Good Souls, Rare and Radiant

Divine Appeal Reflection - 27

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 27: "Good people are scarce."

Most beloved souls, there is a softness in the lament of Our Adorable Jesus that feels almost fragile, as though Love itself has learned to whisper so as not to frighten wounded hearts. He does not grieve with thunder. He sighs with the sorrow of One who knows every soul by name. He notices what the world overlooks: truly good souls are rare—not because goodness is distant, but because total surrender is costly. A heart that remains open beneath His Gaze becomes exquisitely sensitive, easily misunderstood, often hidden beneath the veil of ordinary life. These souls do not announce virtue or curate holiness. They remain faithful when unseen, echoing the hidden years of Nazareth (cf. Lk 2:51). Their goodness is not rigid but living— (cf. Jn 3:21) breathing, trembling, persevering. They reject the fleeting approval of crowds and choose the quiet ache of truth . Jesus recognizes them as one recognizes a familiar presence in darkness. They are hidden springs beneath cracked ground, sustaining life invisibly (cf. Is 58:11). Saint Catherine of Siena burned with fearless truth amid chaos, while Saint Benedict Joseph Labre wandered unnoticed, carrying heaven in poverty. Scripture confirms this mystery: “The path of the just is like the light of dawn” (cf. Prov 4:18; CCC 1803–1805). The sadness in Jesus’ Heart is not disappointment—it is longing. For every heart fully His becomes quietly, dangerously powerful in love.

A good soul lives from an interior place few ever enter. Its center is not success, noise, or control, but Presence. Life becomes a hidden liturgy. Mundane tasks—washing, waiting, enduring misunderstanding—become sacred altars (cf. Rom 12:1). Like Mary “pondering all these things in her heart” (cf. Lk 2:19), the good soul carries God within daily rhythms. Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton sanctified maternal and domestic burdens, while Saint Joseph of Cupertino revealed that surrendered weakness becomes a doorway to intimacy. The good soul notices what others miss: a faltering voice, a silent grief, a moment where restraint loves more than speech . Nothing is wasted. Every act passes through God before touching the world . From this interior sanctuary, grace radiates outward— (cf. Phil 2:15; CCC 2563) into families, workplaces, and communities—often unnoticed yet deeply transformative . Without interiority, goodness becomes performance; with it, even silence proclaims Christ.

Love within a good soul is forged slowly, in the hidden alchemy of sacrifice. It is patient love—sometimes weary, often costly, always freely chosen again (cf. 1 Cor 13:4–7). Saint Damien of Molokai did not glorify suffering; he remained present. Saint Seraphim of Sarov did not flee the world; he transfigured it through union with God. This same mystery unfolds daily: gentleness under pressure, integrity when compromise tempts, mercy toward those who wound us . Each hidden sacrifice mystically echoes Calvary, where love and obedience met unto death (cf. Phil 2:8; CCC 618–619). Scarcity intensifies their impact. One faithful heart can steady many drifting ones (cf. Wis 3:7). When love is united to sacrifice, the good soul becomes a living sanctuary where Christ continues His redemptive work.

Good souls rarely draw attention, yet they change atmospheres. Their presence softens rooms, slows conversations, makes truth possible. They witness without spectacle, mirroring the quiet authority of Christ before Pilate . Saint Kateri Tekakwitha endured isolation without bitterness; Saint Vincent de Paul reshaped societies through persevering charity. Today, a good soul may defend truth gently, refuse cruelty in digital spaces, protect dignity in hidden decisions, or choose silence over division . Even unseen fidelity becomes light on a stand (cf. Mt 5:14–16). Mystically, the world bends—slowly, quietly—before integrity rooted in God (cf. Heb 3:4). Noise fades. What remains is clarity born of truth lived.

Scarcity, then, is not a verdict but a summons. Jesus’ soft lament is also an invitation. Hearts are formed through prayer, listening, repentance, and repeated surrender (cf. CCC 1428). Saint Maximilian Kolbe and Saint Teresa Couderc became heroic not through spectacle but through daily, hidden 'yeses'. Every pause to pray, every forgiveness offered, every refusal to harden the heart cooperates with grace . The responsibility is sacred: to remain light, to multiply grace, to allow love to pass through us undiminished. True greatness hides itself (cf. Mt 6:3–4). It kneels. It endures. It remains. And in doing so, it consoles the Heart of Our Adorable Jesus and quietly heals the world (cf. Prov 31:30; Phil 2:15).

Prayer 

Our Adorable Jesus, draw us into the depth of Your Gaze. Form in us faithful, hidden hearts. Let our ordinary days become altars of surrender, love, and truth. May our quiet fidelities console Your Sacred Heart and draw weary souls back to Your eternal light. Amen.

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