Divine Appeal Reflection - 166
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 166: "My grief is for the many souls consecrated to Me who always leave Me deserted and they never believe in My presence in the Eucharist... I am a prey to sadness. I am still enduring more deadly grief. My Heart is crushed by the heavy weight of offences especially those of the souls consecrated to Me."
There is a particularly hidden tragedy in the spiritual life: a soul can spend years physically near the Eucharist and gradually cease to live from the reality of the Eucharist. This does not permit us to judge the interior conscience of priests or consecrated persons, for God alone sees the heart (cf. 1 Cor 4:5; CCC 1861). Yet the possibility of spiritual numbness before holy things is deeply biblical. The priest Eli served near the sanctuary while his spiritual sight had become dim,(cf. 1 Sam 3:1–10) whereas the child Samuel was learning to hear the divine voice in the silence of the night . The mystery is striking: years around sacred things do not automatically produce wonder. A priest may have celebrated thousands of Masses and still need to rediscover Who stands mysteriously before him. The Church teaches that Christ is truly, really, and substantially present in the Eucharist—whole and entire, Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity . The terrible possibility is therefore not merely intellectual doubt. It is existential unbelief: behaving as though the Real Presence were not sufficiently real to rearrange one's life. A priest finishes Mass and immediately reaches for his telephone before making thanksgiving. A consecrated person spends an hour discussing another person's faults but considers ten minutes before the tabernacle excessive. A religious community can spend weeks preparing a public celebration while neglecting the silent interior preparation through which Christ desires to transform those celebrating Him. The Eucharist then remains doctrinally affirmed but existentially neglected. St Manuel González spent his life profoundly affected by neglected tabernacles and became known for calling attention to the abandoned Eucharistic Jesus. Blessed Maria Candida of the Eucharist discovered that Eucharistic faith was not simply an idea to defend but a reality into which the entire personality must disappear in adoration. The deepest question for a consecrated soul is therefore not merely, “Do I profess faith in the Eucharist?” but, “If Jesus is truly here, why does my life sometimes proceed as though He were not?” (cf. Jn 6:51–58; CCC 1374–1380). This question should not produce despair but holy trembling. The tabernacle does not accuse the priest or religious with noise. It waits in silence until the soul finally notices that the One it serves has been waiting for the servant to return. (cf. Rev 3:20).
One of the deepest dangers in consecrated life is not open rebellion, but the quiet fading of wonder—when what was once received with awe becomes ordinary, and the soul slowly stops recognizing the sacred mystery before it .The first Mass or profession may burn brightly in the memory, filled with awe, tears, and wholehearted surrender. But what begins in wonder can slowly become routine if the soul ceases to contemplate the mystery it encounters. Sacred duties must continually be renewed by love, lest familiarity obscure the presence of Our Adorable Jesus (cf. Rev 2:2–4; Lk 10:38–42; CCC 1324, 1378).The extraordinary becomes professionally familiar. This mystery appears in the strange biblical story of Uzzah and the Ark. The sacred object had travelled among the people, yet familiarity did not abolish reverence (cf. 2 Sam 6:1–7). Another mysterious image appears in Nadab and Abihu,(cf. Lev 10:1–3) whose approach to sacred worship became gravely disordered . A surgeon may perform the same operation repeatedly but still remain conscious that a human life lies before him. A pilot may fly hundreds of times but cannot treat the aircraft casually. How much more should the priest approach the Eucharistic Mystery with living reverence? Yet constant pastoral demands can gradually weaken wonder. A priest may celebrate several Masses, answer urgent messages, attend funerals, resolve conflicts, and visit the sick until exhaustion makes him stop interiorly seeing the Jesus he serves. He needs silence before the Eucharist to remain with Christ before working for Christ .Imagine a religious superior responsible for finances, community tensions, elderly sisters, and institutional demands. She enters the chapel carrying spreadsheets rather than silence. Imagine a priest whose every Mass is livestreamed. Gradually he becomes conscious of cameras, sound systems, mistakes, comments, and appearances. The hidden danger is that the liturgy begins to feel like something performed rather than a Mystery entered. Imagine a young priest becoming so concerned about preaching well that he spends more time watching recordings of himself than gazing upon Christ. These are not necessarily sins of deliberate malice. They can be symptoms of an interior life slowly displaced by activity. St Conrad of Parzham spent much of his hidden life serving quietly at a monastery door, showing that intimacy with God does not require spiritual visibility. The Eucharistic mystery demands that the consecrated person repeatedly become a beginner again. Each genuflection must recover meaning. Each entrance into the sanctuary must become a return. Each Mass must be received not as another obligation but as another descent of eternity into time (cf. Heb 9:11–14). Perhaps the soul loses faith gradually whenever it stops being astonished that God still permits it to stand so close. (cf. CCC 1380).
