Divine Appeal Reflection - 54
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 54: "The devil is giving battle against My Divine Sacrament of Love."
Our Adorable Jesus speaks with sorrow, not fear: the first battlefield is always closest to the Heart. Sacred Scripture shows that judgment begins with those closest to holy things. Nadab and Abihu (cf. Lev 10:1–3) approached the altar without reverence and perished . The sons of Eli remind us that sacred things can be handled so often that the heart forgets to tremble. They did not openly reject God; they grew careless with what was holy,(cf. 1 Sam 2:12–17; 4:10–11) and slowly the sacrifices were dishonored until even the Ark was lost from among the people .Priests, deacons, religious, seminarians, altar servers, church leaders, choir members, catechists—those entrusted with holy things—are not attacked first through scandal, but through routine. Fatigue dulls wonder. This same danger quietly approaches those closest to the Eucharist today. Activism replaces prayer. Exterior service crowds out interior silence. The devil rarely shouts; he exhausts. He does not always destroy reverence outright; he lets it fade through constant doing without resting in God. What begins as generosity slowly becomes function, and what is functional is no longer adored. This is why Jesus so gently says, “Watch with Me.” Not work more, not produce more, but remain. The heart that keeps silence before the Eucharist is protected, even when hands are busy. But when silence is lost, even sacred service becomes vulnerable. God is not withdrawn suddenly; He is forgotten gradually.
The devil rarely begins with open scandal; he begins with fatigue, routine, interior distance. A priest still celebrates Mass, but without trembling. A minister still handles the Host, but without adoration. A sacristan becomes efficient but no longer recollected. This is how love cools. St. John Vianney wept because he knew the priest who loses awe loses everything. The Catechism reminds us that the Eucharist is the “source and summit” of the Christian life,(cf. CCC 1324) not one devotion among many. When that truth is dulled, the devil has already advanced. Practically, this attack shows itself in rushed liturgies, casual gestures, neglected silence, and a private life no longer aligned with the altar. Jesus does not accuse; He appeals. Like He did with Peter, (cf. Jn 21:15) He asks: “Do you love Me more than these?” . In every vocation, Eucharistic fidelity begins not with perfection but with vigilance—guarding the small interior acts: a genuflection made slowly, a moment of thanksgiving protected, a conscience examined before touching what is Holy. The devil fears reverence because reverence keeps love awake.
The second strategy is subtler: secularizing the Eucharist. Not denying it outright, but treating it as ordinary. Israel carried the Ark of the Covenant, but when familiarity replaced fear of God, (cf. 1 Sam 4:21) the glory quietly departed . The same danger breathes today. Churches become noisy, tabernacles forgotten, the sanctuary treated like a stage. Jesus remains, but the atmosphere no longer confesses His Presence. St. Teresa of Ávila warned that great harm comes when we approach holy things without interior recollection. The devil knows that if the Eucharist is surrounded by distraction, hearts will stop listening. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1090) speaks of the liturgy as participation in heavenly worship , yet secular logic pulls it down to mere community gathering. In daily life, this secularization shows when Sunday Mass is fitted around errands, when Communion is received without preparation, when thanksgiving is sacrificed to schedules. Parents unintentionally teach children that the Eucharist is important—but not urgent. Workers excuse compromises because “faith is private.” Religious grow busy for God and forget to be with God. Jesus’ appeal is tender but piercing: (cf. Jn 15:4) “Remain in Me” . Remaining requires resistance—choosing silence in a loud world, fasting before feasting, kneeling when standing would be easier. Eucharistic faith is protected by concrete acts: arriving early, dressing with intention, teaching children to bow their heads, reclaiming moments of stillness. Secularism is not defeated by arguments, but by lived worship.
