Suffering to Gain Souls for Christ

Divine Appeal Reflection  - 107

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 107: "Do not fear to suffer in order to gain souls for me. I need every soul as if it is the only one on earth. The devil is labouring hard to destroy all the souls. Pray a great deal and atone for souls." 

At a depth that almost wounds the heart to perceive, the Gospel unveils a mystery that overturns every instinct of self-preservation: suffering, when united to Christ,(cf. Col 1:24; Rom 8:17) is not only redeemed but becomes redemptive—a hidden participation in the very love by which the world is saved. Our Adorable Jesus does not stand at a distance from human pain; He enters it, fills it, and then invites the soul into His own interior offering, where the Cross is no longer merely endured but lived as love poured out . This is not a lofty idea reserved for the saints alone; it unfolds in the most human and fragile places of daily life. It is the mother who rises again in the night, exhausted yet choosing love; the worker who swallows frustration rather than wound another; the young person who quietly resists compromise when no one would notice; the priest who carries an interior solitude that no words can fully express, yet remains faithful . The Catechism teaches that such suffering, when united to Christ, becomes a real sharing in His sacrifice (cf. CCC 618), not by diminishing pain but by transforming its meaning. Before the Blessed Sacrament, this truth descends from concept into experience: the soul begins to recognize that what feels like breaking can become offering, that what feels like emptiness can become space for God . There, in silence, one learns a deeply human truth: love often costs quietly, fidelity is rarely seen, and much of redemption unfolds unnoticed (cf. Mt 6:4). Tears, sacrifices, and endurance that seem hidden are not lost when offered to Christ, (cf. 2 Cor 4:17) but become mysteriously fruitful . Before the Blessed Sacrament, the soul discovers that nothing given in love is wasted, and even the smallest offering is transformed into grace (cf. CCC 1368). Even the smallest act, offered with intention and love, enters into the living mystery of Calvary made present in every Eucharistic celebration . In this light, suffering is no longer an isolated burden, but a place of encounter—where human weakness meets divine mercy (cf. 2 Cor 12:9). What is offered to God in love is never lost . Before the Blessed Sacrament, (cf. CCC 1368) the soul learns that even hidden sacrifices become fruitful . Gradually, the believer does not simply carry the Cross—the Cross begins to carry the believer, drawing them into a love that, (cf. Jn 16:33) though wounded, gives life .

In the Eucharistic heart of this appeal, suffering becomes most luminous when seen through the mystery of the “small host”—the soul that consents to be taken, blessed, broken, and given in union with Christ (cf. Lk 22:19–20; Jn 6:51). In the Blessed Sacrament, Our Adorable Jesus reveals a pattern that is both divine and deeply human: strength hidden in fragility, love poured out in silence, glory concealed beneath what appears ordinary (cf. 2 Cor 4:7; Phil 2:7–8). The soul invited into this mystery is not asked for dramatic suffering, but for a daily “yes” to being given—often unnoticed, often unrecognized (cf. Lk 9:23). This becomes tangible in the fabric of real life. It is the quiet forgiveness offered in a family when words have wounded deeply (cf. Eph 4:31–32), the patient endurance of chronic illness that no one fully understands (cf. 2 Cor 12:9), the effort to remain gentle when tired, overlooked, or misunderstood (cf. Col 3:12–13). It is the deacon resisting compromise in private struggles (cf. 1 Cor 10:13), the worker choosing honesty when pressured otherwise (cf. Prov 11:1), the priest continuing his mission amid interior dryness . These moments feel small, even insignificant, yet they mirror the hidden life of Christ and become places where love is quietly offered. The Catechism teaches that the Eucharist is the source and summit that transforms the faithful into what they receive (cf. CCC 1324–1327), meaning the believer is gradually conformed to Christ—becoming, in a real sense, “bread broken” for others . In this light, fear of suffering begins to shift. What once felt like loss is slowly understood as participation; what felt like emptiness becomes space for grace (cf. Jn 12:24). The “small host” is not weakness but a hidden participation in divine fruitfulness. Each sacrifice—whether seen or unseen—becomes a quiet consecration,(cf. Col 1:24; CCC 618) united to Christ’s offering for the salvation of souls . And here lies a deeply human consolation: nothing is wasted when offered in love (cf. Jn 6:12). The reaction held back in patience, the silent prayer whispered in fatigue, (cf. Col 1:24) the endurance no one notices or applauds—all are quietly gathered into God’s work of redemption . Before the Blessed Sacrament, the soul begins to trust that even what feels unseen is received and transformed (cf. CCC 1368). In this hidden exchange, love does not diminish—it multiplies,(cf. Mt 5:16) often invisibly, drawing others gently toward light .

