop who governs in filial unity with the Successor of Peter calls down a torrent of grace upon his flock, not through strategy but through communion. And the solitary soul—be they consecrated, married, or hidden in the noise of the world—who dares to say a trusting “yes” in the secret furnace of the heart becomes a living tabernacle of divine abundance. Our Adorable Jesus does not merely reward obedience—He inhabits it. He hastens to the place where humility opens the door. There, His providence descends not as a drop but as a torrent, sanctifying, fortifying, and adorning His Church with radiant splendor. Let us return to this forgotten altar, and let every obedient act become a new Pentecost for the Bride of Christ.

Prayer:

Our Adorable Jesus, Eternal High Priest and humble Servant, teach us the majesty of obedience. Heal Your Church where pride has wounded her. Draw bishops, priests, religious, and the faithful into perfect harmony with Your holy will. May Your providence descend richly upon all who walk in humble submission to Your divine order. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 257

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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

VOLUME II

How many of My consecrated men and women pierce My heart day

and night! Their dishonesty is a diabolical leaven. They have lost

their dignity and their light of reason.

My daughter, pray a great deal and atone, watch with Me in the

Sacrament of My Love. Do not be disturbed by the incomprehension

and miseries which surround you. I want your soul to be simple. This is

the way your complete surrender pleases Me. My daughter, My Eternal

Father is very merciful, but mankind has lost its senses – drugged

and Godless!

Time is coming when I will no longer hold back the arm of My

Eternal Father. His Divine Justice.

Listen to Me. Do not be afraid of your misery and nothingness. It is

I who want this way! You are an instrument in My hands and I want

your complete abandon. You have to live for My Church alone. This

is My command. Be obedient and the providence will come.

In this grave hour, My heart bleeds. In My mercy, mankind will find

source of Light and of Love. Otherwise, find the Eternal fires.

My daughter, I implore you and My Apostle of the last days to form

the group of “small Hosts”. I have erected an altar in your heart.

They will have a serious responsibility on their shoulders. How

many of the souls I entrusted souls are going to perdition! How

many of My consecrated men and women pierce My heart day and

night! Their dishonesty is a diabolical leaven. They have lost their

dignity and their light of reason. I implore My Apostle of the last

days to make the “small hosts”; make these poor consecrated return

to Me before it is late. The chalice is filled. He must speak to them

in a very serious way.

He has to establish for them the prayer-shifts, night and day, the

Holy Masses of atonement. According to My desire, everyone must

come to pray in order to save the world and to implore for mitigation

of the evil in mankind.

The Holy Hour must be prepared and prayed as also Rosaries,

meditation, Adoration and listening to Me in the Sacrament of My

Love. Also to keep company. I have it prepared for a long time now.

It is I who want it so.

I say to My Apostle of the last days not to be afraid or surprised.

I am at his side Myself. The wrath of My Eternal Father must be

appeased. I speak to you amid the tears of blood.

I bless My Apostle, you My daughter, together with all the persons

who I will send to work and contribute for this work.

16th November 2000

2.58 a.m.

Eucharistic Vocations

Divine Appeal Reflection - 256

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 256: "... form a group of small hosts which atone and pray a great deal with fervour and also sacrifice and do penance for so many souls who are on the brink of the pit. They also must keep Me company and watch with Me in the Sacrament of my Love, they must be always humble and teach love, serve and make other poor souls to pray and atone before it is too late for their salvation. ...The group of small hosts will be called “The Servants of Jesus Present in The Blessed Sacrament”. They must be formed well and slowly, after long formation they must take seriously and sincerely four vows that is: Chastity, poverty, obedience and service to Jesus present in the Blessed Sacrament."

