A DIVINE APPEAL: January 2026

Divine Appeal 56

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“It is only through these small hosts that the evil powers that wish to abolish the Holy Mass will be defeated.”

“My daughter, listen to what I tell you. This is My Voice of Mercy and Love to all mankind. Keep awake and watch with Me. This is My difficult hour of darkness. I need your company. Pray a great deal. Immerse yourself in the most high spirit of contemplation..... for the sake of mankind.”

“Form the cenacles of prayer and small hosts in order to appease the wrath of My Eternal Father. It is only through these small hosts that the evil powers which wish to abolish the Holy Mass will be defeated. I want all souls to atone. These are My Words of warning obtained from My Divine Father. The moment has come when I must warn mankind because I would not let anyone perish unless it is with his own consent. I call them to pray and repent before it is too late.

Offer the Sacrifice of the Mass twice. These are My lonely hours. I never sleep in My vigil for sinners. I keep watching through the veils of My tabernacle without anyone visiting Me. I delight in seeing you pay debts for sinners and whenever you hear offenses and infamy against My Presence in the Blessed Sacrament My daughter, I beg you to pray more for their sake. How I love mankind.”

“I bless you.”

3.00 a.m., 16th December 1987

Allowing Jesus’ Rights Over Promised Reward

Divine Appeal Reflection - 55

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 55: "Many love Me for the sake of the reward which I have promised. They do not allow Me to make use of My rights over them."

'Many love Me', Jesus begins, yet He strikes the heart with sorrowful clarity: this love is often incomplete, tender but fragile, sincere yet self-centered. St. Bernard of Clairvaux teaches that this is the first stage of love—loving God for self, for comfort, protection, blessing, consolation, or reward . Scripture (cf. Jn 6:26–66) confirms this human tendency: the crowds followed Jesus for bread, miracles, and comfort but abandoned Him at the discourse of the Eucharist ,(cf. Ex 15:1; 16:2–3) while Israel sang praises at the Red Sea yet murmured in the desert . The Catechism (cf. CCC 1822–1829) reminds us that charity matures gradually, purified through trials and suffering . In daily life, this first-stage love manifests subtly: fervent prayer during crises, obedience only when admired, fidelity when convenient, generosity only when visible. Parents may love only when children succeed, workers serve only when achievements are recognized, spouses endure when affection is returned, priests and religious persevere only when consolation flows. Peter’s love for Jesus was sincere,(cf. Mt 26:33–35) yet faltered at the first sign of suffering . Divine Appeal 55 confronts all who love Him in this incomplete way, asking the piercing question: Do you love Me for My gifts, or for Me? Every vocation faces this trial. Only then can the soul begin to move toward the second stage of Bernard’s teaching: loving God for God while still struggling with self-love.The appeal is merciful yet urgent: love must pass through fire, purification, and humility if it is to rise beyond self-interest and enter the freedom of unbroken devotion.

'For the sake of the reward which I have promised' -Jesus unveils the subtle seduction of love that is conditioned, calculating, or self-interested. St. Bernard’s second stage of love shows the soul maturing: it now loves God, yet clings to comfort, consolation, blessings, or heaven itself as the motive. Scripture reveals the danger: “Does Job fear God for nothing?” (cf. Job 1:9). The rich young man obeyed the commandments yet could not surrender wealth and security (cf. Mk 10:17–22). The Catechism reminds us that even merit is God’s gift, not a wage, and that grace precedes reward (cf. CCC 2006–2009). Daily life exposes this stage clearly: prayer ceases when it becomes dry, obedience falters when unobserved, acts of love withdraw when unnoticed. Even hidden sacrifices may be motivated by future gain, accolades, or inner satisfaction. When reward dominates the heart, faith becomes fragile, devotion conditional, and virtue shallow. St. Bernard insists this is not sin, but immaturity, and Jesus allows it as a step toward purification. Mary’s love, by contrast, embraced the hidden, unknown, and painful . This appeal calls the soul to dethrone reward, (cf. Lk 1:38; Jn 19:25–27) to let consolations and blessings be instruments, not motives. Only when reward no longer rules does the soul approach Bernard’s third stage: loving God for God alone, free from self-centered calculation and fully surrendered.

'They do not allow Me'—Jesus laments, His voice tender yet piercing, revealing the silent rebellion of many devout hearts. St. Bernard shows that in this stage, the soul clings to autonomy, protecting self-will even while engaged in prayer, service, and devotion. Scripture reveals examples of such resistance: Jonah fleeing God’s call (cf. Jon 1:3), Saul obeying partially while withholding the best (cf. 1 Sam 15:22–23), Peter rebuking Christ’s Cross (cf. Mt 16:22–23). In daily life, this resistance hides in subtle ways: delayed forgiveness, selective obedience, restrained generosity, prayer only when convenient. The Catechism (cf. CCC 2725–2745) teaches that prayer is cooperation with divine grace, not control over God’s actions . Devout souls may cling to comforts, plans, habits, or ambitions while superficially appearing obedient. St. Teresa of Ávila warns that even deep interior prayer can coexist with stubborn self-will. Mary alone embodies complete consent: (cf. Lk 1:38) “Let it be done to me according to Your word” . Divine Appeal 55 strikes the soul with urgency: closeness without surrender is a spiritual prison.

To give Jesus unrestricted access to our hearts demands a humility that stings, a courage that shakes, (cf. Jas 4:6; 1 Pt 5:5–8) and a vigilance against the subtle assaults of pride and fear . It is the daring to let Him enter every room of thought, rearrange every plan, and even touch the most comfortable illusions we cling to, like a master gardener tending a wild, (cf. Jn 15:2) resistant vine . This surrender is not defeat—it is a sacred battlefield, quiet yet relentless, where every whisper of fear and every surge of self-will meets His gentle command, (cf. Ps 46:10) and the soul slowly learns to obey with trust rather than calculation . Parents, for example, struggle to relinquish the future of children, fearing what they cannot protect; professionals tremble at letting Him steer reputations or careers; the sick wrestle with surrender to suffering beyond comprehension. Religious and priests experience this daily in obedience, where the hidden,(cf. Lk 9:23) silent will of God seems to contradict personal desire . Christ’s radical mercy beckons us to unlock each secret chamber—resentments, ambitions, comforts, (cf. Rev 3:20) and fears—and offer Him the key . Only through this fearless surrender does intimacy blossom, for He alone discerns the depths of our hearts and heals what we cannot. St. Bernard reminds us that love untethered by fear or calculation liberates,(cf. 1 Jn 4:18) revealing that true holiness is not mere action but the soul becoming luminous with Christ’s presence .

'To make use of My rights,' Christ declares, and here the words cut deep, confronting every human illusion of autonomy. His rights are not tyranny; they are sealed by the Cross and exist for the soul’s liberation. Scripture declares: “You are not your own; you were bought with a price” (cf. 1 Cor 6:19–20) and all creation was made through Him and for Him (cf. Col 1:16). The Catechism (cf. CCC 2084–2094) teaches that God’s lordship is the foundation of true freedom . St. Bernard’s third stage—loving God for God alone—is reached when the soul relinquishes ownership entirely, surrendering will, desire, and self-interest. Daily life manifests this challenge: Christ claims authority over our time, work, words, suffering, relationships, and choices (cf. Lk 5:4–6). Peter’s obedience (cf. Lk 5:4–6) produced miraculous fruit only after surrender . The appeal asks the piercing question: Will Christ reign, or will self-sovereignty persist? To submit fully is terrifying, for it dissolves self-rule, disrupts comfort, and reorders life. Yet Scripture promises freedom, peace, (cf. Phil 3:7–14; Mt 16:24–25) and fruitfulness for the surrendered soul . Allowing Christ His rights is radical, but necessary for souls to reach the stage Bernard describes as loving God entirely, uncalculatingly, for God alone. Every vocation is called to this surrender—parent, spouse, worker, minister, religious—where obedience is not occasional, but continuous and complete.

'Over them'—the final words descend like both judgment and mercy, marking the call to total belonging. Scripture (cf. 1 Sam 13:13–14; Ps 51:6) contrasts Saul’s divided heart with David’s surrendered one . The Catechism (cf. CCC 2012–2014) teaches that holiness requires full integration under God’s reign, not fragmented devotion . St. Bernard calls the final stage God for God alone, where the soul forgets self entirely, resting fully in divine love. Saints exemplify this surrender: Mother Teresa allowed Christ to use her exhaustion and darkness (cf. 2 Cor 12:7–9), (cf. Jn 15:13) Maximilian Kolbe allowed Christ to use his death . In daily life, this surrender manifests in hidden obedience:(cf. Heb 12:11) patience when misunderstood, fidelity when unseen, prayer when dry, forgiveness without reciprocation . When Christ reigns fully over the soul, fear and self-rule collapse, and divine peace floods the heart. Only when God claims all can the soul truly belong. This total surrender transforms every vocation, every action, every thought, and every suffering into love perfected. Here, the stages St. Bernard describes reach their completion: loving God freely, uncalculatingly, entirely, for God alone, and finding ultimate rest in His Heart.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, we confess that we love You yet still hold back. We cling to rewards while resisting Your rightful reign. Take authority over our hearts, choices, and futures. Strip us of fear, and teach us the freedom of belonging entirely to You. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 55

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“More and more, My Sacraments are abandoned and despised; My mysteries are blasphemed.”

“My daughter, keep awake. Give Me your company in these sad and lonely hours. These are dark hours when the devil is using My own ... who are labouring hard to destroy the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass and to destroy souls in order to lead them to perdition. More and more My Sacraments are abandoned and despised; My mysteries are blasphemed. Continuously and more than ever before the freemasons attack My Divine Sacrament of Love in the tabernacle. What more could I have suffered for mankind! The devil is using My own ... The good ones do not understand Me as I am.

Many love Me for the sake of the reward which I have promised. They do not allow Me to make use of My rights over them. I have given Myself in this Sacrament. I am always watching beneath My sacramental veils that all may come into the ocean of My Mercy and be saved. I beg you to spend all this dark hour with Me in order to atone. The weight of these present sins press on Me in My tabernacle. I call everyone to amend. My Eternal Father’s anger is overflowing! Pray a great deal to appease His anger. This is the time to pray and obtain mercy. The time is coming when I will speak with My Judge’s Voice.

If people are not courageous, resolute and tenacious to avoid the catastrophe then and there mankind will be finished. This is a terrible anguish because many do not want to believe in My warnings and repent. But if more people repent and pray, the wrath of My Eternal Father will be appeased.”

