The Token of Kindness in Pain for Souls

Divine Appeal Reflection  - 89

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 89: "Be in My pain for the sake of souls. Give Me this token of kindness. It is an offering for souls."

To hear Our Adorable Jesus say, “Be in My pain for the sake of souls,” is to be drawn into the deepest interior movement of His Sacred Heart—a movement that is at once profoundly human and infinitely divine. His pain is not an abstraction, nor merely a historical memory; it is the living expression of love wounded by indifference, sin, and the refusal of grace . Yet this pain is not closed in upon itself; it is entirely oriented toward salvation, toward drawing souls back into communion with the Father . Thus, when He invites the soul to “be in My pain,” (cf. Col 1:24; CCC 1368) He calls not for emotional imitation but for real participation in His redemptive love . This communion unfolds in ordinary life: unnoticed sacrifices, interior struggles, and fidelity in duty when consolation is absent. A mother rising in the night, a worker persevering despite discouragement, a young person resisting temptation in silence— (cf. Rom 12:1) these become living offerings when united to Christ . In Him, the ordinary is lifted into the mystery of redemption. Scripture reveals this path: Joseph transforms betrayal into mercy (cf. Gen 50:20), (cf. Is 53:5) and the Suffering Servant bears pain that brings healing to many . What seems hidden becomes spiritually fruitful. In this light, suffering is no longer meaningless. It turns into a hallowed space where love is enlarged and purified, silently taking part in Christ's atoning mission for souls.

“Give Me this token of kindness” reveals with striking clarity the humility and tenderness of divine love. The One who holds all creation in being (cf. Col 1:17) asks not for grand achievements, but for a “token”—a small, freely given act that carries the weight of love. This echoes the entire rhythm of the Gospel, where God consistently reveals His preference for what is hidden, simple, and sincere (cf. 1 Sam 16:7; Mt 6:4). The widow’s offering, though materially insignificant, becomes spiritually immense because it expresses total trust and self-gift . In the same way, the daily life of a Christian becomes the arena where these “tokens” are offered: a restrained word instead of anger, a patient listening instead of self-assertion, a moment of prayer when fatigue presses heavily. These acts are deeply human—they arise from real effort, from choosing love in situations that challenge the heart. Yet they are also deeply divine, because charity transforms their value (cf. CCC 1827). The saints teach that holiness is found not in extraordinary deeds,(cf. Lk 16:10; CCC 2013) but in fidelity to love within ordinary life . What matters is not the scale of the action, but the constancy of love that sustains it. There is a deep philosophical truth here: the value of an act flows from the intention that unites it to God, who is infinite Love . Thus, even the smallest act, offered to Christ, participates in eternity. In a world driven by visibility and recognition, this appeal draws the soul into hiddenness. Each quiet sacrifice, each unnoticed act of charity,(cf. Mt 6:4) becomes a real communion with God—silent, yet profoundly fruitful .

“It is an offering for souls” expands the horizon of this appeal into the vast mystery of the Church’s mission. The Christian life is never isolated; it is intrinsically oriented toward others, toward the salvation and sanctification of every person . When Jesus speaks of offering for souls, He reveals that every act of love, every suffering united to Him, enters into the great exchange of grace within the communion of saints (cf. CCC 1475). This gives an immense dignity to daily life. The frustrations, delays, and hidden pains that often seem insignificant can become intercessions of immense value when consciously offered. A moment of anxiety can be given for someone in despair; a physical illness can become a prayer for those who are spiritually distant; a hidden sacrifice can be offered for the needs of the Church. This is not mere symbolism— (cf. Heb 7:25) it is a real participation in Christ’s intercessory mission . Scripture reveals this dynamic repeatedly: Moses stands before God on behalf of Israel (cf. Ex 32:11–14), Esther risks everything for her people (cf. Est 4:16), and Paul pours himself out for the communities he serves . Their lives demonstrate that love takes responsibility for others. This calls for an intentional interior life—beginning each day with a conscious self-offering, then renewing it within the flow of ordinary duties, not as repetition but as deepening union (cf. Rom 12:1; CCC 901). Each moment becomes an altar where the will quietly consents to love.Every encounter is then received not merely as circumstance,(cf. 2 Cor 5:14–15) but as providential participation in Christ’s own mission of mercy . Every circumstance presents a chance to love beyond oneself for the benefit of souls, whether it is accepted or not. The commonplace is therefore internally transformed. Hidden acts, united to Christ, enter into His eternal offering, where nothing is lost but everything is gathered into divine fruitfulness (cf. Jn 15:5; CCC 2011).

The Eucharistic dimension of this appeal reveals its highest theological depth. The sacrifice of Christ, once offered on Calvary, is made sacramentally present in every Mass, not repeated but re-presented in a mysterious and real way . When Jesus invites the soul to “be in My pain,” He is inviting it into this living mystery, where His self-gift is eternally offered to the Father for the life of the world . The altar becomes the place where human life is taken up into divine love. Bread and wine, symbols of human labor and suffering, are transformed into His Body and Blood;(cf. CCC 1368) likewise, the faithful are called to place their own lives within this offering . A person arriving at Mass brings not only intentions, but their whole lived reality—joys, failures, struggles, and hopes. When consciously united to Christ,(cf. Rom 12:1; CCC 1368) all of this is drawn into His redemptive offering . The saints recognized the Eucharist as the source of all apostolic fruitfulness, where love reaches its fullest expression . What is offered there does not remain there—it begins to transform the soul. Even outside the liturgy, this Eucharistic life continues through recollection, prayer, and faithful duty. Christ constantly intercedes (cf. Heb 7:25), and the soul united to Him shares in this ongoing act of love. Thus, life itself becomes quietly transfigured: time is drawn into eternity, and the ordinary takes on a sacramental depth . The call is not only to go to the altar, but to live from it in every moment.

This appeal touches the deepest reality of the human heart: the longing not to suffer alone, and the mystery that suffering, when shared, is transformed . Even humanly, pain seeks presence. Jesus Himself, in His agony, desired the presence of His disciples, asking them to remain with Him even briefly . This reveals that divine love, though infinite, seeks communion—it desires a response, a shared presence. When He says, “Be in My pain,” He invites the soul into this communion . Suffering is no longer isolation, but relationship—a participation in His own offering. In this union, even weakness becomes closeness. To remain with Him, even without words, is already love responding to Love (cf. Jn 15:4; CCC 618). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1505) teaches that Christ gives new meaning to suffering by uniting it to His own redemptive act . In practical terms, this means that every human experience of pain—misunderstanding, failure, loneliness—can become a place of encounter with Him. A person who feels rejected can unite that experience to His rejection (cf. Jn 18:40); one who feels abandoned can enter into His cry on the Cross . These are not abstract reflections, but real acts of union that transform the heart. The saints discovered that such companionship with Christ brings a deep interior strength and peace, even in suffering. Even figures like Job, who endured profound trials, came to a deeper knowledge of God through them (cf. Job 42:5–6). Philosophically, this reveals the paradox at the heart of Christianity: that suffering, when united to love, becomes a path to communion and transformation . Apostolically, it forms souls capable of carrying others with compassion. Thus, this appeal calls every vocation into a deeper participation in love—one that embraces the Cross not as an end, but as a means of life for souls.

Prayer 

Our Adorable Jesus, draw us into the mystery of Your redeeming pain for souls. In every trial, teach us to remain with You and to love. Transform our hidden sacrifices into grace for the world. Unite our lives to Your Eucharistic offering, that many souls may return to Your merciful Heart. Amen.

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