At the heart of every true vocation—whether to the priesthood, religious life, or consecrated service—there must be an altar, and on that altar, the Lamb. Jesus Christ, truly present in the Most Blessed Sacrament, is not only the goal of consecrated life but its origin, its daily sustenance, and its final reward. The Holy Eucharist is not a devotion among others; it is the very axis upon which the Church and her ministers must revolve. When a soul responds to the divine call, it is fundamentally a response to Love made visible—to the God who remains hidden under sacramental veils and who thirsts to form His servants not in theory alone, but in profound interior communion with Himself. In the Eucharist, the vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience are not merely practiced; they are purified. In Adoration, the soul learns to renounce applause, prestige, comfort, and even consolation, for the sake of Christ who is veiled, silent, and infinitely giving.

For this reason, formation houses today are uniquely positioned—and spiritually obligated—to recalibrate their vision around the Eucharist. In a world of accelerated change, media saturation, and external activity, the need for Eucharistic-centered formation cannot be overstated. This is not a call to abandon academic excellence or pastoral engagement, but to anchor them deeply in the silence of the tabernacle. Formation programs might consider integrating daily Eucharistic Adoration as a non-negotiable pillar—not simply as a pious addition, but as a structural necessity. Let seminarians, novices, and postulants learn to discern the will of God not only through human mentors, but by sitting silently before the Eucharistic Face of Jesus, who forms hearts by His gaze alone. Retreats, human development programs, and theological studies can all find their fullness when they flow from and return to the altar. This kind of formation does not produce mere functionaries, but men and women whose entire identity is consumed in the Eucharistic mystery they are called to serve. In this way, formation becomes not only intellectual but Eucharistic; not only developmental but contemplative; not only communal but cruciform.

Consider the daily life of a young priest ordained with zeal, now assigned to a rural or inner-city parish plagued by tension, political division, or even apathy. He finds himself misunderstood, isolated, or spiritually depleted. The Eucharist becomes for him not merely the object of celebration, but the place of survival. In the dim stillness of the Adoration chapel, he regains his clarity, his strength, and his joy. Or imagine a sister in perpetual vows, working in an overcrowded hospital ward or in a school system rife with secular ideologies. Her fidelity is tested not by persecution, but by slow fatigue and hidden sacrifices. If her day begins with an hour of Eucharistic intimacy, her spirit is renewed, her mission transfigured. The young novice struggling with distractions or inner wounds, the monk enduring dark nights of the soul, the brother called to labor in silence—all must learn that the most fruitful hours of their vocation are not measured by visible success but by time spent “watching and keeping company” with Jesus in the Sacrament of His Love.

What the Church needs today is not simply more vocations, but deeper and holy vocations—vocations configured to the altar, to the silence of the tabernacle, to the crucified love of the Eucharistic Heart. Religious and priests formed in this way will carry a quiet authority, not because of talent, but because of presence—His Presence radiating through them. Their witness will not need many words; their fidelity will speak for itself. Dioceses and congregations must ask with honesty: Are we raising ministers of the Eucharist, or managers of apostolates? Are we forming lovers of Christ, or mere workers for the Church? The answer lies in whether we are returning, with urgency and reverence, to the only source strong enough to sustain vocation in these dark times: Jesus truly, humbly, and continually present in the Blessed Sacrament.The renewal of the priesthood and consecrated life lies in returning, like the disciples at Emmaus, to the Breaking of the Bread. There, eyes are opened, hearts are set ablaze, and vocations are made ready to endure, to love, and to die for Christ.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, present in the Blessed Sacrament, raise up for Your Church holy servants—priests, sisters, and monks formed by silence, sacrifice, and deep adoration. Reform every formation house into a school of Your Heart. Teach us to love You humbly and serve You with purity until every soul is saved. Amen.

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

Daily Swords of the Heart

Divine Appeal Reflection - 256

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 256: "... listen well, with an anguished heart I beg you; be prepared for the Sacrifice which I expect of you; many swords shall pierce your heart."

When Heaven speaks in sorrow, the soul must not turn away. Not in condemnation but in solemn invitation, the Divine Voice declares, "Many swords shall pierce your heart." With prophetic immediacy, these words now descend upon us, mirroring the agony that was once expressed to the Blessed Mother beneath the Cross. They are not poetic metaphors. They are not distant tragedies reserved for saints or mystics. They are the spiritual roadmap of every disciple who dares to love with the Heart of Christ. To follow Him is to bleed with Him. It is to be pierced—not once, but many times—until every barrier between us and Divine Love is removed. We live in an age obsessed with comfort and allergic to pain. But Heaven is calling for hearts willing to be broken—not by despair, but by mercy; not by the cruelty of the world, but by the cost of redemption.