“I bless you.”

3.00 a.m., 15th December 1987

The Devil’s Battle Against the Eucharist

Divine Appeal Reflection - 54

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 54: "The devil is giving battle against My Divine Sacrament of Love."

Our Adorable Jesus speaks with sorrow, not fear: the first battlefield is always closest to the Heart. Sacred Scripture shows that judgment begins with those closest to holy things. Nadab and Abihu (cf. Lev 10:1–3) approached the altar without reverence and perished . The sons of Eli remind us that sacred things can be handled so often that the heart forgets to tremble. They did not openly reject God; they grew careless with what was holy,(cf. 1 Sam 2:12–17; 4:10–11) and slowly the sacrifices were dishonored until even the Ark was lost from among the people .Priests, deacons, religious, seminarians, altar servers, church leaders, choir members, catechists—those entrusted with holy things—are not attacked first through scandal, but through routine. Fatigue dulls wonder. This same danger quietly approaches those closest to the Eucharist today. Activism replaces prayer. Exterior service crowds out interior silence. The devil rarely shouts; he exhausts. He does not always destroy reverence outright; he lets it fade through constant doing without resting in God. What begins as generosity slowly becomes function, and what is functional is no longer adored. This is why Jesus so gently says, “Watch with Me.” Not work more, not produce more, but remain. The heart that keeps silence before the Eucharist is protected, even when hands are busy. But when silence is lost, even sacred service becomes vulnerable. God is not withdrawn suddenly; He is forgotten gradually.

The devil rarely begins with open scandal; he begins with fatigue, routine, interior distance. A priest still celebrates Mass, but without trembling. A minister still handles the Host, but without adoration. A sacristan becomes efficient but no longer recollected. This is how love cools. St. John Vianney wept because he knew the priest who loses awe loses everything. The Catechism reminds us that the Eucharist is the “source and summit” of the Christian life,(cf. CCC 1324) not one devotion among many. When that truth is dulled, the devil has already advanced. Practically, this attack shows itself in rushed liturgies, casual gestures, neglected silence, and a private life no longer aligned with the altar. Jesus does not accuse; He appeals. Like He did with Peter, (cf. Jn 21:15) He asks: “Do you love Me more than these?” . In every vocation, Eucharistic fidelity begins not with perfection but with vigilance—guarding the small interior acts: a genuflection made slowly, a moment of thanksgiving protected, a conscience examined before touching what is Holy. The devil fears reverence because reverence keeps love awake.

The second strategy is subtler: secularizing the Eucharist. Not denying it outright, but treating it as ordinary. Israel carried the Ark of the Covenant, but when familiarity replaced fear of God, (cf. 1 Sam 4:21) the glory quietly departed . The same danger breathes today. Churches become noisy, tabernacles forgotten, the sanctuary treated like a stage. Jesus remains, but the atmosphere no longer confesses His Presence. St. Teresa of Ávila warned that great harm comes when we approach holy things without interior recollection. The devil knows that if the Eucharist is surrounded by distraction, hearts will stop listening. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1090) speaks of the liturgy as participation in heavenly worship , yet secular logic pulls it down to mere community gathering. In daily life, this secularization shows when Sunday Mass is fitted around errands, when Communion is received without preparation, when thanksgiving is sacrificed to schedules. Parents unintentionally teach children that the Eucharist is important—but not urgent. Workers excuse compromises because “faith is private.” Religious grow busy for God and forget to be with God. Jesus’ appeal is tender but piercing: (cf. Jn 15:4) “Remain in Me” . Remaining requires resistance—choosing silence in a loud world, fasting before feasting, kneeling when standing would be easier. Eucharistic faith is protected by concrete acts: arriving early, dressing with intention, teaching children to bow their heads, reclaiming moments of stillness. Secularism is not defeated by arguments, but by lived worship.

Perhaps the most painful assault is the reduction of the Eucharist to a symbol. This is not new. When Jesus spoke of eating His Flesh and drinking His Blood, many disciples left—not because they misunderstood,(cf. Jn 6:66) but because they understood too well . Today the same scandal returns, softened by polite language. The devil whispers: “It is only a sign.” Once believed, reverence collapses naturally. St. Ignatius of Antioch called the Eucharist “the medicine of immortality,” not a reminder but a reality. The Church solemnly teaches that Christ is truly, really, (cf. CCC 1374) and substantially present . When this truth fades, moral life weakens, prayer dries up, vocations wither. Practically, symbolic thinking shows itself when Communion is received automatically, without confession, without hunger, without love. Jesus becomes an object passed along, not a Person encountered. Bible figures warn us: Uzzah touched the Ark casually and paid dearly—not because God is cruel, but because holiness is real (cf. 2 Sam 6:6–7). Jesus’ appeal today is merciful: “Do this in memory of Me” does not mean “remember Me vaguely,” but “enter My sacrifice” (cf. Lk 22:19). In every state of life, Eucharistic realism is restored by acts of faith: whispering “My Lord and my God,” making spiritual Communions, teaching clearly, suffering patiently rather than diluting truth. Love becomes symbolic only when faith retreats.

The devil also attacks by subtly isolating the Eucharist from daily life, allowing external devotion while hollowing out interior conversion. He is content when adoration remains beautiful but fruitless, when kneeling does not lead to repentance, and when Communion does not transform conduct. Yet St. Paul issues a grave warning: (cf. 1 Cor 11:29) to receive without discernment is not neutral but damaging to the soul . Our Adorable Jesus does not consent to be adored and then disregarded; He desires to be received and then lived. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1397) binds the Eucharist inseparably to charity, insisting that sacramental communion must overflow into moral and relational conversion . When this unity fractures, the Eucharist is reduced from purifying fire to spiritual comfort. This rupture becomes visible when workers receive the Host yet exploit colleagues, when spouses approach the altar but refuse reconciliation, when clergy preach mercy while tolerating hidden sin. Judas’ kiss (cf. Mt 26:49) shows how intimacy without truth becomes betrayal .

The devil exploits this contradiction, neutralizing the Eucharist by divorcing it from the Cross and its demands. Jesus’ Divine Appeal summons us back to integrity: the Host received must shape the hands that labor, the tongue that speaks, and the choices made in secrecy. The saints embodied this coherence—St. Mother Teresa drew strength from daily Mass to recognize Christ in the most wounded bodies. Each state of life carries its own place of offering: the desk where choices are purified by truth and justice (cf. Col 3:17), (cf. Prov 31:15) the kitchen where love is repeated through unnoticed sacrifices , the sickbed where suffering is united silently to the Crucified (cf. Col 1:24), the confessional where mercy is spoken and received as resurrection (cf. Jn 20:22–23). When these spaces are lived Eucharistically, (cf. CCC 1397) Christ is no longer confined to the tabernacle but carried into the world through coherence of life . The devil retreats not from devotion alone, but from lives made whole.Where Communion becomes embodied, the Eucharist ceases to be a moment and becomes a way of living.

The devil’s battle sharpens wherever the Eucharist is loved, because the Eucharist is Jesus’ chosen humility—His decision to remain, not in power, but in hiddenness, (cf. Mt 28:20) until the end of time . To wound the Eucharist is not merely to attack a doctrine; it is to pierce the living Heart of the Church. Yet Jesus does not cry out in alarm. From the silence of the Host, He makes an appeal. As in Gethsemane, He does not ask for plans or arguments, (cf. Mt 26:41) but for souls who will stay awake with Him . The saints understood this Eucharistic vigilance. St. Padre Pio called the Mass heaven on earth because he saw eternity compressed into humility. He suffered not only in body but in spirit, bearing confusion and irreverence with reparation. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1402–1405) teaches that the Eucharist places us between memory and promise—already united to Christ, yet watching in hope for His return . This hope demands vigilance, not passivity. To become small like the Host is to choose fidelity over visibility, love over noise. Parents become small hosts by guarding Sunday with quiet firmness. Priests become small hosts by guarding doctrine without hardening the heart. Young people become small hosts by guarding purity in a culture of excess. The elderly become small hosts by guarding prayer when strength fades. The devil’s fury increases because love is truly present. Jesus’ appeal remains disarmingly simple: “Stay with Me.” One hour before the tabernacle. One slow genuflection. One hidden act of reparation. The Eucharist will not be defended primarily by arguments, but by lovers who consent to become bread—broken, silent, and awake. Where love remains watchful, darkness inevitably retreats.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, truly present in the Sacrament of Love, awaken our faith. Heal irreverence, silence unbelief, and strengthen those entrusted with Your Body. Make our lives coherent with the Host we receive. Let us remain with You, watchful and faithful, until love triumphs. Amen

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

Divine Appeal 54

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“The devil is giving battle against My Divine Sacrament of Love. I am so abused, blasphemed; I understand this terrible hour for Me. My own ... are labouring hard to abolish My Presence in the Holy

Sacrifice of the Mass.”

“My daughter, watch with Me and pray. Consider the plight of the world. The devil is giving battle against My Divine Sacrament of Love. I am so abused and blasphemed. My own ... are labouring hard to abolish My Presence in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. I am shedding tears for the whole of humanity. My Eternal Father’s anger is overflowing! The Chalice is filled with My pain. I allow Myself to be seen. I counsel you so that you may pray more and more.

I beg you to take more time for Me. Listen to Me and be attentive to what I tell you. Share this anguish with Me. I have given Myself in your heart; offer Me everything, continuously living with Me in the same Host. You must live at My disposition and that of mankind. See every person in My afflicted countenance. Cloister everyone in My heart. Do not be afraid. Feel what I tell you.”

“I bless you.”

2.30 a.m., 14th December 1987

Spiritual Vigilance: Watching with Jesus

Divine Appeal Reflection - 53

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 53: "...watch with Me."

