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.
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