From Unrepentance to Desolation

Divine Appeal Reflection - 33

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 33: "If they do not repent they will know only desolation.”

There are moments when the soul wakes up tired before the body begins its day. Responsibilities are met, words are exchanged, prayers are spoken from memory, yet the soul moves through its day with a muted interior register. Nothing dramatic has occurred; nothing appears broken. And yet, something essential feels dimmed. This is spiritual desolation as it is most often lived now—not as rebellion or loss of faith, but as a thinning of consolation. God is not absent; He is no longer sensed. The intellect still assents, the will still chooses the good, but the heart no longer feels accompanied. Our Adorable Jesus looks upon this condition with deep tenderness, for He knows that beneath efficiency there is often loneliness of spirit. Scripture (cf. Rom 1:21) describes hearts that remain intelligent and capable, yet no longer warm with wonder or gratitude . The Catechism (cf. CCC 27, 1701) explains that when the living bond with God weakens, the human person experiences inner disintegration, even if outward life appears successful . In ordinary terms, desolation shows itself when prayer feels like talking into the air, when moral effort feels heavy, when joy seems remembered rather than lived.It is the moment when the soul realizes it cannot sustain itself. Our Adorable Jesus allows this awareness not to shame us, but to gently loosen our grip on self-reliance, making room for a deeper dependence on His quiet, sustaining presence. Biblical figures knew this terrain well: (cf. 1 Kgs 19:4–8) Elijah collapsed under exhaustion not because God had abandoned him, but because he had reached the end of himself . Desolation, then, is deeply human. 

Desolation often grows from small postponements of love rather than dramatic rebellion. The apostolic teaching speaks of hearts that slowly lose sensitivity, not through sudden rejection, but through repeated delay (cf. Eph 4:18). Many today do not refuse God outright; they simply keep Him waiting. The Catechism notes that sin disorders desire, bending it inward until even good things feel heavy and unsatisfying (cf. CCC 1849–1851). In daily life, this appears when forgiveness is delayed “until later,” when prayer is rushed because something else feels urgent, when conscience is negotiated instead of obeyed. Saint Augustine’s insight becomes deeply personal here: the heart grows weary carrying loves it was never meant to bear alone. Yet desolation remains profoundly relational. It is not emptiness for its own sake; it is the ache of a love neglected. Saints understood this ache intimately. Saint John of the Cross did not interpret inner darkness as failure, but as God drawing the soul beyond superficial attachments. In very human terms, this means continuing to show up—to prayer, to responsibility, to love—even when the heart feels dry. Scripture (cf. Rom 8:26) assures that the Spirit works beneath awareness, holding the soul when it cannot feel itself held . Thus, desolation becomes a quiet conversation between human weakness and divine patience.

What transforms desolation is not analysis, but fidelity lived one small choice at a time. Sacred teaching encourages perseverance not because suffering is good, but because love grows mature when it remains present without reward (cf. Jas 1:3–4). Modern desolation is sharpened by the expectation that everything should feel meaningful immediately. When it does not, discouragement sets in. The Catechism (cf. CCC 2731) acknowledges that prayer often passes through dryness, where faith must choose to trust without emotional confirmation . This is deeply human: kneeling when one would rather stay busy, speaking kindly when the heart feels empty, doing the right thing when no one notices. Saint Paul’s experience of weakness (cf. 2 Cor 12:9) reveals that God’s strength quietly unfolds where self-confidence collapses . Mystically, such fidelity places the soul beside Christ in His interior abandonment, (cf. Phil 2:8) where love remained faithful without consolation . In everyday vocations, this looks ordinary yet heroic: spouses remaining gentle amid fatigue, priests preaching with sincerity despite dryness, consecrated souls staying available without interior light, workers choosing honesty when shortcuts tempt. Here, desolation stops being wasted pain and becomes shared ground with Christ’s own human loneliness.

Desolation also spreads socially, shaping the emotional climate of entire communities. Scripture speaks of creation groaning, reflecting humanity’s interior disarray (cf. Rom 8:22). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1869) explains that social patterns influenced by sin reinforce personal alienation, making confusion feel normal . Many today feel this weight without naming it: a quiet sadness, a loss of meaning, a sense of being replaceable. Yet the Christian is reminded that this world,(cf. Heb 13:14) though precious, cannot carry ultimate hope . The saints responded to such climates not by fleeing humanity, but by becoming more deeply human. Saint Benedict answered societal collapse by ordering daily life around prayer, work, and stability. In practical terms, this wisdom becomes simple: shared meals without distraction, honest work done well, time given to God without hurry. Our Adorable Jesus delights in these human-scale fidelities. They restore warmth where systems grow cold. Mystically, they echo the early believers who created pockets of joy and belonging amid cultural uncertainty (cf. Acts 2:42). In this way, desolation becomes the background against which authentic human and Christian presence quietly heals others.

At its deepest point, desolation asks a single human question: Where is my heart truly turned? Scripture urges immediacy in returning to God because delay slowly numbs desire (cf. 2 Cor 6:2). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1427–1429) describes conversion as a daily reorientation, often humble and hidden rather than dramatic . In lived experience, this means admitting weariness honestly before God, seeking reconciliation instead of self-justification, choosing silence over constant noise. King David’s journey shows how truth spoken in humility reopens the soul to joy (cf. Ps 51). Mystically, repentance draws the heart back to the wounded yet open Heart of Our Adorable Jesus,(cf. Jn 19:34) where mercy is never rationed . Desolation then reveals its final meaning: it is not rejection, but an invitation to come closer in truth. For every vocation, this invitation is concrete—parents soften through patience, priests return to intimacy with Christ, consecrated souls renew availability, professionals recover integrity. The end is not emptiness, but elevation. When the heart turns back, desolation becomes a passageway, and the soul rises more human, more free, and more deeply alive in God.

Prayer 

Our Adorable Jesus, You know the tired places of our hearts. Meet us in our quiet desolation and stay with us there. Teach us faithful love when feeling fades, honest repentance when pride resists, and gentle hope that trusts Your presence even in the dark. Amen.

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