Divine Appeal Reflection - 28
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 28: "Look at the world with My Own Light. You will understand that pride and egoism are the causes of all destruction."
Most beloved souls, Our Adorable Jesus does not speak from a distance; He leans close, as one who has walked our roads, felt rejection, tasted fatigue, and loved unto the end. When He asks us to look at the world with His Light, He is inviting us into His own way of carrying humanity in His Heart. This Light is tender, not harsh—clear, not cold. It is the Light that searched Adam in the garden not to accuse, but to restore relationship . Jesus knows that ruin rarely begins in open hatred, but in a quiet inward curve of the heart, where the soul slowly forgets it was fashioned for communion. Scripture unveils this pattern repeatedly (cf. Wis 2:21): when the self quietly occupies the center once reserved for God, harmony begins to unravel. The Church names this mystery with gentle clarity, teaching that pride bends freedom inward until the self becomes its own measure (cf. CCC 398). The saints recognized this drama within themselves. Saints recognized the subtle workings of pride within their own hearts. Saint Gianna Beretta Molla discovered that even noble intentions can shelter the self from complete trust, and only in selfless surrender did her heart rest in God. The Light of Jesus remains tender, for He knows that pride often arises from fear—the fear of being overlooked, unappreciated, or left unguarded before love. To behold with Him is to understand not only what is fractured within, but the hidden reasons that shape its turning, and to draw it gently into the embrace of God’s mercy.
Jesus’ Light reveals that pride is rarely loud. It often lives quietly in ordinary days—in the need to win an argument, the refusal to apologize, the silent judgment of others. Scripture shows us Saul not as a monster, but as a man slowly overtaken by insecurity, until ego eclipsed obedience (cf. 1 Sam 15:17–23). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1849) echoes this human truth: sin grows when the heart clings to itself rather than entrusting itself to God . The saints of our own time learned this truth slowly, often through the surrender of their fragility. Saint John Paul II discovered that suffering, embraced in love, becomes a language through which the body proclaims hope. Saint Teresa of Calcutta allowed obscurity and interior darkness to become a space of fidelity rather than proof of absence. Saint Charles de Foucauld learned that humility flowers when one consents to be forgotten, choosing Nazareth over recognition. In daily life, humility remains deeply human: remaining faithful without applause, serving when gratitude never comes, accepting limits without self-protection. The Light of Jesus reassures the soul that humility does not erase dignity—it reveals it, allowing love to remain pure and free. He knows that egoism exhausts the soul. Pride promises strength but delivers loneliness. Christ sees this and says, gently but firmly: “Let Me show you another way.” His Light restores truth by reminding us that we were never meant to carry life alone.
Jesus’ Light always leads to humility—not humiliation, but truth lived peacefully. He Himself shows us this path, kneeling to wash tired feet, knowing betrayal still lay ahead (cf. Jn 13:3–5). The Catechism (cf. CCC 2559) teaches that humility opens the door to prayer because it accepts dependence as gift, not failure . Saints learned this slowly, often through their own weakness. Saint Gianna Beretta Molla discovered that love reaches its fullness when life is entrusted beyond self-preservation. The saints were initiated into this mystery slowly, through the quiet undoing of self. Saint Teresa of Calcutta learned that darkness itself could become a dwelling place for love when consent replaced understanding. Saint Gianna Beretta Molla discovered that self-gift reaches its summit when life is entrusted without reserve. Saint José Sánchez del Río revealed that even youth can pass through fear into luminous fidelity. In daily life, humility unfolds as a sacred descent: surrendering the need to be right, loving without being mirrored, resting in limitation without resistance. The Light of Jesus does not diminish the soul in this descent—it transfigures it, revealing dignity hidden within surrender. For when we stop protecting the ego, love finally has room to grow. Scripture (cf. 2 Cor 12:9) assures us that Christ’s strength rests precisely where self-sufficiency ends . Pride tightens the heart; humility softens it. And softened hearts heal worlds.
Jesus’ Light exposes how egoism slowly dismantles joy from the inside. Judas did not wake up desiring betrayal; (cf. Jn 12:6) his heart gradually closed as self-interest replaced intimacy . The Catechism (cf. CCC 1865) reminds us that repeated interior choices shape the soul’s direction. Saints understood this human fragility. Saint Bernard warned that self-love, if unexamined, turns even good intentions inward. In daily routines—how we speak, decide, react—egoism subtly asks, “What do I gain?” Jesus’ Light gently asks instead, “Whom do you love?” Egoism reduces others to functions; humility restores them as persons. In marriages, this Light heals silent resentment. In community life, it dissolves competition. In work, it restores integrity. Christ knows that destruction often looks like exhaustion, cynicism, and distance from prayer. He sees the soul growing tired under the weight of self. His Light offers rest by re-centering love.
When Jesus gives us His Light, He entrusts us with hope. Mary’s lowliness becomes the place where salvation enters history (cf. Lk 1:48). The Church (cf. CCC 1733) teaches that true freedom flourishes when the heart consents to truth . In every vocation, humility quietly rebuilds what pride dismantles. Parents form peace by patience. Priests heal by transparency. Consecrated souls witness by surrender. Professionals sanctify by integrity. Saint Benedict described humility as a ladder—each step downward restoring order within. Jesus’ Light teaches us to recognize pride not only in the world, but gently within ourselves, without fear. For Scripture promises that grace flows naturally toward the humble (cf. Jas 4:6). Divine Appeal 28 is therefore deeply human: it names our wound and offers its remedy. To look with Christ’s Light is to let love reclaim the center, allowing God to heal the world—one humbled heart at a time.
Prayer
Our Adorable Jesus, give us Your way of seeing. Gently uncover the pride we hide and the ego that weighs us down. Teach us humble love in ordinary moments. Reorder our hearts with Your truth, that peace may return within us and quietly heal the world. Amen.
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
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