“Watch with Me” is not a command of anxiety but an invitation into companionship. Our Adorable Jesus does not ask for heroic feats first—He asks for presence. Spiritual vigilance begins not in fear of evil, but in love that refuses to sleep through grace. In Gethsemane, the disciples were not condemned for weakness, but for unconsciousness of the hour they were living in (cf. Mt 26:40–41). Vigilance is awareness of the moment as sacred. The Catechism describes the Christian life as constant conversion and interior watchfulness of heart (cf. CCC 1430–1432), meaning vigilance is not tension, but attentiveness to God’s movements. In daily life, this looks simple: a mother noticing impatience rising and choosing gentleness; a priest recognizing routine prayer becoming mechanical and returning to silence; a worker sensing dishonesty being normalized and quietly choosing integrity. St. Augustine wrote that the Christian must live “awake in heart even when the body rests,” because love itself keeps vigil. This is deeply pastoral: Jesus is not seeking perfect people, but present hearts. Like Samuel in the night, vigilance is the posture that says,(cf. 1 Sam 3:9–10) “Speak, Lord, Your servant is listening” . To watch with Jesus is to live with eyes open to grace in small things.Spiritual vigilance humanizes us—it teaches us to recognize God not only in liturgy, but in interruptions, fatigue, noise, temptation, and ordinary responsibilities.

Spiritual vigilance is the art of discernment in ordinary life. Our Adorable Jesus teaches that the danger is not always obvious sin, (cf. Mk 13:33) but slow dullness of soul—the heart becoming insensitive to God’s voice . Church tradition bears this quietly in monastic wisdom: the Desert Fathers spoke of nepsis—a gentle, inner watchfulness that guards the heart not from spectacular sins (cf. Prov 4:23; Mt 26:41) but from small dispersions of attention. Their struggle was less against dramatic temptation than against forgetfulness of God, knowing that the heart is lost first through distraction before it ever falls through rebellion . This is deeply pastoral wisdom. In marriage, vigilance means noticing when love becomes habit without tenderness. In religious life, it means recognizing when obedience becomes efficiency without prayer. In ministry, it means serving people without losing the gaze of Christ. The Catechism speaks of vigilance as part of prayer itself— (cf. CCC 2730–2733) “watchful expectancy” before God . Practically, vigilance looks like small daily acts: pausing before reacting, examining conscience honestly, guarding what enters the mind, choosing silence over noise, choosing truth over convenience. Even Peter’s denial was not born in hatred, (cf. Lk 22:54–62) but in tiredness and fear . Vigilance is compassion toward one’s own weakness while staying faithful to grace. Jesus’ appeal—“watch with Me”—is not about perfection, but fidelity in the small hours, when no one sees and no one applauds.

Vigilance also belongs to the Church as a body, not only to individual souls. She is called to remain awake in history, (cf. Mt 25:1–13; CCC 672–677)discerning the signs of the times without surrendering her gaze toward eternity . This is not anxious alertness but maternal attentiveness—a watch kept in hope. Pastoral vigilance means guarding truth without bruising the wounded, holding clarity and tenderness together in the same hands (cf. Is 42:3; Jn 1:14). In Scripture and tradition, bishops and priests were named watchmen, echoing the prophets who stood upon the walls,(cf. Ez 33:7; Is 62:6) listening through the night for danger and dawn alike . Today this watchfulness takes humble forms: priests who protect both doctrine and fragile hearts, catechists who teach truth without dilution or fear, parents who quietly guard the interior lives of their children, (cf. Mt 5:13–16) and lay faithful who live visibly Christian lives within secular spaces .Vigilance asks the soul hard, honest questions: What thoughts, words, and images do we allow into our hearts? What attitudes or habits do we quietly normalize until they reshape our desires? What compromises do we excuse, believing them small, until they quietly claim the shape of our conscience? (cf. Rom 12:2; Phil 4:8; Ps 101:3)What is forming our conscience,what is tutoring our desires? . St. John Chrysostom taught that the home is the first church—watchfulness begins there, in speech restrained, example given, forgiveness practiced, (cf. Jos 24:15) and prayer returned to again and again . Even silence (cf. Prov 17:27) can become vigilance when it protects charity . Our Adorable Jesus still stands at the door and knocks ; many hearts are not closed by grave sin but lulled by distraction. Spiritual vigilance is the courage to awaken—not with accusation, but with light. It is pastoral because it seeks restoration, and divine because it flows entirely from love.

“Watch with Me” also reveals the tenderness of Christ. He does not say, “Watch for Me,” but “with Me.” Vigilance is relational. It is companionship in suffering, in waiting, in hope. Mary embodies this perfectly—silent, faithful, attentive, (cf. Lk 2:19; Jn 19:25) present at every stage of redemption . Church tradition presents her as the model of watchful faith: serene, not restless, attentive without agitation (cf. Lk 2:19; CCC 1817). Vigilance in daily life is quietly incarnated: being emotionally present to another, listening fully without hurry, forgiving swiftly before resentment takes root,(cf. Mt 6:6; Jas 1:19) praying humbly without display .St. Thérèse taught that love is proven in little things done faithfully. Vigilance is fidelity in the hidden places. The Catechism (cf. CCC 162, 2849) reminds us that perseverance and watchfulness are necessary because love is tested over time . Our Adorable Jesus knows human fatigue. He knows distraction. He knows fear. That is why His appeal is gentle. He does not demand heroic strength; He invites the heart into intimacy. Vigilance becomes a quiet, enduring love—one that refuses to step away from Christ in His hidden suffering today, present in the poor who are overlooked, the confused who stagger, the sinner who wanders, the lonely whose hearts ache, and the Church herself, tenderly bruised yet alive . To watch with Jesus is to refuse indifference.

Spiritual vigilance unfolds gently at the edge of eternity, (cf. Phil 3:20) not by pulling us out of daily life but by teaching us how to carry heaven into it . It is the slow schooling of the heart (cf. Heb 13:14) to live responsibly now while listening for what lasts . The wise virgins were not tense or dramatic; they were simply faithful to what love required over time—oil added in small, unnoticed acts of care (cf. Mt 25:1–13). Readiness in the Gospel is rarely loud. It is affection practiced until it becomes instinct (cf. Lk 12:35). The saints learned this early. Francis of Assisi stripped his life not to escape the world but to stay awake within it, unburdened enough to hear God pass by (cf. 1 Kgs 19:12). Catherine of Siena spoke with courage because she listened first, (cf. Prov 8:34) allowing silence to tutor her speech .

Vigilance today feels very ordinary. It is the choice to pause before reacting, to pray before speaking, to tell the truth when it costs, (cf. Col 4:2; Mic 6:8) to forgive when the heart would rather harden . It enters kitchens and corridors, deadlines and disappointments, friendships stretched thin and ministries grown tired. Our Adorable Jesus is not asking us to monitor the world’s collapse; He asks us to stay close to Him when love grows tedious or unseen (cf. Jn 6:66–69). Divine Appeal 53 is whispered, not shouted. “Watch with Me” rises from the dust of Gethsemane, from a Heart that knows how heavy waiting can be (cf. Mt 26:38–41). It means staying when prayer no longer consoles (cf. Ps 42; Jn 6:67), staying when obedience quietly costs more than expected , (cf. Rom 8:24–25; Heb 11:1) staying when hope must be chosen without proof . Spiritual vigilance is not heroic tension; it is love that waits (cf. 1 Cor 13:7), love that remains seated beside the Beloved (cf. Jn 19:25), (cf. Mt 26:40–41)even when the night grows slow and heavy .

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, awaken our hearts when comfort dulls our love. Keep us near You in moments of weakness, routine, and trial. Teach us to watch without fear, to remain without distraction, and to love without conditions. Let our vigilance be tenderness, not anxiety. Stay with us. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 53

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“I want humanity to repent.”

“My daughter, watch with Me. I want you to accompany Me. I want humanity to know the seriousness of the state of the world and to understand the inexorable Justice of God. I want humanity to repent, otherwise it will cast down innumerable souls into eternal fire together with satan who suggests to them that My Eternal Father does not exist.

In the Sacrament of Love I am always attacked on all sides. I pour tears over humanity; like a beggar, I ask for consolation for the evil which is being provoked in My presence.

Led by ... mankind is racing towards the precipice of perdition.

Pray a great deal. Lift souls to Me. My desire is that mankind be saved. I am very hurt by My own ... Like traitors they betray My Presence and drag souls down to perdition.”

“I bless you.”

13th December 1987

Receiving Our Adorable Jesus More and More

Divine Appeal Reflection - 52

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 52: "...receive Me more and more."

There is a quiet sorrow in the Heart of Our Adorable Jesus when love is reduced to the minimum.From the quiet of the Tabernacle, Jesus speaks in a way that feels almost fragile: Receive Me more and more. It is the voice of Love that does not force, but waits. The Eucharist is His way of staying close when words fail. From the beginning, the Church sensed this closeness. The first believers did not ration the breaking of the Bread; they returned again and again, because life itself began to feel Eucharistic—received, blessed, broken, given (cf. Acts 2:42–46). The Church later guarded this truth solemnly, teaching that every Mass makes present the one Sacrifice of the Cross, not repeated, but re-entered, calling for the heart’s participation, not mere presence (cf. Mt 26:26–28; Jn 6:51; Council of Trent; Vatican II). Our Adorable Jesus is not looking for occasional visitors who pass through on Sundays and disappear by Monday. He longs for companions. Love grows by returning. Just as the Word truly became flesh and stayed among us , so the Christian, (cf. Jn 1:14) through frequent Mass, is slowly drawn into becoming flesh for others. This appeal hides a daring invitation: allow Me to live in you so often that you begin to look like Me—quiet, available, given.

Becoming a small host is not an image meant to impress; it is a way of living that hurts a little and heals a lot. The Church teaches that those who unite themselves to Christ’s sacrifice at Mass become a living offering with Him (cf. Rom 12:1; CCC 1368). Early Christians understood this instinctively. Some gathered before sunrise, others at risk of arrest, because they knew the day could not be faced without first being placed on the altar with Christ (cf. Jn 15:5). Councils and Fathers defended this hunger, insisting that the Eucharist truly feeds the Church’s life and unity, not symbolically but really (cf. Jn 6:55–57; Lateran IV; St. Ignatius of Antioch). To attend Mass more than once a day, when possible, is not excess—it is desire. Even when sacramental reception is limited, repeated participation forms the soul into Eucharistic shape. This becomes painfully practical: the teacher offering patience when exhausted (cf. Col 3:12), the laborer offering strength without applause (cf. Mt 6:3–4), (cf. Col 1:24)the sick offering pain without bitterness . Elijah, fed by heavenly bread, (cf. 1 Kgs 19:5–8) walked beyond what his body could endure . So too does the Eucharistic soul endure contradictions without growing hard. Saints like Francis of Assisi and Faustina learned to disappear into Christ this way. They did not carry Mass books everywhere—Mass carried them.

