Receiving Our Adorable Jesus More and More

Divine Appeal Reflection - 52

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 52: "...receive Me more and more."

There is a quiet sorrow in the Heart of Our Adorable Jesus when love is reduced to the minimum.From the quiet of the Tabernacle, Jesus speaks in a way that feels almost fragile: Receive Me more and more. It is the voice of Love that does not force, but waits.  The Eucharist is His way of staying close when words fail. From the beginning, the Church sensed this closeness. The first believers did not ration the breaking of the Bread; they returned again and again, because life itself began to feel Eucharistic—received, blessed, broken, given (cf. Acts 2:42–46). The Church later guarded this truth solemnly, teaching that every Mass makes present the one Sacrifice of the Cross, not repeated, but re-entered, calling for the heart’s participation, not mere presence (cf. Mt 26:26–28; Jn 6:51; Council of Trent; Vatican II). Our Adorable Jesus is not looking for occasional visitors who pass through on Sundays and disappear by Monday. He longs for companions. Love grows by returning. Just as the Word truly became flesh and stayed among us , so the Christian, (cf. Jn 1:14) through frequent Mass, is slowly drawn into becoming flesh for others. This appeal hides a daring invitation: allow Me to live in you so often that you begin to look like Me—quiet, available, given.

Becoming a small host is not an image meant to impress; it is a way of living that hurts a little and heals a lot. The Church teaches that those who unite themselves to Christ’s sacrifice at Mass become a living offering with Him (cf. Rom 12:1; CCC 1368). Early Christians understood this instinctively. Some gathered before sunrise, others at risk of arrest, because they knew the day could not be faced without first being placed on the altar with Christ (cf. Jn 15:5). Councils and Fathers defended this hunger, insisting that the Eucharist truly feeds the Church’s life and unity, not symbolically but really (cf. Jn 6:55–57; Lateran IV; St. Ignatius of Antioch). To attend Mass more than once a day, when possible, is not excess—it is desire. Even when sacramental reception is limited, repeated participation forms the soul into Eucharistic shape. This becomes painfully practical: the teacher offering patience when exhausted (cf. Col 3:12), the laborer offering strength without applause (cf. Mt 6:3–4), (cf. Col 1:24)the sick offering pain without bitterness . Elijah, fed by heavenly bread, (cf. 1 Kgs 19:5–8) walked beyond what his body could endure . So too does the Eucharistic soul endure contradictions without growing hard. Saints like Francis of Assisi and Faustina learned to disappear into Christ this way. They did not carry Mass books everywhere—Mass carried them.

To receive Jesus more and more is to let Him gently empty us. The Eucharist comforts, yes—but it also burns. Scripture calls God a consuming fire, not to frighten us, (cf. Heb 12:29) but to free us from what keeps us small . The Church (cf. Jn 15:13; CCC 1394) teaches that frequent Communion loosens the grip of sin and binds the heart more tightly to Christ’s self-giving love . This is where the small host is formed—slowly, painfully, honestly. Each Mass touches a nerve: ego, defensiveness, impatience. In family life, this looks like forgiving again when no one notices (cf. Mt 18:21–22). In consecrated life, obedience without sweetness (cf. Phil 2:8). In professional life, truth chosen over advantage (cf. Prov 11:1). Early Christian teaching was blunt: if you receive the Body of Christ, (cf. 1 Cor 12:27; Didache; St. Justin Martyr) your life must become His Body . Later councils echoed this, reminding the faithful that the liturgy sends them back into the world as witnesses, not spectators (cf. Vatican II). Scripture shows us the pattern: Isaac laid on the wood (cf. Gen 22), (cf. 1 Sam 3) Samuel listening in the dark , (cf. Lk 1:38)Mary offering her body to the Word without guarantees . Frequent Mass forms this Marian availability—until surrender becomes instinct.

There is quiet missionary power in becoming a small host. The Eucharist (cf. Jn 20:21; CCC 1396) builds the Church and sends her out as bread broken for the life of the world . Early councils fought hard to protect this truth, (cf. Nicaea; Trent) refusing to let the Mass be reduced to symbol or memory alone . Those who return often to the altar—sometimes more than once a day—carry something invisible but real into ordinary places. Moses came down from the mountain changed, (cf. Ex 34:29)even before he spoke . So does the Eucharistic soul carry patience into meetings, mercy into homes, clarity into confusion. This is not dramatic holiness. A Eucharistic mother evangelizes by staying calm amid chaos. A Eucharistic priest by fidelity to repetition. A Eucharistic young person by choosing purity when compromise is easier (cf. Rom 12:2). Even when one cannot receive again sacramentally, (cf. Mk 12:43–44) attentive participation deepens oblation. Jesus counts desire, not numbers . St. John Chrysostom, aflame with the Word and the Eucharist, formed cities through the altar and the ambo alike. Long before councils spoke plainly, his life proclaimed this truth: (cf. Mt 5:14–16; Acts 2:42; Vatican II) holiness is not reserved for the extraordinary but demanded of every baptized soul, whether hidden in obscurity or exposed in public witness . The small host is rarely noticed—but heaven never misses it.

In the end, receive Me more and more is about heaven. The Eucharist is a promise of what awaits us: (cf. Jn 17:24; CCC 1402) endless communion, no separation, no fear of loss . Heaven is not scarcity; it is continual self-gift. Frequent Mass stretches the heart toward that capacity. The early Church lived with this awareness, gathering often as those already leaning into eternity (cf. Heb 12:22–24). Councils guarded this vision, teaching that the Mass is a true foretaste of the heavenly liturgy (cf. Rev 19:6–9). The small host learns to live now what will one day be complete. Simeon stayed near the Temple—and so he recognized salvation when others passed by (cf. Lk 2:25–30). Those who stay close see sooner. A Sunday-only faith easily thins under pressure; repeated communion thickens love, memory, hope. Our Adorable Jesus does not command frequency—He attracts it (cf. Jn 12:32). This is the quiet voice of the Bridegroom, leaning toward our ordinary days: do not measure love as if it were scarce, do not come to Me only when you are exhausted. Let Me be your daily Bread, (cf. Mt 6:11; Jn 6:35) taken into the rhythms of your mornings and your weariness . Holiness grows where Communion becomes familiarity, and love slowly learns to ache.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, living Host, teach us to stay. Draw us back to You again and again, until our lives take Your shape. Shape us into small hosts—unseen, consenting, softened by Your hands—ready to be fractured by duty, time, and love, so that without noise or notice, Your mercy may slip into the lives we touch. Amen.

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