This divine appeal also unveils a profoundly apostolic dimension: suffering is not a closed, private spirituality but a hidden participation in the Church’s mission for the salvation of souls (cf. 2 Tim 2:10; 1 Cor 9:22). Our Adorable Jesus speaks to the whole Body as a sent reality, where every baptized person shares, in their own state of life, in drawing souls into communion with God (cf. Mt 28:19–20; CCC 1268). The life of St. Paul becomes a living witness to this mystery—wounded, rejected, and yet interiorly consumed with zeal, (cf. 2 Cor 4:10–12; Col 1:24) because he knew that no suffering offered in Christ was without fruit . In daily life, this apostolic suffering takes on deeply human and often hidden forms. It is the consecrated soul who remains faithful in dryness, continuing to pray when nothing is felt, offering that interior emptiness for unseen conversions (cf. Ps 63:1). It is the layperson who endures misunderstanding or humiliation at work without retaliation, (cf. 1 Pet 2:19–20) quietly offering it for hearts that resist grace . It is the parent who perseveres in love amid exhaustion, or the young person who carries silent struggles while choosing fidelity (cf. Gal 6:9). These moments do not appear missionary in the visible sense, yet they open unseen channels of grace. The Catechism affirms that the Church continues Christ’s healing and redemptive work through union with His suffering (cf. CCC 1505), revealing that even the most hidden trials participate in the saving mission of Christ. Before the Blessed Sacrament, this truth becomes interiorly real: the soul begins to perceive that each trial, accepted and offered,(cf. Jn 12:24) may become a threshold through which another soul is touched by mercy . Fear of suffering begins to soften, not because pain disappears, but because its meaning is slowly illuminated in Christ (cf. Rom 8:28). In the presence of the Blessed Sacrament, the soul learns that what wounds it is not meaningless, but can be received into a greater love already at work (cf. CCC 1505). Love becomes missionary not only through visible action, but through sacrificial depth—a love willing to be spent quietly so that others may receive life (cf. Jn 15:13). In this hidden apostolate, grace moves gently and often unseen,(cf. 2 Cor 4:7) yet it is profoundly real—touching hearts beyond what the eye can measure .

Yet this appeal also exposes an interior battlefield that takes many subtle and very human forms: the temptation to escape suffering often arrives disguised as “reasonable alternatives” to love. It is the quiet pull toward convenience when fidelity would require patience, or toward silence when truth would require gentle courage (cf. Jn 13:27–30). Our Adorable Jesus does not hide this interior drama;(cf. Mt 26:41) He reveals that even ordinary discipleship can be fractured when love begins to negotiate with comfort rather than surrender itself fully . In daily life, this struggle appears in varied and unexpected ways. It is the healthcare worker who becomes emotionally detached to avoid compassion fatigue, slowly withholding presence from those who suffer (cf. Gal 6:2). It is the young professional who chooses ethical shortcuts in small decisions—reporting half-truths,(cf. Prov 12:22) exaggerating results—because pressure feels overwhelming . It is the parent who, exhausted by routine, begins to respond with irritation instead of patient listening,(cf. Col 3:21) not out of malice but depletion . It is also the faithful soul who quietly stops praying because interior dryness is mistaken for absence of God, rather than hidden purification (cf. Ps 42:2–3). The Catechism teaches that perseverance is not self-generated endurance but a grace sustained by God’s fidelity working within human weakness (cf. CCC 162; CCC 2015). Before the Blessed Sacrament, this struggle is gently re-ordered. The silent, hidden Christ—entirely given without retreat—becomes the measure of a love that does not retreat when it costs something (cf. Jn 6:51; Phil 2:7–8). In His presence, the soul slowly realizes that many “escapes” from suffering are actually escapes from deeper love itself. Thus, suffering is not merely endured but purified in intention. It strips away the layered motives of self-protection, image-management, and emotional withdrawal, (cf. 1 Cor 13:7) revealing whether love is real or only conditional . Even moments of failure—when the heart chooses ease over fidelity—can become turning points rather than endpoints,(cf. Lk 22:61–62) awakening humility and return . In this hidden pedagogy, grace continues its quiet work: not condemning the soul, but drawing it back into a love that is steady, surrendered, and increasingly whole.

This appeal leads the soul into a profoundly mystical transformation: it is not merely invited to suffer, but to be gradually transfigured into the very love of Christ for souls . Our Adorable Jesus draws the believer beyond the level of endurance into a deeper interior participation where suffering no longer dominates consciousness, but becomes transparent to divine charity—seen, received,(cf. Rom 8:18) and quietly offered within love itself . In this hidden work, the soul is not crushed by the Cross but interiorly shaped by it (cf. 2 Cor 4:8–10). This is the path glimpsed by St. Teresa of Avila in the interior castle, where the soul, purified through trials, becomes a dwelling where God acts freely—not only for personal sanctification, but for the salvation of others (cf. Jn 14:23). The soul begins to realize that intimacy with God is never private in its effect; it radiates outward, even when hidden,(cf. CCC 956) silently participating in the communion of saints and the mysterious spread of grace through love offered in obscurity . In this light, every vocation becomes Eucharistic in shape: the married person’s patient endurance in misunderstanding, the consecrated soul’s fidelity in dryness, the priest’s quiet perseverance amid unseen burdens, the layperson’s integrity in ordinary responsibilities (cf. Col 3:17). Even the simple, repeated acts of daily life—the washing of dishes, the commute, the quiet fulfillment of duty—are no longer neutral moments but offerings quietly placed upon the altar of God . The Catechism describes holiness as perfect charity lived in union with Christ (cf. CCC 2013–2016), meaning that sanctity is not escape from suffering but its transformation in love. In this union, fear of suffering slowly dissolves—not through psychological effort,(cf. Phil 3:10) but through a deeper gaze that begins to recognize Christ within every cross . What once appeared as burden becomes invitation; what once felt like limitation becomes hidden participation in redemption. In this Eucharistic mode of existence, the identity of the “small host” reaches its fullness: the soul becomes quietly broken, freely offered, and lovingly consumed for others. Yet this is not loss, but fulfillment. For in this state, suffering ceases to be a closed wound and becomes a language—spoken not in words but in love—that communicates grace into the hidden places of the world, drawing souls, often unseen,(cf. Col 1:24) toward salvation and light .

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, draw us into Your burning desire for souls. We surrender our fears and willingly accept suffering in union with Your redeeming love. Through our hidden sacrifices, reach those far from You, heal the wounded, and call back the lost. Let our lives echo Your Cross in silent but powerful intercession. Amen.

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