To receive Jesus more and more is to let Him gently empty us. The Eucharist comforts, yes—but it also burns. Scripture calls God a consuming fire, not to frighten us, (cf. Heb 12:29) but to free us from what keeps us small . The Church (cf. Jn 15:13; CCC 1394) teaches that frequent Communion loosens the grip of sin and binds the heart more tightly to Christ’s self-giving love . This is where the small host is formed—slowly, painfully, honestly. Each Mass touches a nerve: ego, defensiveness, impatience. In family life, this looks like forgiving again when no one notices (cf. Mt 18:21–22). In consecrated life, obedience without sweetness (cf. Phil 2:8). In professional life, truth chosen over advantage (cf. Prov 11:1). Early Christian teaching was blunt: if you receive the Body of Christ, (cf. 1 Cor 12:27; Didache; St. Justin Martyr) your life must become His Body . Later councils echoed this, reminding the faithful that the liturgy sends them back into the world as witnesses, not spectators (cf. Vatican II). Scripture shows us the pattern: Isaac laid on the wood (cf. Gen 22), (cf. 1 Sam 3) Samuel listening in the dark , (cf. Lk 1:38)Mary offering her body to the Word without guarantees . Frequent Mass forms this Marian availability—until surrender becomes instinct.

There is quiet missionary power in becoming a small host. The Eucharist (cf. Jn 20:21; CCC 1396) builds the Church and sends her out as bread broken for the life of the world . Early councils fought hard to protect this truth, (cf. Nicaea; Trent) refusing to let the Mass be reduced to symbol or memory alone . Those who return often to the altar—sometimes more than once a day—carry something invisible but real into ordinary places. Moses came down from the mountain changed, (cf. Ex 34:29)even before he spoke . So does the Eucharistic soul carry patience into meetings, mercy into homes, clarity into confusion. This is not dramatic holiness. A Eucharistic mother evangelizes by staying calm amid chaos. A Eucharistic priest by fidelity to repetition. A Eucharistic young person by choosing purity when compromise is easier (cf. Rom 12:2). Even when one cannot receive again sacramentally, (cf. Mk 12:43–44) attentive participation deepens oblation. Jesus counts desire, not numbers . St. John Chrysostom, aflame with the Word and the Eucharist, formed cities through the altar and the ambo alike. Long before councils spoke plainly, his life proclaimed this truth: (cf. Mt 5:14–16; Acts 2:42; Vatican II) holiness is not reserved for the extraordinary but demanded of every baptized soul, whether hidden in obscurity or exposed in public witness . The small host is rarely noticed—but heaven never misses it.

In the end, receive Me more and more is about heaven. The Eucharist is a promise of what awaits us: (cf. Jn 17:24; CCC 1402) endless communion, no separation, no fear of loss . Heaven is not scarcity; it is continual self-gift. Frequent Mass stretches the heart toward that capacity. The early Church lived with this awareness, gathering often as those already leaning into eternity (cf. Heb 12:22–24). Councils guarded this vision, teaching that the Mass is a true foretaste of the heavenly liturgy (cf. Rev 19:6–9). The small host learns to live now what will one day be complete. Simeon stayed near the Temple—and so he recognized salvation when others passed by (cf. Lk 2:25–30). Those who stay close see sooner. A Sunday-only faith easily thins under pressure; repeated communion thickens love, memory, hope. Our Adorable Jesus does not command frequency—He attracts it (cf. Jn 12:32). This is the quiet voice of the Bridegroom, leaning toward our ordinary days: do not measure love as if it were scarce, do not come to Me only when you are exhausted. Let Me be your daily Bread, (cf. Mt 6:11; Jn 6:35) taken into the rhythms of your mornings and your weariness . Holiness grows where Communion becomes familiarity, and love slowly learns to ache.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, living Host, teach us to stay. Draw us back to You again and again, until our lives take Your shape. Shape us into small hosts—unseen, consenting, softened by Your hands—ready to be fractured by duty, time, and love, so that without noise or notice, Your mercy may slip into the lives we touch. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 52

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“Through my Sacramental veils I am gazing on anyone who has pity on Me.”

“My daughter, watch and pray. Keep Me in the light. This is My difficult hour. Abused and ridiculed, I am quiet in My tabernacle, whipped and turned upside down. I am inexorably wounded by My own... Through My Sacramental veils I am gazing on anyone who has pity on Me.

I must repose sacramentally in your heart. I want to strengthen you and give you new light. You must embrace the whole of mankind. You must be strong with this supreme proof of obedience and love. You pray and do penance. Expose me to souls. The blasphemers, the image of worldly man, the action of his diabolical spirit, brings destruction and ruin. Pray. Through prayers I will call the attention of many souls.

What hurts Me most is My own ... who betray and attack Me on both sides. They are traitors in perdition. God, My Eternal Father, will do justice for all these iniquities. Beware, it will be worse than Babylon! Judgement is coming. The dealers will perish because they have drunk satan’s poison. They have turned against My Eternal Father. This is My painful hour when they are labouring hard to abolish My Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. They all oppose Me. My Eternal father has shown Me and has told Me ‘this is all the earth! Diseased in part. So few are the chosen ones!’ The good do not pray! Many nations
will disappear off the face of the earth. I, the Lord of revelation, order you to assure them that I appeal to their consciences, to the whole of humanity.

Pray, do penance, receive Me more and more. I want them to repent. Many do not listen to Me because they are not aware of this terrible reality. My Mercy is great if they repent!”

“I bless you.”

12th December 1987

Jesus Weeps Over His Abused Gospel

Divine Appeal Reflection - 51

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 51: "They abuse My very Gospel."

The Heart of Our Adorable Jesus trembles—not from hostility, but from neglect. He is wounded less by open rejection than by indifference: the kind that shows up with bodies present and hearts elsewhere. The Gospel is proclaimed, yet received as background noise. Christ’s Heart is turned upside down not by nails, but by distracted minds, hurried lips, and souls that no longer expect anything to happen. Yet the Gospel (cf. Jn 6:63; CCC 1084) is not information; it is living breath, capable of forgiving sins, reshaping conscience, and awakening the soul . The Church once taught the faithful to whisper, “May the words of the Gospel wipe away our sins,” because the Word itself acts when received. Today, eyes wander, fingers reach instinctively for phones, and thoughts race ahead to tasks and troubles. Even those entrusted to proclaim the Word may read it carefully yet not prayerfully, focusing on technique rather than surrender, forgetting that Scripture, like the Eucharist, is the living Word, meant to be received in reverence and interior devotion . Parents, students, workers, and teenagers often arrive unprepared, carrying noise within. The Gospel is not resisted; it is simply unattended to. Yet restoration begins quietly. A pause before Mass. A breath. A brief prayer for openness. A moment of silence before the reading. These small acts (cf. CCC 1414)realign the heart with the Eucharistic rhythm of listening and offering . When attention meets reverence, grace flows again. The Heart of Christ begins to right itself when someone listens as though their life depends on it—because it does.

The Word is also abused when it is softened, reshaped, or quietly stripped of its Cross. When the Gospel is edited to spare discomfort, it ceases to save. Many desire its warmth without its fire—consolation without conversion,(cf. Mt 16:24–25) mercy without truth, resurrection without surrender . To remove it is to render the Word incomplete and the heart unformed. Scripture proclaims a love that heals by wounding pride, liberates by binding the will to truth, (cf. Jn 12:24; CCC 618)and restores life by asking it to be laid down . When suffering is removed from Scripture, Christ is wounded again—not because He demands pain, but because love without sacrifice cannot heal. The Cross enters human life wherever desire is disciplined by truth. Teenagers live the Cross not primarily by suffering imposed, but by suffering freely embraced—when restraint is chosen over impulse, fidelity over popularity, silence over display . In such moments, the Gospel ceases to be abstract and becomes formative, shaping freedom rather than merely limiting it. The Cross educates the will, teaching that love matures through self-mastery. Workers embrace it when they act honestly despite cost. Parents carry it when they humble themselves before their children. These are not dramatic acts, but they are cruciform. The Gospel becomes flesh when it interferes with comfort, slows anger, challenges selfishness, and teaches endurance. Pope Francis reminds the Church that Scripture (cf. Heb 4:12) must be listened to, prayed with, and lived—not performed or reduced to slogans . When the Cross is welcomed, the Gospel regains its wholeness. Obedience becomes liberating, suffering becomes redemptive, and Christ’s wounded Heart finds consolation in disciples who receive His love faithfully, without editing or diminishing it (cf. Phil 2:5–8; 1 Pet 2:21; CCC 618–621, 1691).

The Mass exposes both our carelessness and our hope. When Scripture is proclaimed without interior participation—by readers rushing through words or by listeners drifting elsewhere— (cf. Lk 10:16)the Heart of Christ is quietly wounded . The Word, like the Eucharist,(cf. CCC 1333) asks not only to be present but to be received . Yet grace is never far. The Church (cf. Ps 1:2–3; CCC 1176–1178) proposes lectio divina not as an elite or rarefied practice, but as a way of reclaiming attentiveness: listening slowly, reflecting honestly, praying simply, and resting in silent communion with God . Even families without printed Scripture can live this rhythm by recounting the readings, sharing a single sentence that touched the heart, or praying together over the struggles of daily life . Teenagers can carry a verse in their pocket or mind while commuting. Workers can return to a phrase during routine tasks. Students can pause between responsibilities and let a word echo. In this way, the ordinary becomes sacramental. The Word teaches, corrects, consoles, and heals—not by force, but by steady presence. It forms conscience gradually and strengthens the courage to suffer with patience, forgive generously, and obey with love . When Scripture is received with intention, it restores the cruciform shape of Christian life (cf. Gal 2:20; Phil 2:5–8). The upside-down Heart of Christ finds rest in souls who listen slowly enough to be transformed (cf. Ps 46:10; CCC 1776). Daily life becomes sacred not through outward display, but because it is offered in union with Him (cf. Rom 12:1; CCC 1368–1369).

