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.
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