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.