At the very heart of the Gospel flows forgiveness—not as a sentiment, but as divine power released into human history. When the risen Lord opened the minds of His disciples to understand the Scriptures, (cf. Lk 24:45–47) He revealed that repentance and forgiveness of sins are not secondary themes but the very fulfillment of His saving work . Every page of the Gospel carries this gravity: the possibility of return, the dignity of being restored, the miracle of becoming new. Distracted hearts—whether of young people pulled apart by comparison, workers crushed by urgency, or families deprived of texts yet not of grace—can miss the quiet authority of the Word.Yet this mercy often passes unnoticed, not because it is weak, but because it requires stillness to be received. Scripture, however, is never confined to paper. It lives where it is remembered in the heart, spoken with reverence, and obeyed in concrete choices (cf. Rom 10:8–10). The ancient prayer, “May the words of the Gospel wipe away our sins,” proclaims a truth the Church has always known: attention is the threshold of mercy. Forgiveness becomes incarnate when patience triumphs over retaliation, (cf. Col 3:12–13) when truth is chosen over convenience, when humility disarms self-defense . The Word then forgives not only past transgressions but the ongoing rigidity of the heart, slowly re-forming the inner man. In such lives, the Heart of Christ is no longer wounded by neglect. It rests, consoled, in souls that allow grace to accomplish its silent work. Forgiveness ceases to be abstract and becomes sacramental—renewing ordinary life from within and restoring it to God (cf. Ps 19:7–8).

Divine Appeal 51 ultimately calls for reverence that costs something. The cruciform Gospel (cf. Mt 16:24; CCC 618) demands obedience, humility, and the courage to lose oneself so the Word remains intact . This call is practical. Lectors prepare not only their voices but their hearts. Listeners cultivate silence, even when distracted or tired. Families honor Scripture through memory, conversation, and example even amidst busy schedules. Teenagers, parents, and workers allow the Word to interrupt routines, shape decisions, and purify intentions. In this way, no vocation is excluded from holiness. Every conversation becomes an occasion for truth. Every task becomes an offering. Every choice becomes a response to the living Word. When Scripture is approached with awe rather than familiarity, it regains its power to convert. Christ’s Heart is consoled not by perfection, but by availability. Attention becomes love. Obedience becomes freedom. The Gospel remains whole when it is lived without dilution. In such lives, sins are forgiven, consciences are formed, and ordinary actions radiate grace. The upside-down Heart of Jesus is gently restored by souls willing to listen, reflect, and obey—day after ordinary day.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, Word made Flesh and crucified Love, draw our souls into the silence of Your Heart. Purify us by the living Gospel, let its holy words wash away our sins, and seal us to the Cross. Make our lives a reverent echo of Your Word, consoling Your wounded Heart. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 51

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“The freemasons have abused me totally. This is the dark hour when they are trying to abolish My Presence. They abuse My very Gospel.”

“My daughter, be patient and listen to Me. You know what I request of you: prayers, penance. Keep awake and keep expositions of My Divine Sacrament. These are difficult hours for Me, as dark as they are, satan works with ... in order to corrupt them, instilling in them that the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass should be abolished. The devil is very astute.

What suffering to Me! Weary of My vigil for mankind, day and night, I remain waiting through My sacramental veils. I love mankind. I have come to call them. I desire that all may be saved. I want them
to realise the terrible truth. The Freemasons have abused Me totally. This is the dark hour when they are trying to abolish My Presence. They abuse My very Gospel. Their iniquity is repugnant! They shout
‘we do not want Christ’ as they turn Me upside down. Satan has chained their souls.

My daughter, unite your heart to My tears. Look at Me in My Divine Sacrament. What great sorrow! How do I make them understand that I love them all? This is why I allow Myself to be seen.

The freemasons are executing themselves with their own hands. Hell awaits them! Pray a great deal without ceasing. Do not be afraid. I have given you many signs of My presence. You must always be
obedient, serene and humble; be prepared for everything.

My daughter, be attentive to him for the good of souls. My Eternal Father wants it so. I want you to follow what I tell you. I have prepared you in many years. Pray. I must accomplish more; watch
with Me and hold mankind in your heart.

I make myself visible to beg for prayers and penance in order to convert souls and bring them to repent. Pray a great deal and unite yourself to them.”

“I bless you.”

2.00 a.m., 11th December 1987

Our Adorable Jesus Turned Upside Down

Divine Appeal Reflection - 50

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 50: "I am being turned upside down. With tears in My Heart I gaze."

He is turned upside down not by enemies, but by love misunderstood. In the Eucharist, Our Adorable Jesus places Himself beneath us—literally beneath our hands, our schedules, our priorities. What should govern everything becomes something we fit in. Scripture (cf. Ps 118:22; Mt 21:42) already reveals this inversion: the Stone meant to be the cornerstone is treated as secondary . The Catechism (cf. CCC 1324) proclaims the Eucharist as the source and summit of Christian life , yet daily life often flows from other sources—work pressure, fear, distraction, survival. This is how Christ is overturned: adored on the altar, but displaced in decisions. He becomes the One we receive, then ask to wait. Like the Ark carried through the desert yet consulted only in crisis (cf. 1 Sam 4), His Presence is near but not central. For those who already know Him, this inversion is rarely deliberate. It doesn’t grow out of defiance. It grows out of tiredness. The soul does not reject God; it simply forgets how to lean. We become responsible, efficient, and inwardly exhausted, and without noticing, God-with-us is reduced to God-after—after the duties, after the decisions, after the worries that feel more urgent (cf. Mt 6:33). Scripture already names this quiet displacement when it speaks of Martha, “anxious and troubled about many things,” while the Presence sat silently within her reach (cf. Lk 10:41–42).

After Communion, He remains within the soul—not dramatically, but faithfully. The Lord of glory consents to dwell beneath unfinished plans,(cf. Jn 6:56; 1 Cor 6:19) unresolved anxieties, and prayers half-formed . He does not compete for attention. He waits. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1377; 1392) teaches that this indwelling is real, transforming, and demands a response of faith and adoration, not merely reception . Yet in our humanity, we often rise from the altar and return immediately to managing life, as though grace were fragile and responsibility absolute. Our Adorable Jesus allows this not because He is secondary,(cf. 1 Cor 13:4) but because love is patient . Heaven bows low; the human heart stays upright with self. This is the sorrowful reversal Christ endures—patiently, lovingly—while still remaining.

Jesus is also turned upside down when intimacy does not lead to obedience. In the Gospel, those closest to Him often struggled most with this reversal. Peter professed love yet resisted the Cross (cf. Mt 16:22–23). The disciples shared the table while arguing about status . Scripture (cf. Lk 22:24) shows that familiarity can dull reverence if the heart is not surrendered. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1391–1395) teaches that Eucharistic communion commits us to live in conformity with Christ . When it does not, love is inverted—received but not followed. Saints spoke of this pain tenderly. St. Augustine confessed that he wanted God, but not yet on God’s terms (cf. Conf. VIII). The heart remains religious, active, and concerned for good—but divided. Saints recognized this danger precisely because it feels so reasonable. Saint Francis de Sales noted that many lose peace not through sin, but through doing too much without God at the center.

Our Adorable Jesus does not accuse this rearrangement; He feels it. He waits while we try to manage holiness alongside life, instead of letting holiness reorder life itself (cf. Mt 11:28–30). Yet eternity keeps whispering: Not less of your life—only let Me hold it. When Jesus is allowed to remain first rather than fitted in, prayer deepens, truth ripens, service becomes love again, and the soul finally rests where it was always meant to rest. He becomes an addition rather than the axis. Yet He stays. Like the Lord (cf. Hos 11:1–4) who remained faithful to Israel despite their divided heart , He continues to give Himself fully, even when the soul gives Him only part. His silence carries the weight of love waiting to be put back in its rightful place.Every postponed prayer, every good intention that did not reach Him, every act of service that replaced surrender—He holds them without complaint, letting them rest in His gaze. Scripture whispers this mystery: (Ps 46:10) “Be still, and know that I am God” . His silence is not absence; it is fullness waiting for our consent.

In the Eucharist, divine order is made visible: God first, self last, love poured out. When this order is reversed, the soul feels restless—even when outwardly faithful. Scripture names this disquiet as a sign of grace, not failure (cf. Ps 42:2). The Catechism explains that grace heals disordered desires and restores the soul’s orientation toward God (cf. CCC 1999–2001). Jesus is turned upside down when the heart seeks peace from control instead of trust, affirmation instead of truth, activity instead of presence. Saints recognized this inversion within themselves. St. Teresa of Avila admitted that she spent years with Christ near her, but not yet reigning within her. Eucharistic life exposes this gently. A spouse realizes that Communion must shape forgiveness at home. A priest senses that routine has dulled wonder. A young person recognizes that Eucharistic purity must reach private choices. These awakenings are mercy. Like Peter (cf. Jn 21:15–17) being questioned three times beside the charcoal fire , love restores what fear once reversed. Each honest response begins to turn the soul right-side up again.

Jesus is turned upside down in the Church when His sacrifice is remembered but not prolonged in life. In the tabernacle, He continues the posture of Gethsemane—lowered, waiting, trusting (cf. Mt 26:40). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1378) teaches that adoration extends the grace of the sacrifice and deepens union with Christ . Yet many pass Him by, absorbed in urgency. Saints felt this keenly. St. Margaret Mary perceived that indifference among His own wounded Him more than hostility. Scripture (cf. Ez 22:30) reveals God searching for souls willing to stand before Him on behalf of others . Eucharistic reparation restores order where love has been neglected. This reparation is lived quietly: choosing silence over noise, fidelity over recognition, prayer over constant reaction. A teacher teaching with integrity, a laborer working honestly, a mother offering exhaustion—these hidden acts lift Christ back to His rightful place. When someone remains with Him, even briefly, the inversion begins to heal.

The final word is not sorrow, but hope. Jesus allows Himself to be overturned because love still believes in restoration. Scripture (cf. Joel 2:25; Ez 36:26) promises that what has been scattered can be gathered again . The Catechism (cf. CCC 2010–2011) assures us that perseverance in grace bears lasting fruit . The Eucharist is God’s chosen way of re-ordering the world—quietly, patiently, from within. Those who already know Jesus are not called to dramatic change, but to rightful placement: letting Him be first again. One reverent Communion, one sincere confession, one decision to pause and listen can realign a life. Saints insist that heaven rejoices when love is finally allowed to lead. When Christ is restored to the center, the soul stands upright at last—not in pride, but in peace. And the One who once endured being turned upside down finds His joy in a heart reordered by love.

Prayer

Our Adorable Eucharistic Jesus, so often placed beneath our plans, restore Your rightful place within us. Gently reorder what we have inverted through fear and distraction. May every Communion, every act of fidelity, lift You again to the center of our lives. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 50

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“In the Sacrament of My Love I am abused very much. These are difficult times when My own ... are assisting the Red Lucifer labouring hard to abolish the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.”

