God's Joy in Our Misery and Accepted Sins

Divine Appeal Reflection - 37

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 37: "God My Eternal Father is pleased by your offerings because you recognize your misery and you are always ready to accept your sins."

Before time learned to measure itself, the Eternal Father beheld the soul in truth and desired communion, not performance. In the depths of contemplative vision, one discovers that what pleases Him is the soul that consents to be known. Scripture (cf. Gen 3:9) whispers this mystery when it reveals a God who walks in the garden calling the hiding heart by name , not to accuse, but to restore presence. The prophets saw that divine favor rests upon the lowly who allow themselves to be pierced by light (cf. Is 57:15; Is 66:2). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1427) teaches that the movement of return begins when the heart allows grace to expose its poverty . This is the moment when illusion dissolves and the soul stands naked before Love. Nothing is defended; nothing is hidden. The heart ceases its strategies and simply consents to be seen. In daily life, this happens quietly: when a mother offers her inadequacy without bitterness, when a monk remains in prayer despite interior emptiness, when a laborer surrenders weariness without resentment. In these small obediences, the false self dies and the true one awakens. St. Gregory of Nyssa taught that God is found not in grasping, but in consenting to be led into holy unknowing. In this sacred not-knowing, the soul is no longer supported by feelings or certainties but only by trust. The Catechism (cf CCC 305, 2734) describes this as filial abandonment, where the soul rests in God not because it understands, but because it is held . Across all vocations, this consent becomes adoration. The Father’s delight descends where the soul no longer hides behind virtue, but rests in truth. There, communion is reborn—not through effort, but through surrender.

To accept one’s sins mystically is to allow truth to become light rather than fire. Scripture reveals that concealed sin fragments the soul, while confessed sin reunifies it (cf. Ps 32:3–5; Prv 28:13). David’s heart was healed not by explanation, but by exposure before God (cf. 2 Sm 12:13). The Catechism affirms that grace enters where sin is acknowledged without resistance (cf. CCC 1848). In the interior life, this acceptance is an act of profound trust. Many souls fear that naming sin will distance God; mysticism reveals the opposite. St. Isaac the Syrian wrote that humility attracts God faster than ascetic feats. Practically, this unfolds in hidden ways: a consecrated soul admits interior vanity, a spouse recognizes selfish love, a young person surrenders secret compromise. Peter’s tears were the baptism of his apostleship (cf. Lk 22:61–62). When sin is accepted in the light of mercy, it loses its dominion and becomes an offering. The Father is pleased because the soul no longer clings to self-protection. Trust has replaced fear, and relationship deepens. Thus, repentance becomes not humiliation, but intimacy restored.

The Father delights in offerings that carry poverty. Scripture (cf. 2 Cor 12:9) reveals a divine pattern: weakness, when surrendered, becomes the dwelling place of power . Moses’ trembling voice, Jeremiah’s fear, Paul’s thorn—all became altars of grace (cf. Ex 4:10; Jer 1:6; 2 Cor 12:7). The Catechism teaches that Christ gathered all human weakness into His self-offering, transforming it when freely united to His sacrifice (cf. CCC 616–618). In contemplative life, the most precious offering is often interior: prayer without sweetness, fidelity without recognition, love without return. St. John of the Cross insisted that God receives more from a soul that offers dryness than from one intoxicated with consolations. The widow’s gift was pleasing because it carried her emptiness (cf. Mk 12:44). In every vocation, this mystery is lived when misery is placed on the altar without disguise. Then weakness ceases to accuse; it begins to sing. The soul discovers that nothing surrendered is wasted. What is poor becomes luminous, and daily life itself is transfigured into sacrifice.

The Father’s response to such truth is joy that reverberates through heaven. The Gospel unveils a God who runs toward the exposed child (cf. Lk 15:20), whose delight is restoration, not reproach. The Catechism teaches that mercy flows from God’s very being as Father, not from human improvement (cf. CCC 210). Mystically, this joy is experienced as deep interior peace—the quiet assurance of belonging. Many souls labor under the illusion that God is weary of them. Saints dismantle this lie. St. Francis of Assisi remained near mercy by remaining near his poverty. Zacchaeus’ heart was healed when he stood seen (cf. Lk 19:8–9). In daily life, this joy restores balance: leaders become gentle, consecrated souls become free, the wounded rediscover dignity. The soul that lives from mercy becomes merciful, mirroring the Father’s patience. Even amid global suffering and personal desolation, such a soul remains anchored. This joy does not deny pain; it sanctifies it. It is the quiet gladness of being known and still loved.

This path forms a mystical spirituality for every state of life: live unveiled before God. Scripture (cf. Jas 4:6; Prv 3:34) promises that grace descends where humility reigns . The Catechism (cf. CCC 2559) teaches that humility is the foundation of prayer because it situates the soul in truth . Practically, this means beginning the day in dependence, examining conscience without fear, and receiving correction without resistance. St. Catherine of Siena taught that self-knowledge without despair opens the soul to divine fire. In families, this heals pride; in workplaces, it purifies ambition; in consecrated life, it guards against subtle superiority. Christ Himself lived this mystery, carrying humanity’s misery without denial and offering it to the Father in love (cf. Is 53:4–6; Phil 2:7–8). When the soul accepts its sins and offers them, it mirrors the humility of the Son. The Father’s delight then rests upon it—not because it is flawless, but because it is true. From such souls, silent renewal flows into the world.

Prayer

Oh Our Adorable Jesus, Eternal Silence of the Father, draw us into the abyss where truth and mercy embrace. Dissolve our disguises in Your wounded light. Let our accepted misery become incense before the Throne, until nothing remains in us but humble love, resting and delighting the Father forever. Amen.

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