To the priest, this piercing often comes quietly, behind closed doors and veiled tabernacles. He may serve in remote parishes torn by political unrest, gang violence, or intertribal tension. His days may be filled with exhausting pastoral work among the wounded, while his nights echo with the loneliness of celibacy misunderstood and community absent. He hears confessions of deep human misery, often with no one to confide his own struggles to. He labors at altars where few kneel in reverence, preaches in chapels where hearts seem indifferent, and loves souls who rarely love him back. Yet in these hidden sufferings, the swords of Christ pierce his heart not to destroy him, but to conform him more deeply to the Crucified. Each tear cried in solitude, every insult endured with humility, every sacrifice made without thanks—these become incense rising to Heaven, sanctifying not only him, but the people he serves. The pierced heart of a faithful priest becomes a sacred vessel through which the Lord continues His work of salvation.

In the vocation of marriage and family life, these swords pierce in ways raw and relentless. The young couple unable to conceive, the husband working two jobs and still failing to provide enough, the wife carrying emotional burdens in silence, the teenager who rejects the faith of their parents—all are real, bleeding scenarios. Spouses sometimes feel like strangers. Children rebel. A mother might hold her child in the hospital, praying through her tears as the machines beep steadily beside her. A father might collapse into bed, burdened by debts and unspoken fears. And yet, these piercing moments—so heavy, so human—are the very arenas where Christ’s love desires to enter most powerfully. A family that clings to Christ when everything else fails becomes a beacon in a dark world. Their unity amid sorrow, their prayers amid uncertainty, their endurance in trials—all become a living Gospel. These swords, borne together, do not crush the family; they crown it with redemptive grace.

Youth today, too, bear many invisible swords. They navigate a culture saturated with lies, temptations, and pressures that pierce the soul with confusion and isolation. The faithful young person who chooses purity is often ridiculed; the one who defends truth may be cast aside as “intolerant.” Others carry hidden wounds—abuse, broken homes, battles with anxiety or depression. Yet these swords, when brought into the light of Christ, can become instruments of profound sanctification. A young man offering up his loneliness for his peers; a young woman silently battling despair, yet returning to the Eucharist with trembling faith—these are heroic acts. Their hearts may bleed, but their wounds become radiant.

For religious sisters, often hidden from the world, the swords strike in the hidden places—when community life grates against the desire for solitude, when superiors misread the soul’s cry, when prayer feels dry, and joy feels like a discipline more than a gift. Yet it is precisely these hidden, spiritual swords that deepen their consecration. The pierced heart in religious life becomes a chalice where the sorrows of the world are gathered silently and offered back to God. In silence, their hearts bleed before the Eucharist. They are not forgotten. Their piercings mirror the Seven Sorrows of Mary, and in that mirror, Christ finds His reflection. And for each of us, whether consecrated or lay, Christ permits these swords not to break us, but to hollow out a space in us where He can dwell more fully. A heart pierced by many swords becomes spacious enough for divine love. It is not less alive—it is more alive, more open, more fruitful. This is the sacred paradox of discipleship: the wound that bleeds also blesses.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, pierced for love of us, prepare our hearts for the swords You permit. In sorrow, make us steadfast; in sacrifice, make us generous. May every wound draw us nearer to Your Sacred Heart. Unite our sufferings to Yours, and let them become channels of grace. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 256

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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

VOLUME II

This is the Apocalyptical hour; if mankind don’t return to My heart,

they will only know desolation. I want it this way. Every one must

come to pray in order to obtain heavenly protection.