“My daughter, pray and do penance. Listen to Me. These are great warnings of immense Divine Mercy obtained from the anguish to My Heart because I want all to be saved and no one to be condemned through his own fault; as nobody goes to hell without his consent. The demon is disposed to mislead souls; he wants to flatter them. Mankind lives in the obstinacy of sin but My Eternal Father’s wrath is near. Do not lose any precious time. My left hand points to the warning and my right hand to the miracle. I love mankind! Pray, do penance, surrender yourselves without thinking what will happen to you.

I want them to listen to the voice of My Mercy and Love. In the Sacrament of My love I am abused very much. These are difficult hours when My own are assisting the Red Lucifer, labouring hard to abolish the Holy Sacrament of the Mass.

I am being turned upside down. With tears in My Heart I gaze. Keep awake and give Me your company. It is terrible. I am agonizing over souls!”

“I bless you.”

8th December 1987

Spiritual Materialism

Divine Appeal Reflection - 49

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 49: "Materialism advances on all sides with unbridled corruption and has pushed mankind towards a frightful abyss of devastation."

Our Adorable Jesus speaks from the depths of eternity, unveiling a danger more refined than worldly greed: spiritual materialism.Spiritual materialism does not begin in malice; it begins in fatigue. We grow tired of vulnerability before God. Slowly, almost without noticing, we replace relationship with control. We keep the prayers, the devotions, the language of faith—but we shield ourselves from being changed. Scripture names this ache with painful honesty:(Rev 2:4) “You have abandoned the love you had at first” . Nothing dramatic has collapsed; something tender has cooled. Jesus calls this devastation because eternity fades quietly. We still believe in heaven, but we no longer ache for it.Scripture speaks of this gentle drifting when it warns about hearts that grow dull, not rebellious, just tired . Life fills up quickly—noise, demands, responsibilities—and without noticing, eternity is pushed to the margins.Repentance gets postponed because today already feels heavy enough. Mercy becomes routine because we expect it without letting it change us. Judgment troubles the heart because it requires stillness, truthfulness before God, and openness to His light where we would rather remain untouched. St. Augustine confessed that even holy habits can become hiding places when the heart resists surrender. The Catechism reminds us that beatitude is not something we own, but a gift that surpasses every created satisfaction (CCC 1722–1724). In daily life, spiritual materialism looks ordinary: prayer done quickly to feel “covered,” service done to feel useful, virtue practiced to feel safe. Our Adorable Jesus grieves because He desires hearts, not performances. Eternity is not denied—it is pushed to the margins, where irreversible choices begin to feel light, and the soul slowly forgets why it was created.

Spiritual materialism reshapes hope in a painfully human way. We stop hoping toward God and start hoping about ourselves. Heaven becomes assumed rather than awaited. Judgment feels unnecessary because we believe we already belong. Jesus’ parable of the rich man and Lazarus is unsettling precisely because it feels familiar . The rich man is not hostile to God; he is simply sealed inside his own world. Saints saw themselves in this danger. St. Bernard warned religious souls that one can labor much for God and still avoid Him interiorly. The Catechism teaches that the morality of our acts depends on their orientation toward our final end—communion with God (CCC 1752). When eternity is no longer the measure, even good actions begin to orbit the self. In everyday life this happens quietly: the leader who confuses influence with faithfulness, the parent who replaces patience with moral correctness, the devout soul who avoids confession because nothing feels “serious enough.” Biblical figures (1 Sam 15:22) like Saul show how easy it is to cloak self-protection in religious language . Our Adorable Jesus does not expose this to condemn, but to free. He knows how human it is to fear losing control. Eternity threatens our illusions—but it also promises rest for hearts weary of carrying themselves.

At its core, spiritual materialism is the fear of being poor before God. We want grace, but not dependence; closeness, but not exposure. Scripture (Ps 51:6) reveals that God desires truth in the depths of the heart , not spiritual competence. Spiritual materialism thrives when prayer becomes technique, discernment becomes justification, and formation becomes accumulation. The Catechism (CCC 2015) reminds us that growth in holiness involves purification, struggle, and surrender—not spiritual comfort . Our Adorable Jesus calls this devastation because it produces souls who are busy yet unbroken, religious yet untouched. Eternity is what breaks us open. Jesus’ words that “nothing is hidden that will not be revealed” (Lk 12:2) are not meant to terrify but to heal. They invite us to stop managing appearances and allow God into the unfinished places. Biblical personalities like the elder brother stayed close to the house but far from the father’s joy (Lk 15:28–30). Without eternity, religion becomes a shelter for the ego. With eternity, it becomes a place where the heart finally tells the truth.

Spiritual materialism flourishes where judgment is dismissed as harsh. Yet Scripture (Rom 2:6–8) presents judgment as the moment when love is finally clarified . In daily life, remembering eternity changes small things: the priest asking whether ministry still flows from prayer, the worker examining whether honesty costs too much, the consecrated soul noticing where obedience has grown cautious. The Catechism (CCC 1021–1022) teaches that at death, each person stands alone before Christ in truth . Our Adorable Jesus speaks of an abyss because spiritual materialism numbs this moment. When eternity fades, repentance feels optional, and God feels predictable. Yet those who remember eternity grow softer, not harder. Like the wise virgins, they remain ready not because they are perfect,(Mt 25:1–13) but because they stay awake to their need . Eternity restores seriousness without crushing tenderness. It teaches us that love is urgent precisely because time is short.

This appeal is ultimately an invitation to come home—poor, honest, and unguarded. Our Adorable Jesus does not want impressive souls; He wants real ones. Spiritual materialism dissolves at the moment the soul dares to stand uncovered before God. It is not abandoned through effort, but through surrender. The need to secure ourselves—by virtue, discipline, reputation, or even repentance carefully measured—reveals how deeply we fear being loved without defenses. Our Adorable Jesus does not ask for guarantees; He asks for truth. Here the soul learns the most frightening and freeing truth: God is not secured by our goodness. He is encountered in our consent. Spiritual materialism collapses when the soul realizes that even holiness can become a hiding place if it is used to avoid abandonment. The Cross itself reveals this mystery—Jesus saves not by proving righteousness, but by surrendering everything into the Father’s hands (cf. Lk 23:46). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1817; 1847) speaks of this trust as the heart of Christian hope, where mercy exceeds human calculation and draws the sinner into communion rather than distance .

In this naked trust, eternity is no longer an idea but a Presence. The soul stops negotiating its worth and begins to rest. This is the poverty that opens heaven. Today, this means returning quickly after falling, letting sorrow soften the heart, and trusting mercy more than our weakness. The Catechism(CCC 1817–1821) teaches that hope in eternal life should transform how we live now, not harden us into spiritual certainty . Eternity returns simplicity to faith: prayer becomes encounter, sacraments become mercy, obedience becomes rest. Our Adorable Jesus warns of devastation because spiritual materialism can fill churches while leaving hearts untouched. Yet His voice is tender. He calls us back to wonder, back to fear of the Lord that heals rather than frightens. Those who recover eternity live differently—not anxiously, but awake. They wait not for comfort, but for Him, (1 Cor 15:28) until God is finally all in all

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, strip our souls of spiritual pride and false security. Free us from possessing You instead of adoring You. Restore eternity to our choices, humility to our prayer, and truth to our devotion. Make us poor in spirit, watchful in love, and ready for Your coming. Amen

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

Divine Appeal 49

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“Materialism advances on all sides with unbridled corruption and has pushed mankind towards a frightful abyss of devastation.”

“My daughter, pray a great deal. I am very hurt because people and My own ... follow the ways of perdition. Materialism advances on all sides with unbridled corruption and has pushed mankind towards a frightful abyss of devastation. Immersed in a chain of scandals, the world is a swampland of muck and mire. It will be at the mercy of the most severe trials of Divine Justice. Since a long time ago, I have warned mankind in many ways but they do not listen to My calls and they continue along the ways of

perdition.

Never before has the world needed prayers and penance as in these tragic times.

Do not lose time. Pray before it is too late because these times are worse than those of the great deluge! Mankind offends My Eternal Father very much. Many revolutions will break out. The Church will suffer very much but the punishment of the impious will not delay; and that day will be terribly fearful. The earth will tremble and all mankind will be shaken and finally evil will perish in the tremendous rigours of Divine Justice.”

“Participate in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Atone and do penance. I want complete obedience from you.”

“I bless you.”

2.30 a.m., 7th December 1987

Compunction as Light in a Darkened World

Divine Appeal Reflection - 48

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 48: "...consider the present plight of the world.I desire that you keep in mind the compunction."

There is a quiet heroism in a heart that still weeps. In a world trained to scroll past suffering and dismiss sin, the soul that feels is already extraordinary. Jesus starts off with a kind yet firm voice: think about the state of the world. He urges remembering compunction—the profound, graceful pain that demonstrates the heart's vitality—rather than merely analysing. This is no passing guilt, no sentimental sorrow. It is the courage to stand before truth, pierced yet upright, aware of sin yet drawn to mercy. Scripture speaks of hearts “pierced to the truth” and stirred to action (cf. Acts 2:37), and of love that is tested through sorrow (cf. 1 Pet 1:6–7). Compunction does not weaken; it awakens. It allows the soul to perceive its attachments, feel the weight of injustice, and bow without giving up. Scripture shows it as the moment when truth finally reaches the depths—when listeners were “cut to the heart” and could no longer pretend neutrality (cf. Acts 2:37). The Church (cf. CCC 1451) names this grace as contrition born of love, not fear . Humanly, compunction feels like standing still long enough to admit: this is not what love looks like. The prophets knew this pause; Jeremiah’s lament flowed from love wounded by reality (cf. Jer 9:1). Jesus asks us to keep this remembrance, for without it, the soul may accomplish much yet remain distant from holiness. As St. John of the Cross teaches, this gentle burning of love purifies desire, loosening the soul from lesser attachments and drawing it upward .The psalmist understood that God listens closely to the contrite. When the soul accepts its frailty without shame, grief becomes a grace rather than a threat. It no longer crushes but softens, making room for God. In these small interior awakenings, sanctity takes root—not by doing more, but by yielding more deeply to Love. It marks the start of realism, which is the foundation for mercy.

