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.