My daughter, listen well, with an anguished heart I beg you; be

prepared for the Sacrifice which I expect of you; many swords

shall pierce your heart. You My daughter must atone and make

others atone for the sins which are committed. The majesty of My

Eternal Father is outraged, never before has it been in the history

of mankind. It is very urgent for mankind to become conscious

of this terrible reality. I do not want mankind to perish in the Eternal

Fire.

This is the Apocalyptical hour; if mankind don’t return to My heart,

they will only know desolation. I want it this way. Every one must

come to pray in order to obtain heavenly protection.

My word is a command, it serves to save souls, for this I want you

and My Apostle of the last days to form a group of small hosts which

atone and pray a great deal with fervour and also sacrifice and do

penance for so many souls who are on the brink of the pit. They

also must keep Me company and watch with Me in the Sacrament

of my Love, they must be always humble and teach love, serve and

make other poor souls to pray and atone before it is too late for their

salvation.

My Apostle of the last days must know that this is very urgent. The

group of small hosts will be called “The Servants of Jesus Present

in The Blessed Sacrament”. They must be formed well and slowly,

after long formation they must take seriously and sincerely four

vows that is: Chastity, poverty, obedience and service to Jesus present in the

Blessed Sacrament.

Tell My Apostle of the last days that I protect him on this work. I

will guide him, bless him and enlighten him on what to do.

I bless him, you My daughter, together with all who pray with you.

Mercy Revealed in Eucharistic Exposition

Divine Appeal Reflection - 255

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 255: "AS I AM EXPOSED I WILL POUR THE TREASURE OF MY DIVINE MERCY TO THE HUMAN SOULS."

Every parish is invited not just to provide access to the Sacraments, but to cultivate places where the mystery of Christ’s Real Presence can be silently adored. Setting aside a space solely for Eucharistic Adoration is more than pastoral convenience—it is a declaration of belief, a theological act affirming that the Incarnate Word dwells among His people in the Blessed Sacrament. This is not merely about architecture, but about orientation: a parish that centers its identity on the Eucharist teaches that healing, conversion, and vocation flow from the pierced Heart of Christ, exposed on the altar. In Eucharistic Adoration, our Adorable Jesus offers the faithful a wellspring of Divine Mercy, one not limited by human weakness but activated by availability. In that availability—kneeling, resting, or even simply sitting in silence—souls are reshaped. The Catechism reminds us that the Eucharist contains the whole spiritual good of the Church (cf. CCC 1324); thus, Adoration is not a devotional extra but a participation in the very source and summit of Christian life (cf. CCC 1325).

Theological reflection reveals that Adoration is more than contemplation; it is participation in the logic of divine self-giving. Christ, exposed in the monstrance, does not speak in arguments or proofs. He pours mercy into the soul willing to be still. This is not passive sentiment but a profoundly active divine act—Christ giving Himself continuously as gift, and the soul receiving Him more deeply the more it surrenders its distractions. In the exposed Eucharist, time and eternity intersect. A person burdened by moral failure finds not judgment but divine tenderness. A mind battered by anxiety experiences, perhaps for the first time, an unexplainable peace. These moments, quiet and hidden, mark the beginning of inner transformation—conversions of heart that catechesis alone cannot effect. As St. John Paul II emphasized, the Church draws life from the Eucharist not just in the Mass but in lingering, loving silence before the tabernacle and monstrance (cf. Ecclesia de Eucharistia, 25).

Priests hold the key to cultivating this culture of Eucharistic centrality. Where an Adoration chapel does not yet exist, clergy can begin simply. Designating specific hours each week—mornings before weekday Mass or evenings after—signals to the parish that the Eucharist is worth setting time apart. Even simple exposition on the altar of the main church, without elaborate furnishings, is effective when done consistently. What matters most is the priest’s witness: his personal presence in silent adoration is a pastoral act that speaks louder than preaching. When parishioners observe their shepherd spending time before our Adorable Jesus—outside of scheduled liturgies—they come to understand that prayer is not a duty but a relationship. Priests lead not only by scheduling Adoration but by modeling it, thereby forming a Eucharistic people. Theological integrity and pastoral fruitfulness meet when the priest becomes the first adorer in his flock, making space for others to encounter Mercy.

