Spiritual Materialism

Divine Appeal Reflection - 49

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 49: "Materialism advances on all sides with unbridled corruption and has pushed mankind towards a frightful abyss of devastation."

Our Adorable Jesus speaks from the depths of eternity, unveiling a danger more refined than worldly greed: spiritual materialism.Spiritual materialism does not begin in malice; it begins in fatigue. We grow tired of vulnerability before God. Slowly, almost without noticing, we replace relationship with control. We keep the prayers, the devotions, the language of faith—but we shield ourselves from being changed. Scripture names this ache with painful honesty:(Rev 2:4) “You have abandoned the love you had at first” . Nothing dramatic has collapsed; something tender has cooled. Jesus calls this devastation because eternity fades quietly. We still believe in heaven, but we no longer ache for it.Scripture speaks of this gentle drifting when it warns about hearts that grow dull, not rebellious, just tired . Life fills up quickly—noise, demands, responsibilities—and without noticing, eternity is pushed to the margins.Repentance gets postponed because today already feels heavy enough.  Mercy becomes routine because we expect it without letting it change us. Judgment troubles the heart because it requires stillness, truthfulness before God, and openness to His light where we would rather remain untouched. St. Augustine confessed that even holy habits can become hiding places when the heart resists surrender. The Catechism reminds us that beatitude is not something we own, but a gift that surpasses every created satisfaction (CCC 1722–1724). In daily life, spiritual materialism looks ordinary: prayer done quickly to feel “covered,” service done to feel useful, virtue practiced to feel safe. Our Adorable Jesus grieves because He desires hearts, not performances. Eternity is not denied—it is pushed to the margins, where irreversible choices begin to feel light, and the soul slowly forgets why it was created.

Spiritual materialism reshapes hope in a painfully human way. We stop hoping toward God and start hoping about ourselves. Heaven becomes assumed rather than awaited. Judgment feels unnecessary because we believe we already belong. Jesus’ parable of the rich man and Lazarus  is unsettling precisely because it feels familiar . The rich man is not hostile to God; he is simply sealed inside his own world. Saints saw themselves in this danger. St. Bernard warned religious souls that one can labor much for God and still avoid Him interiorly. The Catechism teaches that the morality of our acts depends on their orientation toward our final end—communion with God (CCC 1752). When eternity is no longer the measure, even good actions begin to orbit the self. In everyday life this happens quietly: the leader who confuses influence with faithfulness, the parent who replaces patience with moral correctness, the devout soul who avoids confession because nothing feels “serious enough.” Biblical figures (1 Sam 15:22) like Saul show how easy it is to cloak self-protection in religious language . Our Adorable Jesus does not expose this to condemn, but to free. He knows how human it is to fear losing control. Eternity threatens our illusions—but it also promises rest for hearts weary of carrying themselves.

At its core, spiritual materialism is the fear of being poor before God. We want grace, but not dependence; closeness, but not exposure. Scripture (Ps 51:6) reveals that God desires truth in the depths of the heart , not spiritual competence.  Spiritual materialism thrives when prayer becomes technique, discernment becomes justification, and formation becomes accumulation. The Catechism (CCC 2015) reminds us that growth in holiness involves purification, struggle, and surrender—not spiritual comfort . Our Adorable Jesus calls this devastation because it produces souls who are busy yet unbroken, religious yet untouched. Eternity is what breaks us open. Jesus’ words that “nothing is hidden that will not be revealed” (Lk 12:2) are not meant to terrify but to heal. They invite us to stop managing appearances and allow God into the unfinished places. Biblical personalities like the elder brother stayed close to the house but far from the father’s joy (Lk 15:28–30). Without eternity, religion becomes a shelter for the ego. With eternity, it becomes a place where the heart finally tells the truth.

Spiritual materialism flourishes where judgment is dismissed as harsh. Yet Scripture (Rom 2:6–8) presents judgment as the moment when love is finally clarified . In daily life, remembering eternity changes small things: the priest asking whether ministry still flows from prayer, the worker examining whether honesty costs too much, the consecrated soul noticing where obedience has grown cautious. The Catechism (CCC 1021–1022) teaches that at death, each person stands alone before Christ in truth . Our Adorable Jesus speaks of an abyss because spiritual materialism numbs this moment. When eternity fades, repentance feels optional, and God feels predictable. Yet those who remember eternity grow softer, not harder. Like the wise virgins, they remain ready not because they are perfect,(Mt 25:1–13) but because they stay awake to their need . Eternity restores seriousness without crushing tenderness. It teaches us that love is urgent precisely because time is short.

This appeal is ultimately an invitation to come home—poor, honest, and unguarded. Our Adorable Jesus does not want impressive souls; He wants real ones. Spiritual materialism dissolves at the moment the soul dares to stand uncovered before God. It is not abandoned through effort, but through surrender. The need to secure ourselves—by virtue, discipline, reputation, or even repentance carefully measured—reveals how deeply we fear being loved without defenses. Our Adorable Jesus does not ask for guarantees; He asks for truth. Here the soul learns the most frightening and freeing truth: God is not secured by our goodness. He is encountered in our consent. Spiritual materialism collapses when the soul realizes that even holiness can become a hiding place if it is used to avoid abandonment. The Cross itself reveals this mystery—Jesus saves not by proving righteousness, but by surrendering everything into the Father’s hands (cf. Lk 23:46). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1817; 1847) speaks of this trust as the heart of Christian hope, where mercy exceeds human calculation and draws the sinner into communion rather than distance . 

In this naked trust, eternity is no longer an idea but a Presence. The soul stops negotiating its worth and begins to rest. This is the poverty that opens heaven. Today, this means returning quickly after falling, letting sorrow soften the heart, and trusting mercy more than our weakness. The Catechism(CCC 1817–1821) teaches that hope in eternal life should transform how we live now, not harden us into spiritual certainty . Eternity returns simplicity to faith: prayer becomes encounter, sacraments become mercy, obedience becomes rest. Our Adorable Jesus warns of devastation because spiritual materialism can fill churches while leaving hearts untouched. Yet His voice is tender. He calls us back to wonder, back to fear of the Lord that heals rather than frightens. Those who recover eternity live differently—not anxiously, but awake. They wait not for comfort, but for Him, (1 Cor 15:28) until God is finally all in all 

Prayer 

Our Adorable Jesus, strip our souls of spiritual pride and false security. Free us from possessing You instead of adoring You. Restore eternity to our choices, humility to our prayer, and truth to our devotion. Make us poor in spirit, watchful in love, and ready for Your coming. Amen

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