Lift Your Eyes to Jesus

Divine Appeal Reflection - 157

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 157:  "I implore you to lift your eyes to Me. Courage even if you  experience difficulties."

The first movement of this Appeal is profoundly contemplative: “Lift your eyes to Me.” Our Adorable Jesus does not first explain why the difficulty has come; He calls the soul to change its direction of vision. Much of spiritual suffering becomes heavier because the soul looks continuously at the storm, the failure, the unanswered prayer, the hostile person, the financial problem, the sickness, the uncertainty, or its own weakness. Jesus invites the soul to look beyond the difficulty and discover the Divine Presence within the difficulty. Peter(cf. Mt 14:28–31) began to sink when his attention moved from Christ to the violence of the waves . The waves did not become powerful only when Peter looked at them; rather, his interior stability disappeared when he ceased looking toward Jesus. The same mystery occurs in daily life. A seminarian battling discouragement, a newly married couple hiding an unspoken wound, a business owner tempted to compromise conscience, a nurse exhausted by caring for others, a missionary facing repeated rejection, or a widow confronting silent evenings can gradually allow one burden to occupy the whole horizon of the heart . The Appeal does not tell them to deny reality; it teaches them where to place reality. The Catholic faith is not escapism. The Cross itself stands at the centre of salvation (CCC 571–618), and Christian hope learns to see suffering within Christ rather than apart from Him. St Teresa of Ávila's spirituality continually returns the soul to the indwelling Christ: prayer becomes an interior turning toward the One who is already present. St John of the Cross similarly teaches the soul not to be ruled by changing consolations but to advance through faith. Therefore, “lift your eyes” means: stop allowing the difficulty to become your god. Your problem may stand directly before you, but Jesus must remain above it, within it, and beyond it . In Eucharistic adoration, the soul slowly learns this holy gaze: “Jesus, we see the storm, but we choose to look at You; we feel the weight, but we refuse to let it become greater than Your Presence” (cf. Mk 4:37–40; Ps 46:2–3). The storm may not immediately disappear, but the heart begins to discover that Christ is greater than what it is facing (cf. Jn 16:33; CCC 2618).

The words “even if you experience difficulties” are extraordinarily realistic. Our Lord does not construct an imaginary spirituality in which fidelity eliminates contradiction. Scripture repeatedly reveals that those chosen by God often pass through severe testing. Abraham had to continue believing when God's promise appeared humanly impossible (cf. Gen 12:1–4; 22:1–18). Joseph experienced betrayal,(cf. Gen 37:18–28; 39:19–23; 41:14–41) slavery and imprisonment before seeing God's providence unfold . Moses(cf. Ex 14:10–16; Num 11:10–17) encountered the stubbornness of the people he was called to lead . David(cf. 1 Sam 16:12–13; 24:1–7) experienced persecution even after being anointed . Paul(cf. 2 Cor 11:23–28) carried apostolic trials without abandoning his mission . Above all, Jesus Himself entered Gethsemane. His humanity experienced anguish, (cf. Mt 26:36–46) yet His will remained surrendered to the Father . The Catechism teaches that Christ's acceptance of the Father's will in Gethsemane belongs to the mystery of His redemptive obedience (CCC 612–615). Thus difficulty is not automatically evidence that God has abandoned someone. Sometimes the greatest spiritual danger is not the suffering itself but the interpretation we give it: “God has forgotten me; my vocation is useless; my prayer has failed; I am alone; nothing will change.” The Appeal challenges precisely this interior conclusion. Christian hope is not optimism based upon circumstances. CCC 1817–1821 presents hope as confidence rooted in God's promises and grace, capable of sustaining the Christian amid abandonment and trial. St Thérèse of Lisieux demonstrates this little-way courage: holiness can continue through obscurity, weakness, dryness and ordinary fidelity.  The mystical soul therefore learns a radical principle: difficulty can change your circumstances without being permitted to determine your relationship with God.

The command “Courage” must not be reduced to emotional motivation. In Catholic spirituality, courage is closely related to fortitude, one of the gifts and moral virtues by which the Christian remains steadfast in difficulty and pursues the good despite fear. Jesus is not saying, “Pretend that nothing hurts.” He is saying, in effect: “Do not allow what hurts you to separate you from Me.” The courage of the saints was frequently born precisely in moments when they felt incapable. Elijah collapsed beneath the juniper tree and desired to die,(cf. 1 Kgs 19:1–8) yet God patiently restored him and gave him nourishment for the journey . Jeremiah(cf. Jer 20:7–13) experienced profound interior anguish while carrying his prophetic mission . The disciples themselves trembled after the Passion,(cf. Acts 2:1–4; 4:29–31) but the Holy Spirit transformed frightened men into courageous witnesses . This reveals something essential: Christian courage is received before it is exercised. The soul does not manufacture supernatural strength; it cooperates with grace. CCC 1817–1820 explains that Christian hope relies not merely upon human capacity but upon God's grace, and that hope protects the Christian during the struggle of salvation. St. Catherine of Siena shows the apostolate of carrying the wounded Church within prayer, especially through persistent intercession for priests and the renewal of shepherds (cf. Lk 22:32; 1 Tim 2:1–2). St. Monica reveals the strength of praying through years of apparent silence, entrusting those who have wandered to God’s mercy . St. Rita of Cascia witnesses to persevering prayer amid wounded family relationships, refusing to allow pain to extinguish charity (cf. Col 3:12–14). St. Charles de Foucauld teaches the hidden apostolate of remaining before God when there seems to be no visible fruit (cf. Mt 6:6; CCC 2717). This courage can become profoundly concrete: praying faithfully for a priest who has lost his pastoral zeal, interceding for a seminarian who has abandoned formation, offering a Rosary for a separated couple whose reconciliation seems impossible, praying for a religious who has grown discouraged, accompanying a family wounded by scandal without abandoning the Church, or remembering before the tabernacle a young person who has completely stopped practising the faith (cf. Gal 6:2; Jas 5:19–20; 1 Tim 2:1). Sometimes the greatest apostolate is to remain before Jesus with another person’s name in our hearts. We cannot force another soul to return, but we can refuse to stop loving, praying, offering, and hoping .

