Sinful Love of Money and Illicit Diversions

Divine Appeal Reflection - 22

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 22: "This sinful love of money and illicit diversions! Satan has darkened the spirits which had already been turbid."

The words “sinful love of money” expose not an external possession but an interior enthronement. Saint Basil the Great offers a strikingly realistic and clear moral teaching: wealth becomes a source of sin if it is hoarded rather than shared, for the rich cannot fully use it and the poor have already lost it (cf. Homilies on Social Justice). Christ does not hesitate to expose this form of slavery, calling money “mammon,” a false god that demands one’s life (cf. Mt 6:24). Saint Francis of Assisi bore witness to this truth through his radical surrender of property. In doing so, he highlighted that money quietly promises security while fostering an inner state of fear. The Catechism situates this distortion under the commandment against coveting, showing that unchecked desire, untethered to need, weakens trust in God’s providence (cf. CCC 2534–2536).. Practically, this sinful love hides beneath respectable forms: ambition baptized as responsibility, hoarding masked as prudence, generosity delayed “until later.” The biblical representation of this fissure is Judas Iscariot, who walked besides Jesus but measured life in terms of coins (cf. Jn 12:6). Our Adorable Jesus condemns the heart that calculates rather than trusts; He does not condemn work or provision (cf. Lk 12:15) . Every vocation is addressed here: parents tempted to equate love with material supply, leaders seduced by profit over justice, consecrated souls tempted by comfort. Freedom begins when money returns to its rightful place—as tool, not treasure.

“Illicit diversions” name the soul’s flight from truth. Saint Augustine confessed that before his conversion, he scattered himself in pleasures not because they satisfied, but because silence terrified him. When distraction dulls our conscience and prevents us from genuinely meeting God, it becomes detrimental. Acedia, or spiritual weariness, causes the heart to roam restlessly and avoid the present moment, as Saint Benedict cautioned his monks .The Catechism teaches that temperance preserves interior freedom by ordering pleasure toward the good (cf. CCC 1809). Scripture reveals this dynamic in Samson, whose strength waned not suddenly but through repeated indulgence that dulled vigilance (cf. Jgs 16). In daily life, illicit diversions are painfully ordinary: entertainment chosen to avoid prayer, habits excused as “harmless,” screens replacing silence. Saint Teresa of Calcutta warned that the greatest poverty is not material but the inability to sit quietly with God. Our Adorable Jesus invites not escape, but rest that restores (cf. Mt 11:28–29). For students, this means disciplined attention; for workers, boundaries; for families, presence; for the elderly, faithful offering of time. True joy never fragments—it gathers the heart back to God..

When the Appeal declares, “Satan has darkened the spirits,” it reveals the anatomy of deception. Saint Ignatius of Loyola (cf. Spiritual Exercises, Rules for Discernment) asserts that the enemy functions similarly to a dishonest lover, favouring ambiguity, slow compromise, and hidden rebellion over visible rebellion.   Darkness in Scripture signifies a will trained to avoid light (cf. Jn 3:20). The Catechism affirms Satan’s strategy as deception that exploits wounded freedom (cf. CCC 391–395). Saint Peter’s fall illustrates this: confidence without vigilance led to denial (cf. Lk 22:31–34). In practical terms, darkening occurs when sin is normalized—when dishonesty becomes “necessary,” impurity becomes “private,” prayer becomes “optional.” Saint John Chrysostom warned that repeated sin numbs the soul until it no longer feels its chains. Our Adorable Jesus stands as Light precisely because He restores clarity, not merely behavior (cf. Jn 8:12). Across vocations, discernment becomes an act of charity: parents teach truth, leaders choose transparency, priests guard interior integrity. Darkness retreats not by argument, but by exposure. Where truth is welcomed, Satan loses his ground.

The phrase “which had already been turbid” unveils the silent prehistory of collapse. Because lukewarmness hides decay beneath habit, Saint Bernard of Clairvaux argued that it is more deadly than obvious sin (cf. Sermons on the Song of Songs).Despite her generosity, Martha's anxiousness hindered her ability to receive Christ's presence (cf. Lk 10:41). Turbidity implies inner disorder—affections mixed, intentions unclear, prayer hurried. Early on, Saint Thérèse of Lisieux recognised this threat and insisted on trust and simplicity as defences against inner turmoil (cf. Story of a Soul).According to the Catechism, sin darkens consciousness, making conversion increasingly difficult in the absence of grace (cf. CCC 1865). In daily life, turbidity appears when examination of conscience is avoided, when silence feels unbearable, when correction is resisted. Our Adorable Jesus does not reject turbid souls; He enters them like the physician who touches infected wounds (cf. Mk 2:17). Every vocation must guard clarity: students through discipline, professionals through ethical consistency, the sick through offered suffering, consecrated souls through fidelity to prayer. Clear water flows only where stillness is chosen.

Divine Appeal 22 unfolds with quiet mercy the path by which the heart slowly loses clarity. The saints recognized this pattern not as sudden rebellion but as gradual drift. It begins with a misplaced attachment—often money, comfort, or control—that subtly replaces simple trust in God. Solomon’s tragedy shows this clearly: his downfall did not start with idols, but with an undisciplined affection that weakened his interior vigilance (cf. 1 Kgs 11:1–4). When love is no longer single, the heart becomes tired and seeks relief. Diversions then appear, not as joy, but as refuge from an unquiet soul. Saint Teresa of Ávila noted that when prayer weakens, the soul looks outward to quiet an inward ache. Deception results from this restlessness: the soul starts to perceive God as demanding and itself as justified. Saint Catherine of Siena cautioned that the soul either perishes or lives in delusion if self-knowledge and God-knowledge are not held together (cf. Dialogue).  The end is turbidity—a heart no longer resisting God, but no longer seeing Him clearly. The saints provide concrete examples: Francis experienced freedom through his radical way of life, Ignatius opened paths through careful discernment, Teresa encountered God constantly in prayer, and Thérèse found joy in offering daily actions to God. Our Lord Jesus desires hearts that love sincerely, not perfection or anxious effort. By humbling Himself for our sake , He extends His call to each of us—students quietly serving their classmates, workers performing honest labor, parents teaching virtue through daily life, and the elderly devoted in prayer. In this way, He calls all to reflect His light, making every vocation and every moment a channel of His grace.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, Light of our hearts, purify our loves and quiet our restless seeking. Free us from false comforts that dim Your presence. Heal our turbid spirits with truth, simplicity, and grace. Teach us to love rightly, live honestly, and choose You daily, in every vocation and moment. Amen

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