The Forgotten Call to Reparation

Divine Appeal Reflection - 259

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 259: "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."

There is a deeper sorrow unfolding in our time—not always loud rebellion, but the quiet fading of awe in hearts that still outwardly belong to God. Churches remain open, yet the tabernacle often stands alone and unwatched; the sacred liturgy is offered daily, yet sometimes stripped of that trembling reverence which once recognized that Heaven leans close at every altar. The Eucharist, true Presence of the Living God, is often received in haste; confession lines grow shorter, while communion lines lengthen. The Majesty of the Eternal Father is not mainly profaned by outright denial, but by hearts grown numb—hearts that no longer see the blazing holiness hidden under humble signs. Here lies the deepest tragedy: mystery becomes habit, the sacred is reduced to routine, and divine intimacy dulled by custom (cf. CCC 1387; Is 29:13). Yet Christ’s Divine Appeal does not come as thunder or reproach, but as sorrow born of love—a plea for hearts to awaken, to remember that holiness still burns, undiminished, at the center of the Church.

Reparation is more than a pious devotion; it is a way of seeing—a living awareness that every careless word, every distracted communion, every cold reception of grace wounds the Heart of Christ and dishonors the Father. Such a reawakening cannot be forced by authority, nor kept alive by passing emotion. It begins in the quiet yes of souls willing to be pierced by His sorrow and moved by His love. To reawaken this desire means asking for new eyes: to see as He sees, and let His grief call us not to despair, but to a love that acts. It means priests who celebrate every Mass, even in empty chapels or hostile lands, as if it were their first and last; consecrated men and women whose silent sacrifices breathe hidden grace into parishes where faith seems weak; and lay faithful who turn daily struggles—traffic, illness, misunderstandings—into quiet offerings united to Christ’s wounds (cf. Col 1:24; Rom 12:1).

This renewal cannot be written into rules alone, nor fueled only by moments of fervor. It grows in souls who let Christ’s sorrow deepen their love, who choose to stay spiritually awake in a world lulled by distraction. Reparation is not a formula but a living vigilance—a heart’s constant awareness that even small irreverence wounds the God who loves without measure. It calls priests to lift the Host with reverence even when unseen, consecrated men and women to keep silent penances for those who do not pray, and lay faithful to transform small disappointments and hidden pains into silent offerings before His pierced Heart (cf. Col 1:24; Rom 12:1). Such souls do not merely speak of reparation—they become it: unseen flames whose steady burning keeps love alive in the Church, known fully only to Heaven.

To desire reparation is to wake the soul to love’s vigilance in an age drowsy with comfort and noise. It means remembering that worship is not performance, and prayer is not about self-expression, but about humbly adoring the God who veils His glory to come close. This longing must become concrete: daily sacrifices offered for others, silence chosen over useless words, purity of thought and intention, and prayer kept faithfully even when the heart feels dry. It is fed by small, hidden acts of penance placed before His wounded Heart (cf. Ps 96:9; CCC 1430–1431). Slowly, these souls become living reminders not of judgment, but of mercy still offered and love still suffering. They stand unseen—in chapels, streets, and homes—as silent witnesses, hearts burning quietly so that the world’s coldness might yet be warmed, and the Father’s majesty honored once more on earth.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, enkindle in us a fervent desire to make reparation. Let our hearts feel what Your Heart feels, and let every word, sacrifice, and act of love console You and honor the Father’s Majesty. May indifference never find a home within us. Amen.

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