This Appeal becomes especially profound when contemplated through the Eucharistic mystery. The Eucharistic Jesus is the Christ who has already passed through rejection, humiliation, abandonment, crucifixion, and death and has entered victorious Resurrection . Therefore, when the soul looks toward Jesus, it is not looking toward someone unfamiliar with suffering. It is looking toward the One whose Sacred Heart has entered the deepest human darkness without being conquered by it . The Cross and Eucharist reveal that divine love does not always remove suffering immediately; sometimes it enters suffering and transforms it into an offering of love . In the Eucharist, the Church encounters the living Christ, the same Lord who offered Himself once upon Calvary and who remains eternally victorious in the Resurrection . Thus, every suffering surrendered before the Blessed Sacrament can become an intimate participation in Christ’s self-offering, when united to Him in faith and charity (cf. Rom 12:1; CCC 618, 1368, 1506). This is the apostolic heart of the Appeal. The suffering Christian is not merely someone who must survive difficulties; united to Christ, that person can become a hidden intercessor. A parent patiently enduring family burdens can offer them for children. A priest can unite pastoral exhaustion with Christ's priestly offering. A religious can transform obedience and hidden sacrifices into prayer for souls. A worker can sanctify honest labour and injustice endured without hatred (cf. Col 3:17, 23–24). A sick person can unite suffering with Christ while also seeking appropriate care and support (cf. Col 1:24, understood within the Church's teaching on participation in Christ's suffering). A student can offer anxiety and disciplined effort.A widow or widower can slowly transform the ache of an empty home into a hidden Eucharistic intimacy, bringing the loneliness itself before Christ rather than allowing it to become isolation . The quiet chair, the unanswered conversation, and the long evening can become places of prayer, where grief is not denied but offered . In this way, contemplation becomes apostolic: a soul that has learned to remain with Jesus can quietly help another wounded person rediscover His Presence (cf. 2 Cor 1:3–4). St. John Paul II presented the Eucharist as the school of self-giving, where Christ teaches the believer to become a gift for others . St. Maximilian Kolbe reveals how Eucharistic love can become heroic charity, even when self-gift demands everything . However, Christian reflection never elevates suffering for its own sake. The Resurrection is the only way to comprehend the Cross: Christ transforms agony into the doorway of Paschal hope by rising from the dead.  The catechism (cf.CCC 571) identifies Christ's Cross and Resurrection as the centre of the Gospel and that hope sustains the Christian (cf. CCC 1818–1821)  through trials and leads the heart toward eternal beatitude. Consequently, when Our Adorable Jesus says, “Lift your eyes to Me,” He is drawing the soul from self-absorption into communion, and from communion into mission.

The Appeal finally becomes a tremendous examination of perseverance. There are moments when almost every vocation is tempted by the thought of escape. Marriage can pass through seasons of misunderstanding; religious life can become a long school of hidden surrender; priesthood can carry the weight of souls and personal exhaustion; parenthood can stretch love beyond its apparent limits; professional life can confront injustice; studies can bring repeated disappointment; apostolic work can receive little recognition; prayer can become painfully dry; and community life can wound precisely where one expected belonging . Yet these places of difficulty can become places where Christ teaches the soul to remain, surrender, and love when consolation is absent . At such moments the enemy may whisper: “Leave everything. Stop praying. Give up. Protect yourself. Nothing is worth this.” Yet Jesus says: “Courage even if you experience difficulties.” This does not mean remaining in situations that are objectively abusive or dangerous; Christian prudence may require boundaries, intervention, justice, professional help or legitimate change. But it does mean that difficulties alone must not become the automatic reason for abandoning a God-given responsibility. Mary stood beneath the Cross when almost everything appeared lost (cf. Jn 19:25–27). She did not understand the entire mystery, yet she remained near her Son. The Blessed Virgin teaches the Church the deepest form of contemplative courage: remaining near Jesus when there is nothing to gain visibly from remaining (cf. Jn 19:25–27; Lk 2:34–35). She remained beneath the Cross when His glory appeared defeated, when His disciples had scattered, and when human reason could find little explanation for what was unfolding (cf. Mt 27:55–56; Mk 15:40–41; Jn 19:25). Her fidelity reveals that contemplation is not merely the ability to experience God’s consolations, but the grace to remain when consolation disappears. CCC 1819 presents Abraham as a model of hope purified through testing, while CCC 1820 teaches that the Christian path contains trials and that hope remains an anchor because Christ has gone before us . The Appeal therefore penetrates every state of life with one question: Where are you tempted to stop looking at Jesus because the road has become painful? Lift your eyes again (cf. Heb 12:1–3). Pray again (cf. 1 Thes 5:16–18). Love again (cf. Jn 13:34–35). Serve again (cf. Gal 5:13). Forgive again (cf. Mt 18:21–22). Begin again . The darkness is not your final horizon. Christ is . The Christian does not know every detail of tomorrow, but knows Who holds tomorrow . And therefore the soul can walk forward—not because the difficulty is small, but because Jesus is greater.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, teach us to lift our eyes to You when fear, suffering, disappointment, or uncertainty surrounds us.  May every trial draw us deeper into Your Eucharistic Presence, unite us more closely to Your Cross, and lead us faithfully toward Your eternal Kingdom . Amen.

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