Practically, parish communities can be gradually formed to integrate Adoration into their spiritual habits. A monthly holy hour with guided meditations, a Friday evening period of silence before the Blessed Sacrament, or Eucharistic processions on major feast days—all of these initiatives draw souls back to the Source. Even more effective is encouraging ministries—youth groups, mothers’ fellowships, men’s prayer groups—to anchor their gatherings around a brief time of Adoration. When the Eucharist is placed at the heart of the Church’s communal life, it brings not only personal healing but ecclesial renewal. Divine Mercy, as revealed in this appeal, is not a vague feeling but a river of grace poured into open vessels. The more the heart kneels, the more grace flows. This is the Eucharistic logic of mercy: our Adorable Jesus does not impose, but waits—exposed, vulnerable, ready to give as much as we allow. In a distracted world, Adoration chapels become sanctuaries not of escape but of divine embrace, where brokenness is acknowledged, identity is reawakened, and love is poured out measureless.

Prayer:

O Adorable Jesus, exposed in the Sacrament of Love, draw us close to the furnace of Your Heart. Let every parish become a sanctuary of mercy, every priest a faithful expositor of Your Presence, every chapel a dwelling place of grace. Teach us to adore You not from afar, but face to Face. Pour Your mercy upon us until our hearts are changed and our Church renewed. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 255

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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

VOLUME II

AS I AM EXPOSED I WILL POUR THE TREASURE OF MY

DIVINE MERCY TO THE HUMAN SOULS.

12th October 1999

The Divine Work Within Us

Divine Appeal Reflection - 254

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 254: "What I have accomplished in you is a very great grace!"

Grace is the sublime gift by which God, in His infinite mercy, breathes life into the soul, raising it beyond its natural limits to share in the very life of the Most Holy Trinity (cf. CCC 1997-1998). This divine indwelling is not merely bestowed like a token but requires our willing reception and surrender, for grace demands the free cooperation of the human will (cf. Phil 2:12-13). The saints have long testified that without our openness, this heavenly gift remains dormant or rejected, like a seed falling on barren ground (cf. Mt 13:3-8). Yet when welcomed and embraced to the fullest, grace becomes the living force that shapes our intellect, molds our will, and transforms our entire being into the image and likeness of God (cf. 2 Cor 3:18). Each person is called to receive and maximize this divine gift, for to waste or neglect grace is to resist the very breath of sanctification.

In every vocation—priesthood, religious life, marriage, and youth—this grace is the indispensable power that perfects our nature and sanctifies our efforts. The priest receives grace to act in persona Christi, offering sacrifice and forgiveness with divine authority (cf. Heb 7:25-27). Religious persons yield to grace in their vow of obedience and self-denial, embracing a hidden participation in Christ’s Passion (cf. Lk 14:26). In the married state, grace elevates conjugal love to a sacramental sign of Christ’s unending fidelity to the Church, sanctifying daily life and fruitfulness (cf. Eph 5:21-33). Young souls, often beset by worldly distractions, must open themselves to grace’s guidance, that their footsteps be firmly set on paths of holiness and truth (cf. Mt 5:8). In each state and condition of life, the call remains the same: to embrace the grace given with the fullness of heart and spirit, allowing it to bloom and bear eternal fruit.

However, grace is not a force imposed upon the soul; it is an invitation extended by God, which must be met with willing hearts and persistent assent. Our role is not passive; rather, it is a profound act of co-creation with God, who seeks not slaves but beloved children cooperating freely in their own sanctification (cf. CCC 2010-2011). Prayer, frequent reception of the sacraments, penance, and works of charity are the means by which we dispose ourselves to this divine work, allowing grace to permeate the depths of our soul. The saints teach that resisting grace, whether through neglect or obstinance, darkens the soul’s horizon and hinders the transformative power of divine love (cf. St. Augustine, Confessions). To accept grace partially is to receive less than the fullness of divine life; thus, it is the sacred duty of each person to embrace grace maximally, to live fully in God’s sanctifying embrace.