If compunction feels demanding, it is because it mirrors the Heart of Jesus Himself. He wept over Jerusalem not because He lacked power,(cf. Lk 19:41) but because love sees clearly . His tears were the price of attention. The Catechism (cf. CCC 613–614) teaches that the Cross reveals both the gravity of sin and the depth of divine love . Compunction lives in that tension. It is the refusal to grow indifferent. St. Peter’s tears after his denial were not theatrical remorse;(cf. Lk 22:62) they were the undoing of self-confidence and the birth of pastoral humility . We recognize this humanly: when a parent realizes impatience has replaced presence; when a priest senses routine dulling reverence; when a worker notices ambition silencing conscience. Jesus does not shame these realizations—He waits within them. St. Bernard observed that compunction guards love from becoming merely emotional. It asks us to remain present to uncomfortable moments, trusting that God is at work there. Sitting with the Gospel a minute longer. Letting confession be honest rather than efficient. When we stop defending ourselves, compunction can take root.

When Christ speaks of the world’s plight, He is speaking first to the heart. He does not accuse; He illuminates. He draws the soul into the light of truth where sorrow can become compunction and compunction can become love purified. In this light, despair has no place—only mercy waiting to be received. The deeper crisis is not chaos, but numbness. Scripture (cf. Mt 13:15) warns of hearts that no longer perceive, no longer feel . Compunction is the antidote to this anesthesia. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1869) reminds us that sin wounds not only individuals but the fabric of society itself . Yet Jesus does not begin with accusation; He begins with the heart. Saints understood this instinctively. Catherine of Siena wept for the Church not from distance, but from belonging. In daily terms, compunction reshapes how we engage headlines, scandals, and suffering. Instead of outrage that exhausts, it births prayer that perseveres. A teacher refuses cynicism and teaches integrity quietly. A young person resists despair by guarding purity of heart. A religious continues fidelity when fruit is unseen. Compunction prevents us from becoming spectators of collapse. It insists: I am implicated, but I am also responsible. Jesus desires this remembrance because it keeps hope honest. The world’s wounds are real, but so is grace. Compunction keeps us kneeling at the intersection of both.

Compunction does not remove us from life; it returns us to it more gently. St. Benedict insisted that daily living itself should keep the heart softened. Conversion, (cf. CCC 1428) the Catechism teaches, is lifelong . For parents, compunction may sound like admitting fatigue has hardened tone and choosing tenderness again. For professionals, it may mean quietly undoing a compromise no one else noticed. For clergy, it protects ministry from becoming performance, (cf. Jn 21:15–17) remembering that shepherds remain sheep in need of mercy . Compunction endures in ordinary vulnerabilities: when we notice how easily we interrupt, how rarely we truly listen, how quickly we withdraw when love becomes costly. It is preserved when we do not rush to drown these realizations in noise, productivity, or explanation. The saints recognized this humanity. Compunction is preserved when we let reality stand. Thus, a thankful heart remains compunct without collapsing. Jesus desires this kind of realism—where repentance and gratitude coexist. In kitchens and corridors, offices and chapels, compunction keeps love honest. It allows the soul to say daily, I am still learning how to love. That confession is not failure; it is fidelity.

At its highest, compunction becomes watchfulness. Jesus commands vigilance not as anxiety, but as love that stays awake (cf. Mk 13:33). The Catechism (cf. CCC 675–677) speaks of the Church living through trial, sustained by hope in Christ’s victory . Compunction keeps that hope from becoming naïve. St. Augustine confessed that tears purified his vision, teaching him to desire God rightly. In lived experience, this means allowing disappointment, dryness, and delay to deepen prayer rather than cancel it. When plans collapse, when the Church feels wounded, when personal effort seems small—compunction keeps the soul kneeling instead of withdrawing. Compunction must be kept in mind because it functions as a compass when all other bearings fail. When everything else becomes negotiable—truth diluted, conscience silenced, urgency manufactured—compunction quietly points north. It does not shout directions; it draws the heart inward, where God still speaks. Scripture shows that when Israel lost its bearings,(cf. Lam 2:18) the prophets did not first offer strategies but tears . Compunction reorients before it instructs. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1427) teaches that conversion is fundamentally a return, a re-turning of the heart toward God . That turning requires a reference point, and compunction provides it. It points away from illusion and toward mercy. The Heart of Christ remains open, even now, even here. Compunction keeps us close to that opening, where sorrow is not wasted and hope remains credible.

Prayer

Adorable Jesus, keep our hearts awake. Let us never grow skilled at indifference. Wound us gently with truth, steady us with mercy, and teach us to weep without despair. In the world’s plight, anchor us in Your Heart, where sorrow becomes hope. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 48

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“Behold I offered My whole Self to the Father for you. What more could I have suffered for mankind?Each day, I am more forgotten and despised by My own.”

“My daughter, pray a great deal. Keep awake with Me My love. I never sleep. I am never tired of My vigil for mankind. Pray, do penance and consider the present plight of the world. I desire that you keep in mind the compunction. Avoid many conversations but rather pour forth your devout prayers to appease the wrath of My Eternal Father. Attend to My Words which inflame your heart and enlighten your mind.

Listen to My Voice. I have great plans for you. It is for the good with Me and pray. Lift up souls to Me. With mercy I see the sins of the world and I implore mankind to amend their lives before it is too late! Mankind continuously pain Me bitterly. My own ... are labouring hard to abolish My Presence and the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

Behold, I offered My whole Self to the Father for you. What more could I have suffered for mankind? Each day I am more forgotten and despised by My own ... I am forced to walk in the milling streets.”

“I bless you.”

6th December 1987

Living Peace Amid Generational Cataclysms

Divine Appeal Reflection - 47

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 47: "Always be peaceful; do not bewail the general cataclysm of this generation."

The world feels loud, fractured, and restless—and Jesus knows this. He does not speak Divine Appeal 46 from a distance, but from a Heart that has carried the full weight of human fear. He has watched friends argue, crowds scatter, and truth be rejected. When He says, “Always be peaceful,” it is striking because it cuts against instinct. Our first reaction to collapse is alarm. (cf. Mk 4:38–39) Yet Christ slept in a boat filling with water . He was not indifferent; He was anchored. Noah lived surrounded by corruption, yet kept building quietly (cf. Gen 6:5–9). Jeremiah wept openly, yet refused to believe mercy had expired (cf. Lam 3:31–33). Jesus warns us not to bewail the “general cataclysm” because lament without trust subtly trains the heart to expect abandonment. The Church teaches that hope is planted by God Himself, precisely so the human heart does not collapse under history’s weight (cf. CCC 1818). In daily life, peace becomes deeply human: a parent calming their voice instead of passing on fear, a priest preaching truth without bitterness, a worker choosing honesty without cursing the times. Jesus invites us to see history with Him—not as ruins falling, but as a field where good and evil grow together under God’s patient gaze .

To “always be peaceful” is not instinctive; it is a discipline of fidelity shaped in hidden obediences. Like water shaping stone, these small acts carve a sanctuary within the soul. Elijah expected God in dramatic signs, (cf. 1 Kgs 19:11–13) but found Him in a gentle whisper . Our generation is saturated with alerts, opinions, and predictions, yet Jesus cautions that constant bewailing numbs the soul. Interior peace grows when we trust that God has not surrendered governance of the world (cf. CCC 302). This trust looks very ordinary. A student studies faithfully while unsure of tomorrow. A farmer plants seeds knowing rain may not come. A consecrated person remains faithful when nothing feels fruitful. St. Ignatius of Loyola learned peace on a sickbed, stripped of ambition and certainty. When his former world collapsed, he discovered that agitation never came from God. He taught that in times of upheaval one must never change a decision made in peace, because the Eternal Father does not speak through frenzy. Thus, he refused to bewail the cataclysm of his age—wars, corruption, inner chaos—but disciplined his soul to remain captivated by God alone. Scripture confirms this discernment:(cf. 1 Cor 14:33) “God is not a God of confusion but of peace” . Practically, Ignatius strikes the modern soul: when headlines provoke panic, when ministry feels threatened, when vocation is tested, do not react—remain. Return to prayer, examine the movements of the heart, and choose what increases quiet fidelity. Jesus Himself withdrew regularly to pray , showing that peace must be guarded or it will be stolen. To bewail endlessly is to stand before a sealed tomb while forgetting that God still raises the dead. Christ calls every vocation—married, single, ordained, consecrated— (cf. Ps 46:10) to become quiet proof that God still reigns . This peace does not shout; it steadies.

Jesus speaks this appeal with Eucharistic patience. From the altar, He remains serene while centuries unfold. Empires rise and fall, ideologies shift, and hearts wander—yet He stays. The Eucharist, the source and summit of Christian life (cf. CCC 1324), is God’s response to fear: not explanations, but Presence.When Jesus says, “Do not bewail” (cf. Mt 5:4), He is not forbidding our tears but guiding us to resist despair, allowing hope and trust to take root. St. Francis de Sales reminds us that God meets us in ordinary fidelity, not in dramatic gestures . Peace becomes alive when a nurse leans in to soothe a trembling patient, when a teacher shapes conscience quietly under pressure (cf. Lk 10:38–42), or when a leader chooses honesty over fear (cf. Mt 10:16). Each small act of steadfastness opens a doorway for God’s calm, (cf. Phil 4:6–7) showing that serenity is not absence of struggle but courage to remain present, faithful, and open-hearted . Holiness is discovered in ordinary, consistent acts of grace, echoing heaven quietly into our world (cf. CCC 1803–1804). The Cross itself looked like absolute catastrophe, (cf. Jn 19; CCC 618) yet became the hinge of redemption . Peace is believing in resurrection before dawn. Mary lived this at Calvary— (cf. Lk 2:35) silent, steady, pierced, yet not undone . Her peace was not numbness; it was strength held inward. This Marian peace allows Christ to act through us without being distorted by our agitation.

When Jesus says, “Do not bewail,” He is not calling us to numbness but to holy clarity, an inner sight that discerns God’s presence even when the world trembles. St. Óscar Romero refused to be immobilized by fear or despair amid the brutal violence of El Salvador’s civil conflict; he insisted that “peace is not the product of terror or fear” but *the generous, tranquil contribution of all to the good of all”—peace is dynamism and generosity, not silence before evil. His life embodied Jesus’ promise that the Church will endure and that mercy never fails . His witness echoes Scripture’s assurance that God brings good out of suffering and that the peace of Christ surpasses all understanding . For every vocation—worker, caregiver, teacher, leader—Romero’s saintly courage invites us to choose truth and mercy, trusting that God’s light penetrates the deepest darkness and that every act of love contributes to the Kingdom’s quiet growth. The Church teaches that God permits evil only because His providence is strong enough to draw good from it . In practice, peace grows when we resist cynical speech, refuse constant outrage, and choose gratitude within family life. It appears when spouses forgive quickly, when parishes seek communion rather than factions, and when young people are taught discernment instead of fear. Jesus says plainly, “Do not let your hearts be troubled” (cf. Jn 14:1). Bewailing the times often hides resistance to the Cross personally entrusted to us. Christ asks instead for watchful calm (cf. Mt 25:1–13)—lamps lit, hearts steady, hope intact. Such peace evangelizes without words, revealing that the Gospel does not fracture under pressure.