Perhaps the most painful assault is the reduction of the Eucharist to a symbol. This is not new. When Jesus spoke of eating His Flesh and drinking His Blood, many disciples left—not because they misunderstood,(cf. Jn 6:66) but because they understood too well . Today the same scandal returns, softened by polite language. The devil whispers: “It is only a sign.” Once believed, reverence collapses naturally. St. Ignatius of Antioch called the Eucharist “the medicine of immortality,” not a reminder but a reality. The Church solemnly teaches that Christ is truly, really, (cf. CCC 1374) and substantially present . When this truth fades, moral life weakens, prayer dries up, vocations wither. Practically, symbolic thinking shows itself when Communion is received automatically, without confession, without hunger, without love. Jesus becomes an object passed along, not a Person encountered. Bible figures warn us: Uzzah touched the Ark casually and paid dearly—not because God is cruel, but because holiness is real (cf. 2 Sam 6:6–7). Jesus’ appeal today is merciful: “Do this in memory of Me” does not mean “remember Me vaguely,” but “enter My sacrifice” (cf. Lk 22:19). In every state of life, Eucharistic realism is restored by acts of faith: whispering “My Lord and my God,” making spiritual Communions, teaching clearly, suffering patiently rather than diluting truth. Love becomes symbolic only when faith retreats.
The devil also attacks by subtly isolating the Eucharist from daily life, allowing external devotion while hollowing out interior conversion. He is content when adoration remains beautiful but fruitless, when kneeling does not lead to repentance, and when Communion does not transform conduct. Yet St. Paul issues a grave warning: (cf. 1 Cor 11:29) to receive without discernment is not neutral but damaging to the soul . Our Adorable Jesus does not consent to be adored and then disregarded; He desires to be received and then lived. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1397) binds the Eucharist inseparably to charity, insisting that sacramental communion must overflow into moral and relational conversion . When this unity fractures, the Eucharist is reduced from purifying fire to spiritual comfort. This rupture becomes visible when workers receive the Host yet exploit colleagues, when spouses approach the altar but refuse reconciliation, when clergy preach mercy while tolerating hidden sin. Judas’ kiss (cf. Mt 26:49) shows how intimacy without truth becomes betrayal .
The devil exploits this contradiction, neutralizing the Eucharist by divorcing it from the Cross and its demands. Jesus’ Divine Appeal summons us back to integrity: the Host received must shape the hands that labor, the tongue that speaks, and the choices made in secrecy. The saints embodied this coherence—St. Mother Teresa drew strength from daily Mass to recognize Christ in the most wounded bodies. Each state of life carries its own place of offering: the desk where choices are purified by truth and justice (cf. Col 3:17), (cf. Prov 31:15) the kitchen where love is repeated through unnoticed sacrifices , the sickbed where suffering is united silently to the Crucified (cf. Col 1:24), the confessional where mercy is spoken and received as resurrection (cf. Jn 20:22–23). When these spaces are lived Eucharistically, (cf. CCC 1397) Christ is no longer confined to the tabernacle but carried into the world through coherence of life . The devil retreats not from devotion alone, but from lives made whole.Where Communion becomes embodied, the Eucharist ceases to be a moment and becomes a way of living.
The devil’s battle sharpens wherever the Eucharist is loved, because the Eucharist is Jesus’ chosen humility—His decision to remain, not in power, but in hiddenness, (cf. Mt 28:20) until the end of time . To wound the Eucharist is not merely to attack a doctrine; it is to pierce the living Heart of the Church. Yet Jesus does not cry out in alarm. From the silence of the Host, He makes an appeal. As in Gethsemane, He does not ask for plans or arguments, (cf. Mt 26:41) but for souls who will stay awake with Him . The saints understood this Eucharistic vigilance. St. Padre Pio called the Mass heaven on earth because he saw eternity compressed into humility. He suffered not only in body but in spirit, bearing confusion and irreverence with reparation. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1402–1405) teaches that the Eucharist places us between memory and promise—already united to Christ, yet watching in hope for His return . This hope demands vigilance, not passivity. To become small like the Host is to choose fidelity over visibility, love over noise. Parents become small hosts by guarding Sunday with quiet firmness. Priests become small hosts by guarding doctrine without hardening the heart. Young people become small hosts by guarding purity in a culture of excess. The elderly become small hosts by guarding prayer when strength fades. The devil’s fury increases because love is truly present. Jesus’ appeal remains disarmingly simple: “Stay with Me.” One hour before the tabernacle. One slow genuflection. One hidden act of reparation. The Eucharist will not be defended primarily by arguments, but by lovers who consent to become bread—broken, silent, and awake. Where love remains watchful, darkness inevitably retreats.
Prayer
Our Adorable Jesus, truly present in the Sacrament of Love, awaken our faith. Heal irreverence, silence unbelief, and strengthen those entrusted with Your Body. Make our lives coherent with the Host we receive. Let us remain with You, watchful and faithful, until love triumphs. Amen
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
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