Jesus' Way for Entrusted Souls

Divine Appeal Reflection - 261

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 261: "My Church is suffering and bleeding, it will still suffer more and more. The souls I entrusted souls go against My teaching. They pierce My heart."

In prayerful silence, we glimpse a sorrow at once deeply human and fully divine: that those chosen to guard souls can wound the Heart of Christ most sharply—not by open rebellion, but by quiet forgetting of His way, lived moment by moment. Yet it is Christ Himself who shows the true path: the One who knelt to wash dusty feet (cf. Jn 13:14–15), who embraced poverty and obedience even to death (cf. Phil 2:8), and who bore rejection without bitterness. He reveals that true shepherding is not a privilege kept for oneself, but a love poured out until nothing is left. Priests, then, are called not merely to preach but to let each word be born from prayer; to offer confession not as a task, but as a humble meeting place of grace (cf. CCC 1465); and to carry the hidden weight of spiritual fatherhood, often unrecognized by the world. Consecrated men and women, too, find their truest witness not in external works alone, but in living poverty, chastity, and obedience as silent testimony that Christ alone suffices (cf. CCC 926). In such hidden fidelity—choosing prayer over noise, mercy over pride, self-gift over comfort—the wounds of the Mystical Body begin, slowly and mysteriously, to heal.

Christ warned that hearts chasing power or human praise risk becoming stumbling blocks to souls entrusted to them (cf. Mt 23:4–12). Yet alongside Him, Mary, His Mother, shines as the perfect guide: silently present at Cana, gently prompting servants to do “whatever He tells you” (cf. Jn 2:5), standing steadfast at the foot of the Cross (cf. Jn 19:25). From her, priests and consecrated souls learn that authority without gentleness becomes harshness, and zeal without prayer becomes noise. Practically, this may mean guiding the lost patiently rather than condemning them, resting hearts in silent adoration before the Blessed Sacrament (cf. CCC 1380), or correcting gently, never with scorn (cf. Gal 6:1). For religious, it means turning from rivalry to fraternity, from complaint to thanksgiving, from fear to silent trust. Even small acts—a whispered prayer for the fallen, silent tears before the tabernacle, fidelity to community prayer when weary—become part of an invisible reparation known to God alone. Thus, through Christ’s meekness and Mary’s quiet strength, the wounded Church slowly rediscovers the gentle face of her Shepherd.

Yet the sorrow of Christ is never a hopeless lament. It is the sorrow of a Heart still pierced yet still open (cf. Jn 19:34)—a sorrow that hopes even hearts grown cold might return. By His life and teaching, Jesus shows priests, religious, and the faithful that scandal cannot be healed by outrage or withdrawal, but by a deeper return to holiness and truth (cf. Rom 12:21). Parish priests draw close to Him not through perfect eloquence, but by celebrating Mass as love offered, not duty performed; by receiving penitents with mercy, not mere formality; by making rectories places of welcome, not judgment. When religious communities choose calm joy in sacrifice, inner silence over distraction, and unity over discord, they shine brightest. Unnoticed acts of kindness, such as a prayer for those who are wounded, a secret sacrifice, or a kind remark, can sprout into seeds of rebirth. By doing this, the Church regains her original purpose as a living embodiment of her Lord's pierced yet triumphant Heart.

In the end, our hope is not in success or numbers, but in the faithful love of Christ, whose Heart still beats for His Church (cf. Eph 5:25–27). Though she bleeds from betrayal and weakness, she remains beloved, purified through suffering, renewed by humble repentance, and sustained by grace (cf. CCC 823–825). Inspired by Christ’s own surrender and Mary’s silent fiat, priests, consecrated souls, and the faithful are called to heal wounds not by words alone, but by lives rooted in prayer, humility, and truth—even at cost. This hidden faithfulness becomes part of the quiet advance of grace, a tide of mercy no darkness can overcome (cf. Jn 1:5). In every silent offering and unseen sacrifice, we do more than lament the Church’s wounds: we help console the Heart that still loves unto the end, sharing mysteriously in His redemptive work for souls.

Prayer 

O Adorable Jesus, wounded by forgetfulness and pride, teach Your priests, religious, and all Your people to love as You love. Help us console Your Heart with hidden fidelity, humble words, and silent sacrifice. May our lives, though imperfect, become living reparation for those who have strayed. Amen.

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