Divine Appeal Reflection - 39
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 39: “A terrible flaming scourge is prepared. What is evil will perish. It will be a purification.”
Our Adorable Jesus does not speak these words as threat but as surgery. A loving physician burns away infection so the body may live. In Scripture, fire is never first a weapon but a womb: Moses meets God in a burning bush that does not consume, Israel is purified in the furnace, and Isaiah’s unclean lips are touched by a burning coal so he may finally speak God’s truth (cf. Exod 3; Isa 6). The Catechism teaches that God’s holiness is a “consuming fire” that transforms what it touches (cf. CCC 696; 1031). This flaming scourge is therefore not destruction but divine mercy that refuses to leave us enslaved. In daily life, this fire often comes quietly: a humiliation that shatters pride, a failure that exposes our self-reliance, a suffering that strips false securities. A mother whose plans collapse, a priest facing interior dryness, a worker losing status—these become hidden altars where Jesus says, “Let Me burn what is not love.” For St. Catherine of Siena, God is not merely fire but transforming flame—consuming self-attachment until love alone survives. What resistance names cruelty, surrender recognizes as illumination. Divine Appeal 39 is the cry of Love refusing to compromise with evil because He sees our destiny. He does not wish to wound us—He wishes to free us from what is killing us.
This purification is already at work within every soul. St. Paul describes believers passing “through fire” so that what is built on straw is lost but the person is saved (cf. 1 Cor 3). Our Adorable Jesus allows this inner conflagration through contradictions, delays, misunderstandings, and spiritual dryness. In a marriage, the fire burns away possessiveness so true communion may emerge. In consecrated life, it incinerates hidden ambitions so only obedience remains. In professional life, it purifies our motives so work becomes service rather than self-glory. The Catechism reminds us that the final judgment reveals each person’s true interiority before Christ (cf. CCC 1021–1022). But this judgment begins now in mercy. St. John of the Cross called it the “dark night,” where God removes even spiritual sweetness so that love becomes pure. Jesus is not angry in this fire; He is intimate. He burns close to the heart, touching only what is false. When we feel stripped, misunderstood, or emptied, the divine appeal is unfolding within us. The flame is not against us—it is against the lies we live under. What perishes is not the soul but the illusion that we could save ourselves.
Biblical history shows that God always purifies before He renews. Noah’s flood washed the earth; Elijah’s fire fell to turn hearts back; Jerusalem was purified through exile before restoration (cf. Gen 7; 1 Kgs 18; Lam 3). Our Adorable Jesus continues this pattern in every generation and in every heart. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1042–1048) teaches that creation itself will pass through a final purification before the new heavens and earth appear . Yet this vast mystery unfolds quietly in our kitchens, offices, and chapels. When livelihoods crumble, families tremble, or the Church is brought low, God has not withdrawn—He is purifying what cannot endure eternity. As Augustine perceived, the divine blow is medicinal. The fire wounds only what resists love; the soul, when yielded, is freed. Where repentance, confession, forgiveness, and surrender are embraced, the fire warms. Where bitterness, lust, pride, or control are clutched, it burns.Jesus whispers in this Appeal: “Let Me finish My work in you.” The saints did not escape this flame; they welcomed it. That is why their peace was indestructible.
In practical terms, this Divine Appeal calls us to allow God’s purifying fire into the smallest corners of life. How we speak to our spouse, how we handle money, how we use our phones, how we respond when contradicted—these are the logs placed on the altar. St. Thérèse taught that holiness is allowing Jesus to burn in us through small sacrifices. The Catechism reminds us that conversion is ongoing, not a one-time event (cf. CCC 1427–1431). Our Adorable Jesus often uses ordinary irritations as His flame. When you speak the truth and it costs you respect, the fire is there. Something in you wants to retreat, to soften reality to protect yourself. If you remain honest anyway, a layer of fear is burned away and a deeper freedom is born. Ego seeks recognition, but love chooses obscurity. When sacrifice passes unnoticed, it does not disappear—it ignites, quietly refining the heart. When you forgive but still feel hurt, the fire is there. Forgiveness does not erase pain — it allows love to enter pain. Each time you refuse revenge, something old in you turns to ash. When prayer feels empty and you stay anyway, the fire is there. God is not absent — He is burning away the need to feel Him so that you may belong to Him. When your plans collapse and you remain peaceful, the fire is there. The false self wanted control; the true self rests in trust. When you give even though it leaves you vulnerable, the fire is there. Generosity always passes through fear before it becomes joy. These are the secret furnaces of holiness. No flames are seen — but eternity is being formed. When we choose honesty instead of self-protection, the flame brightens. The appeal is not about catastrophe but about transfiguration. Jesus is not announcing the collapse of the world, but the unveiling of a Kingdom where only truth can remain. Scripture(cf. Rev 21:27) reveals that nothing unclean can enter that Kingdom , not because God excludes, but because Love itself is too pure for anything false to endure.
At the heart of this Appeal stands Christ Himself—crucified, risen, and radiant. On Calvary, the full fire of judgment fell on Him so that we could pass through purification without being destroyed (cf. Isa 53; Rom 8). The Catechism teaches that Christ’s sacrifice is the definitive fire that reconciles humanity to the Father (cf. CCC 614–618). When we unite our sufferings to His, they become redemptive flames. Every vocation—marriage, priesthood, single life, hidden service—becomes a furnace of love where the old self dies and the new is born. Our Adorable Jesus is not threatening us; He is inviting us to be free. This appeal is the voice of Mercy insisting that evil will not have the last word. What is false must perish because it was never truly alive. It only survived by hiding from love. When Christ’s fire enters the soul, it does not destroy you — it destroys what was never you. The ego feels threatened, but the heart is being freed. Every sin is a wounded longing. Every attachment is a misplaced thirst. The fire goes gently, (cf. Jn 12:24; CCC 1430) layer by layer, until it reaches the place where God first breathed love into the soul . If we trust the burning, we discover something breathtaking: beneath all the pain is not anger, but tenderness. Beneath the fire is only Love — purer, brighter, and more gentle than we ever imagined.
Prayer
O Adorable Jesus, enter our hearts together, and let Your fire purify all that is not of You. Burn away fear, selfishness, and hidden anger. In our work, our homes, and our quiet moments, shape us into one heart that reflects Your mercy and shines with Your eternal Love. Amen.
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
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