Ultimately, this patient, humble yielding to grace is the path of holiness itself—the soul’s journey from purification to illumination and finally to union with God (cf. St. John of the Cross, Dark Night of the Soul). This interior metamorphosis prepares us for the eternal glory that awaits, making our lives a living testimony to the power of God’s mercy and justice intertwined (cf. Phil 1:6). To embrace grace fully is to choose life over death, light over darkness, and to participate actively in the divine plan of salvation, confident that God’s work begun in us will be brought to completion in glory. Let us therefore open wide our hearts, allowing no grace to be wasted, that we may become all God wills us to be.

Prayer

O Our Adorable Jesus, fount of all grace, transform our hearts by Your mighty hand. Sanctify our callings, strengthen our will, and enkindle in us Your divine love, that we may faithfully share in Your work within us and reflect Your glory for all eternity. Amen.

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

The Sacred Weight of Time

Divine Appeal Reflection - 254

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 254: "Do not lose time, it is precious, pray and atone before it is too late because the heavy darkness is surrounding the whole Earth."

In the divine economy, time is not a mere succession of seconds, but a sacred offering—the stage upon which the drama of salvation unfolds for each individual soul. Heaven sees time differently than man. What we consider ordinary moments are, in truth, pregnant with eternal consequence. Each second pulses with the possibility of grace or rejection, light or darkness. In this sense, time is a battleground. To live it well is to align our will with God’s, to consecrate even the smallest acts of our daily life into offerings of love, reparation, and intercession. The Divine Appeal does not exaggerate; it pierces the veil to show us that the battle for souls happens now—in how we pray, how we forgive, how we spend our unseen hours.

In a world cascading toward moral disintegration and spiritual apathy, time becomes either a sacred remedy or a squandered remedy. The “heavy darkness” enveloping the earth is not merely poetic—it is experiential: increasing confusion, doctrinal rupture, and the silencing of conscience. Many live as if time were endless, postponing repentance, neglecting prayer, and ignoring the interior voice of God. But the Catechism reminds us that this life is the decisive time to accept divine grace (cf. CCC 1021). Once the veil falls, the soul enters judgment with nothing but the choices it made in time. Therefore, to delay is dangerous. The last opportunity for grace will arrive, and when it does, may it not find us sleeping.

Yet, the message is not one of despair, but of mercy’s final call. The fact that we still draw breath means grace still knocks. The Eternal Clock has not yet struck the final hour. That alone is reason for hope. Every Rosary prayed in faith, every hidden sacrifice, every act of forgiveness is like oil filling the lamps of the wise virgins (cf. Mt 25:1–13). These acts pierce the gloom of sin like starlight, forming a constellation of intercession in a world that has forgotten how to look up. In a time that exalts distraction, holiness becomes radical. And a soul attentive to time becomes a co-worker with Christ in His redemptive mission.

Let us then live not as owners of time, but as stewards of a divine inheritance. We do not possess the next hour; we are only entrusted with this one. Each moment must become a tabernacle, a hidden altar where our will is offered to God’s. To pray is to sanctify time. To atone is to transfigure it. When we live this way, we become like living sacraments—icons of divine mercy etched in flesh. The faithful soul does not fear the coming darkness, because it knows that every moment rightly lived becomes a lantern for others, a shelter for the lost, a hymn to the God who still waits for His children to come home.

Prayer

O Our Adorable Jesus, Eternal Lord of time and mercy, teach us to redeem each moment with love. Awaken our souls from slumber, that we may pray, atone, and live with urgency. Let not a single heartbeat be wasted, but consecrated to Your glory and the salvation of souls. Amen.

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

Translate

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Divine Appeal Reflection - 258

Divine Appeal Reflection - 257

Divine Appeal Reflection - 257

Divine Appeal Reflection - 257

Divine Appeal Reflection - 257

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

Divine Appeal Reflection - 256

Divine Appeal Reflection - 256

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

Divine Appeal Reflection - 255

Divine Appeal Reflection - 254

Divine Appeal Reflection - 254