There is a mystical contradiction that can occur in priesthood and consecrated life: a person can become extraordinarily busy serving Christ while becoming increasingly unfamiliar with His silence. The Gospels (cf. Mk 1:35; Lk 5:15–16) reveal this danger through the disciples who wanted to act immediately while Jesus repeatedly withdrew to pray . But an especially unusual biblical figure is Jehu. He carried out an impressive mission and accomplished visible reforms, yet his heart did not fully remain obedient to God (cf. 2 Kgs 10:28–31). His life reveals a frightening possibility: external religious achievement can coexist with incomplete interior surrender. A priest can build churches, organise successful projects, attract large congregations, establish schools, raise funds, and become publicly admired while secretly becoming incapable of sitting quietly before the Blessed Sacrament without feeling useless. He has learned to work for Christ but forgotten how to receive from Christ . A consecrated soul may serve everyone yet avoid Christ in prayer; preach the Gospel yet hide from its demands within; build for others yet flee the silence where buried wounds speak. The greatest danger is serving God everywhere except in the sanctuary of one’s own heart . Sometimes prayer is avoided not because the soul has nothing to tell God, but because silence may reveal what the heart has buried. Before the tabernacle, a priest may suddenly meet the grief of an unanswered hope, a hidden wound, or a dream that never came to pass . The religious may encounter anger toward a superior. The missionary may encounter loneliness he has disguised as zeal. The bishop may encounter fear that he has made wrong decisions. The seminarian may encounter uncertainty about vocation. Constant activity can become a refuge from interior truth. The priest does not possess Christ because he represents Him sacramentally. He must also receive Christ as a poor and dependent disciple. The religious does not cease needing conversion because vows have been professed. Vows do not end the journey; they expose the whole life to deeper surrender. (cf. Phil 3:12–14; CCC 915–933). The tabernacle is therefore not merely where the consecrated person goes to prepare for ministry. It is where ministry itself must repeatedly die, so that Christ—not exhaustion, ambition, personality, or human success—can remain its source. (cf. Gal 2:20).
The mystical sorrow contemplated here becomes especially profound when we consider the meaning of consecration. To be consecrated is to belong in a particular way to God. Yet belonging can become divided without outwardly appearing broken. A heart can pronounce vows while reserving secret rooms into which Christ is never permitted to enter. The biblical figure Gehazi provides a startling example. He lived close to the prophet Elisha and witnessed extraordinary manifestations of God's power, yet greed quietly entered the place where discipleship should have produced freedom (cf. 2 Kgs 5:20–27). He was near holiness without allowing holiness to possess him. Another striking figure is Joash, who did what was right while guided by the priest Jehoiada,(cf. 2 Kgs 12:2; 2 Chr 24:17–22) but later revealed instability when that external support disappeared . These lives force a searching question: has our faith merely shaped our routines, or has it reached the hidden freedom where the heart belongs entirely to Christ? (cf. Rom 12:1–2; Gal 5:13)
A consecrated soul may preserve every observance while love quietly dies within—reciting the Office while becoming impatient, preaching mercy while protecting an old wound, professing poverty while clinging to comfort or human approval, guarding celibacy outwardly while entertaining secret desires, and promising obedience while inwardly submitting only when personal preferences are satisfied. (cf. 1 Cor 13:1–3; Mt 6:1–6; Phil 2:3–5; CCC 915, 2349) The tragedy is not abandoning the vocation externally, but preserving its form while Christ disappears from its centre . The Eucharist becomes particularly painful here because Jesus gives Himself without division . He does not give a percentage of Himself. He does not remain partially available. The Eucharistic Christ confronts divided consecration simply by being entirely given. Blessed Mary of the Divine Heart learned to unite personal interior love with ecclesial mission and intercession.St Margaret Mary Alacoque experienced rejection and misunderstanding within religious life, yet allowed suffering to deepen her surrender to Christ. Christ enters most deeply where we cease defending our wounds, surrender our disappointments, and unlock the hidden places we fear to expose—even to Him . Perhaps a priest needs to place before Jesus his secret envy of another priest's popularity. Perhaps a religious needs to admit that she no longer feels joy in her vocation. Perhaps a bishop needs to confess that fear of public criticism influences his decisions. Perhaps a seminarian needs to acknowledge that he desires admiration more than service. Perhaps a consecrated soul needs to admit that years of disappointment have made the Eucharist emotionally distant. The deepest reparation begins here—not in pretending greater holiness but in becoming truthful before the Host (cf. Ps 139:23–24). The crushed Heart of Christ encounters the divided heart not first to destroy it, but to gather its scattered pieces into one undivided gift. (cf. Ezek 36:25–27; CCC 1430–1432).