Divine Appeal 46 strikes the soul where fear quietly lives. Jesus calls us to stand with eyes fixed on eternity, even as our feet feel the weight of ordinary struggles. He does not erase wars or chaos; He refuses to allow them to take up residence in our hearts.These moments, He says, are not signals to panic but summons to endurance, the kind that steadies rather than hardens . The Kingdom is already among us, though often hidden beneath noise, fatigue, and disappointment, awaiting its full unveiling in glory . Peace does not arrive naturally; it is a daily embrace of hope amid uncertainty. St. Benedict understood this well. He didn’t run from the world when it was falling apart around him. Instead, he took the ordinary hours—the work, the meals, the prayers—and made them sacred, carving calm and trust into the chaos.This appeal becomes flesh when someone rises to pray though weary, answers harshness with gentleness, and entrusts the future of the Church to Christ rather than anxiety. Our Adorable Jesus remains quietly present in the tabernacle— (cf. Mt 11:29) meek, unhurried, waiting —teaching hearts the slow rhythm of His own. He asks us not to bewail because fear consumes the energy meant for love. A peaceful soul becomes shelter for others, a steady presence in unstable times. Such serenity speaks without noise: Christ is alive, reigning, and closer than the storm.

Prayer

O Adorable Jesus, King of history and Prince of Peace, root us in Your victory. Deliver us from fearful lament and make us steadfast apostles of hope. Grant us hearts calm in truth, faithful in trial, and radiant with confidence in Your reigning love. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 47

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“These times are my difficult hours when the devil is making every effort to abolish the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.”

“My daughter, pray without ceasing. Keep awake and watch with Me in these dark hours when satan is directing and seducing many minds, making them capable of destroying humanity. It is a grave hour. Keep Me company in My vigil for sinners; hold Me tightly in your heart and never waste any of these precious times. Do not be afraid. Always be peaceful; do not bewail the general cataclysm of this generation. Blessed are they who are captivated only by My Eternal Father and My presence. Persevere in prayer and penance without fear. I desire all mankind to be saved. Do not be afraid of remaining in the highest spirit of contemplation. It is a task I have given you. I must accomplish many signs in your heart.

These times are My difficult hours when the devil is making every effort to abolish the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Pray and atone, particularly in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass for Atonement. I tell you truly, the time has come for the world to repent; a universal change is near such as has never been from the beginning of the world to now and never will it be again. Pray, pray for those who ridicule, abuse, condemn and more than in the past, step on Me in order to abolish My Presence in the Sacrament of My Love. I desire that they be saved. My Mercy is infinite. That is why I came to call sinners.

My warning is strict; it is not a order to condemn the world. On the contrary I want to save souls by My messages in many different parts of the world. The moment has come when I must warn mankind in

order to avoid a catastrophe. Those who do not want to follow My Mercy will perish at the end. The only things which can still save are prayer and penance.”

5th December 1987

An Instrument in the Hands of Jesus

Divine Appeal Reflection - 46

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 46: "You are an instrument in My Hands. I use you because I have chosen you. Listen to me and I will guide you."

Before the Church was sent into the world, she was first taken into the Hands of Christ. At the Upper Room, Jesus did not begin with instructions but with a gesture: He took bread. This is the first movement of every vocation and every apostolic life—to be taken. Scripture prepares us for this mystery across salvation history: from Melchizedek’s offering of bread and wine (cf. Gen 14:18), to the manna that sustained Israel in weakness (cf. Ex 16), (cf. Mt 26:26)fulfilled when Jesus takes, blesses, breaks, and gives . The Catechism(cf. CCC 1362–1367) teaches that the Eucharist is not a symbol recalled, but the sacrifice of Christ made present, drawing the Church into His self-offering . Saint John Paul II wrote that the Church lives from the Eucharist, meaning that without being taken into Christ’s Hands, apostolic action becomes self-driven and fragile. Our Adorable Jesus chooses instruments gently. He does not seize; He receives those who consent. In ordinary life, this “being taken” is deeply human: waking again to responsibility, returning to prayer despite distraction, remaining faithful in obscurity. A mother, a priest, a student, a laborer—each is first taken before being used. The dignity of the instrument lies not in activity, but in belonging. To be chosen is already grace.

“I use you because I have chosen you” confronts the human heart with a consoling truth: vocation precedes clarity. Scripture confirms this pattern repeatedly. David is chosen while forgotten in the fields (cf. 1 Sam 16:11–13). Jeremiah is called before confidence is formed (cf. Jer 1:5–7). Mary is overshadowed before she knows the cost (cf. Lk 1:35). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1996, 2001)reminds us that God’s initiative always comes first; grace precedes response and sustains it . Pope Benedict XVI reflected that in the Eucharist, we do not make God present—God makes us His. This truth humanizes the apostolic path. Many feel inadequate, tired, unsure. Christ does not wait for readiness; He chooses, then forms. In daily experience, this election is lived quietly: teaching children the faith while doubting oneself, celebrating Mass faithfully amid interior dryness, choosing honesty when compromise seems easier. Saint Augustine teaches that we are not saved by our works,(cf. Rom 6:3–5) but by being united to Christ’s sacrifice . Each Communion renews this election: given for you. The chosen instrument learns rest—not because the task is light, but because the burden is shared.

“Listen to Me and I will guide you” is fulfilled most deeply in Eucharistic silence. At the altar, the Word who created the universe speaks without sound. The Catechism teaches that Christ is present both in the proclaimed Word and substantially in the Eucharistic species, forming the conscience through attentive listening (cf. CCC 1346–1377). Pope Francis—now at rest in the Lord—often warned that activism without adoration exhausts the soul and distorts mission. Scripture shows this clearly: Israel had manna daily yet hardened its heart by refusing to listen (cf. Ps 95:8–11; Heb 3:7–12). By contrast,(cf. Lk 2:19) Mary’s quiet pondering becomes the model of Eucharistic discipleship . In very human terms, listening today means resisting constant noise—pausing before reacting, praying before deciding, returning to the tabernacle when confused. For parents, listening shapes patience. For leaders, it tempers power. For the young, it grounds identity beyond approval. Jesus guided the disciples on the road to Emmaus(cf. Lk 24:27–31) by opening the Scriptures and breaking the bread . Guidance emerges not from control, but from communion. The instrument that listens remains supple in the Hands of God.

The Eucharist always ends with sending. “Go forth” reveals that what is consecrated must be given. The Catechism(cf. CCC 1397) teaches that Eucharistic communion commits us to concrete charity and responsibility for the world . Pope Paul VI warned that evangelization loses its soul when separated from sacrifice. Scripture confirms that mission flows from nourishment: Elijah is strengthened by sacred bread before facing darkness (cf. 1 Kgs 19:5–8);(cf. Mt 26:26–31) the apostles receive the Body of Christ before the way of the Cross . This sending is profoundly human and expensive in day-to-day life: going back to a challenging job, forgiving once again, tending to the ill, and staying devoted in solitude. Hours before the Blessed Sacrament maintained her work among the impoverished, according to Saint Teresa of Calcutta's testimony. Without a Eucharistic foundation, service becomes a chore. Christ guides His instruments into places where love will be stretched. The same Hands that consecrate also sustain. When fatigue comes, the Eucharist reminds the soul: you are not poured out alone.

To be an instrument in Christ’s hands is to consent, slowly and irrevocably, to a Eucharistic form of existence. It is not chosen in a moment; it is received over time, as the heart learns to yield. Pope St. John Paul II saw with a shepherd’s realism that the Church would not be saved by better plans or stronger systems, but by people who let the Eucharist change the way they lived from the inside out. He trusted souls more than structures—souls who learned to be given, as Christ is given. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1396) teaches that the Eucharist creates communion, binding us to Christ and, through Him, to one another . This is not an abstract mystery. It is lived where people are tired, misunderstood, and still faithful. Holiness is shaped there—slowly—through patience that stays, love that absorbs disappointment, and endurance that does not demand to be seen.

St. Bridget of Sweden lived this from the inside of the Church’s wounds. She did not stand at a distance pointing out what was broken. She stayed close enough to feel the pain, to let it enter her prayer and linger in her heart. She prayed while confused, spoke while afraid, and loved the Church even when that love cost her peace. What made her holy was not clarity or strength, but the refusal to harden. She allowed Christ’s love to pass through her humanity without closing herself off. This is how the Eucharist shapes a soul—not by removing suffering, but by teaching the heart how to remain open while carrying it. She interceded while misunderstood, spoke truth while trembling, and carried burdens she did not create, trusting that Christ’s truth could pass through her without hardening her love (cf. Ez 3:14; Gal 4:19). St. John Henry Newman knew the ache of being misunderstood by those he once belonged to. He chose fidelity when approval would have been easier, allowing truth to cost him reputation and security,(cf. Rom 12:2; CCC 1776) confident that conscience obedient to God leads beyond loneliness into peace . St. Peter Julian Eymard lived this mystery in hiddenness. Many days passed unnoticed, shaped only by the humble decision to return again to adoration. He did not strive to be effective;(cf. Lk 10:39; CCC 2711) he chose to be faithful, allowing the Eucharistic Presence to form him in silence . Their fruitfulness arose not from efficiency, but from availability. The same law shines in St. Joseph’s silence and St. Monica’s persevering tears. Christ still takes ordinary lives—wounded, unfinished, willing—and draws them into His pattern: taken, blessed, broken, given . The instrument is not diminished, but transformed. Like the grain of wheat,(cf. Jn 12:24) it falls and bears life . When the soul consents, life itself becomes Communion.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, hidden yet living in the Eucharist, take us again into Your Hands. Teach us to listen, to trust Your choosing, and to accept Your guidance. Shape our ordinary life into an offering, that with You we may be bread for the world. Amen.

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

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ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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