Divine Appeal Reflection - 1
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 1: This time I was not asleep and I was not praying. I just had my eyes closed in the dark. I heard a pitiful voice near my ear saying: “Be attentive to what I am telling you.” I opened my eyes and from outside I saw a ray of light. Through it, I saw the Lord kneeling on the right side of my bed.
In the silence of the night, when all seemed hidden in darkness, Sr. Anna Ali heard a pitiful voice draw near: “Be attentive to what I am telling you.” This was not a dream, nor the noise of imagination, but an encounter. A ray of light entered, and through it she saw Jesus—kneeling at her bedside. The mystery of the Divine Appeals begins not with visions of grandeur, but with humility so profound that the Creator bends before His creature. The same Lord who stooped into a manger and entered the waters of the Jordan (cf. Lk 2:7; Mt 3:13) stoops again, in radiant silence, whispering for the heart to listen. The Catechism teaches that prayer always begins with God’s initiative, His thirst seeking ours (cf. CCC 2560). Here is the first lesson: before God asks, He kneels; before He commands, He draws close. The Divine Appeals begin not in words, but in posture—in the revelation that divine love prefers descent over distance. Practically, this means we should not despise our nights of silence or darkness. It is often there, when we are least prepared, that His voice comes near. His kneeling love is already waiting to awaken the soul.
The posture of Jesus kneeling carries immense weight for the Church and for each heart. It recalls Gethsemane, where He bent low with His face to the earth, sweating blood as He bore the chalice of the world’s sin (cf. Lk 22:41–44). To kneel is to reveal His identity as Mediator, carrying sorrows into the presence of the Father. Now at a bedside, He kneels once more, showing that His mission has not shifted: He intercedes, He pleads, He remains the Lamb who carries the sins of many (cf. Heb 7:25). His words in the Divine Appeals flow not as abstract messages but as prayer pressed into love. They are teachings born from His knees. This is how He conquers—not by force, but by supplication. And if He kneels, then we too must learn prayer as participation in His travail. Families estranged by silence, nations fractured by ambition, societies numbed by despair—these cannot be healed by arguments alone, but by the hidden kneeling of souls who join Him. The Appeals invite us to shape the world not only with speech or action, but through intercession that bends with Him in love.
The tenderness of Jesus’ gesture unveils the style of the Divine Appeals.The Lord who governs the stars does not manifest Himself through force or spectacle but through nearness. He stoops low, allowing His whisper to be discerned by attentive hearts. The Divine Appeals are born in the same manner—not as distant decrees, but as love that draws near. This is why His first act is not to teach but to console, not to rebuke but to accompany. He does not begin with instruction but with presence.This continuity runs through the Gospels: the One who knocks for entrance (cf. Rev 3:20), who sanctifies ordinary houses with healing (cf. Mk 5:39–42), and who shares human grief with tears (cf. Jn 11:35), now reveals the humility of divine love. Practically, this changes how we imagine God’s nearness. He is not only to be found in the solemnity of cathedrals or the grandeur of liturgy, but also in bedrooms, hospital wards, empty streets, and weary hearts. Wherever fragility cries, there His kneeling love dwells. The Appeals begin with the consolation that no one is forgotten, that divine love prefers proximity to spectacle. He kneels to remind us: you are never alone.
Jesus kneeling at the bedside is not merely tender but profoundly theological—a revelation of divine condescension. In a generation numbed by distraction, intoxicated by hollow achievements, and pierced by loneliness, His first Divine Appeal becomes a homily in itself: the Word made flesh chooses the bedside as His sanctuary of encounter. He kneels in places where the world does not look, in the shadows where people feel abandoned. This is the wonder of love—that omnipotence bends to weakness, and hiddenness becomes the throne of the Almighty (cf. Phil 2:6–8). In Christ, divine majesty is revealed not by dominion but by descent, not by spectacle but by self-emptying. The Catechism reminds us that God’s power is most perfectly shown in mercy (cf. CCC 277). Thus the kneeling of Jesus is not a contradiction of His divinity, but its fullest disclosure: a God so sovereign that He can humble Himself without losing anything, and so loving that He chooses to stoop until the least are lifted. The Catechism teaches that God’s fatherly tenderness stoops to each child personally (cf. CCC 270). The Divine Appeals thus form a pattern: before mission comes presence, before teaching comes embrace. Our task is not to chase extraordinary visions but to recognize Him in ordinary suffering—the forgotten elder, the abandoned child, the weary worker. His first Appeal urges us to open our eyes to the God who is already near. In doing so, we find that salvation is not delayed until the future but offered here, in the present kneeling of love.
The hermeneutic of the Divine Appeals is unveiled in that first gesture: they are not decrees of fear but supplications of Love. Jesus does not tower to intimidate; He kneels to invite. His words are not commands hurled from above but whispers given at the level of our hearts. In doing so, He exposes our noise, our distractions, our avoidance of true love. Yet His closeness makes space for freedom, teaching us that liberty is not self-assertion but the capacity to choose what truly fulfills (cf. CCC 1731). The Divine Appeals are therefore not texts to archive but encounters to enter. Each one is a moment where eternity bends low to awaken a drowsy humanity. Practically, this summons us into imitation: listening before speaking, serving before leading, bending in compassion before judging. The Appeals are not spectacle but sacrament—signs that God always descends so that He may lift us into His Resurrection. Jesus kneeling at the bedside is not only the beginning of the Appeals but the summary of the Gospel itself: love stoops in order to raise.
Prayer
O Adorable Jesus, kneeling Love of the Father, You bow to meet us in our frailty. Teach us to hear Your whisper in silence, to see Your nearness in hiddenness, to share Your burden in prayer. May Your stooping raise us, until all humanity is lifted into Your Resurrection. Amen
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
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