The most astonishing mystery is that Christ remains faithful even when the consecrated soul has forgotten how to remain faithful. The Eucharistic Jesus does not become absent because the priest has become distracted. He does not cease loving because the religious has become spiritually dry. His Presence is not sustained by the intensity of human emotion but by His own divine fidelity (cf. 2 Tim 2:13; CCC 1374–1377). This is why no priest or consecrated soul should believe that routine, doubt, spiritual exhaustion, or past negligence must become the final chapter of vocation. Consider Baruch, Jeremiah's discouraged companion. He had served amid catastrophe and finally reached the point of profound personal weariness (cf. Jer 45:1–5). God did not pretend that his burden was insignificant. Consider Elijah, who moved from prophetic courage into collapse and exhaustion. Before giving him another mission,(cf. 1 Kgs 19:1–8) God allowed him to rest and receive nourishment . These stories reveal a deeply human truth: renewal may begin with repentance, but it can also require rest, friendship, healing, silence, and the humility to admit that we are not strong enough alone. Grace often begins where pretence ends . A priest who has secretly lost the ability to pray should not merely increase his workload. He may need to sit before the tabernacle and say nothing except, “Jesus, I no longer know how to come to You.” A religious sister who feels nothing during adoration should not automatically conclude that faith has disappeared. She may remain, even in darkness, and offer Christ her poverty of feeling (cf. Rom 8:26–27). A priest wounded by scandals committed by others may bring his confusion to the Eucharist rather than allowing disappointment with human ministers to become distance from Christ Himself. A consecrated person suffering from hidden temptation should seek wise spiritual direction rather than living behind a perfect religious appearance. A young seminarian frightened by vocational uncertainty should not perform certainty; he should seek truth. St Leopold Mandić spent years in a hidden confessional, receiving broken people repeatedly and witnessing the patience of mercy. The priest returns not because he feels worthy, but because Jesus remains present. The religious returns not because she has solved every interior problem, but because Christ still waits. The consecrated soul returns with doubt, grief, fatigue, temptation, failure, and tears—and discovers that the tabernacle is not only the place where perfect souls adore Christ; it is also where wounded souls learn again how to believe (cf. Mk 9:24; Jn 20:24–29). This is perhaps the deepest mystery of the appeal: the Heart wounded by the absence of consecrated love still becomes the refuge to which the absent consecrated soul is invited to return. Love remains waiting for love. The Priest remains waiting for His priests. The Consecrated One remains waiting for those consecrated to Him (cf. Jn 21:15–19; CCC 1562–1566). And perhaps one quiet hour before the Eucharist, honestly lived, can become the beginning of a completely renewed vocation.
Prayer
O Adorable Eucharistic Jesus, awaken every priest and consecrated soul to Your living Presence. Heal familiarity, routine, hidden unbelief, exhaustion, divided love, and forgotten prayer. Draw Your servants back to Your tabernacle. Give them truthful hearts, silent faith, renewed wonder, and undivided love, that they may belong completely to You. Amen.
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
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