Mentioning the Name of Jesus in All Talks

Divine Appeal Reflection - 180

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 180: "You have to mention My  Name more often in all your talks with anyone. ... see to it that you do this all the time. Open your heart to receive more. I have to erect an altar in your heart."

“You have to mention My Name more often…” There is a mystery here deeper than speaking a sacred word more frequently. The Name of Jesus is not a magical formula, nor a religious ornament added to conversation; it is the revealed Name of the Person in whom salvation is given . When a soul lovingly invokes Jesus, it turns toward Someone who is already looking upon it. The Name becomes a doorway of remembrance: the mind leaves distraction, the heart leaves self-reliance, and the soul places itself again beneath Christ's presence. Bartimaeus cried toward Jesus from the roadside while others attempted to silence him, and his persistent invocation became the beginning of a profound encounter . The ten lepers discovered that the Name of Jesus could become the beginning of a journey whose completion required returning in gratitude (cf. Lk 17:11–19). The Name therefore does something extraordinary: it gathers the scattered human person back toward the Person of Christ. A mother standing outside an operating theatre can quietly invoke Jesus without knowing what tomorrow holds. A fisherman seeing a storm approach can whisper the Name before panic takes command. A teacher who notices a child being deliberately excluded can invoke Jesus inwardly before deciding how to intervene. A young woman receiving a cruel message can say the Name before replying, allowing Christ to occupy the few seconds in which anger would normally take possession. A priest entering a confessional can invoke Jesus before hearing the first confession, remembering that he is not the saviour of the soul before him. The Holy Name becomes a threshold between human reaction and divine response (cf. CCC 2666–2668).

The Appeal's insistence that the Name be mentioned “more often” contains another hidden invitation: Jesus desires to become familiar to the heart. There is a difference between occasionally speaking about Christ and developing an interior reflex of turning toward Him. The blind man of Jericho did not formulate a theological treatise before calling upon Jesus; his need became prayer (cf. Mk 10:47–48). Stephen, while dying beneath violence, turned his final consciousness toward Christ rather than allowing hatred to become his final inheritance (cf. Acts 7:54–60). The Name can therefore accompany the soul through thousands of tiny transitions. Before answering an angry email: Jesus. Before entering a hospital ward: Jesus. Before correcting a child: Jesus. Before opening a bank account, signing a contract or accepting a gift whose origin seems questionable: Jesus. Before a young person enters a party where serious temptation is expected: Jesus. Before a spouse discusses an old wound: Jesus. Before a superior gives a difficult instruction: Jesus. Before a person opens social media after midnight: Jesus. These invocations are not substitutes for prudence; they summon prudence into the presence of Christ . St. Francis de Sales taught the spirituality of continual recollection amid ordinary occupations; Brother Lawrence discovered divine presence amid humble work. Yet the Appeal takes this further: the Name can become an interior bell. Just as the Angelus gathers the scattered mind back toward God at appointed hours, the Name of Jesus can become a holy interruption within the soul. It can arrest resentment before it becomes speech, awaken conscience before temptation becomes consent, and loosen anxiety before fear begins ruling the imagination (cf. Phil 2:9–11; 1 Thess 5:17; 2 Cor 10:5). A whispered “Jesus” can become a small doorway through which the soul returns from inner noise to Presence. The word is brief, but the surrender it awakens can be immense: one Name, and the heart remembers whom it belongs to.

But Jesus then says, “Open your heart to receive more.” This transforms the Appeal from an instruction about speech into a summons to receptivity. We may pronounce the Name while keeping Christ outside the deepest rooms of ourselves. We can say “Jesus” while refusing His correction, invoking His mercy while withholding mercy from another, asking for His guidance while already deciding what we want Him to approve. Mary shows the opposite disposition: she received God's word before she carried the Word into the world (cf. Lk 1:26–38). The Ethiopian official was reading Scripture without yet understanding it,(cf. Acts 8:26–39) but he remained open enough to receive Philip's guidance and be led toward Christ . Lydia likewise listened, (cf. Acts 16:13–15) and the Lord opened her heart so that reception became discipleship and hospitality . Thus the question is not merely, “Do I say Jesus?” but “What happens inside me when I say Jesus?” Does pride soften? Does resentment lose oxygen? Does impurity become intolerable? Does generosity become possible? Does truth become more welcome? Does another person's suffering become more visible? A businessman may invoke Jesus before negotiating and discover that he cannot exploit another person's desperation. A parish leader may invoke Jesus before correcting a volunteer and realise that humiliation is not correction. A father may invoke Jesus before disciplining his son and discover that the child needs firmness without rejection. A religious may invoke Jesus after receiving an accusation and discover the grace to examine himself before defending himself. A young man may invoke Jesus before deleting a message that would destroy another person's reputation. The genuine invocation of the Name gradually makes the heart unable to remain comfortable with what contradicts the Person whose Name it loves (cf. CCC 2711–2712).

Then comes perhaps the most mysterious movement: “I have to erect an altar in your heart.” An altar is not merely a place of remembrance; it is where something is surrendered, consecrated, and offered to God (cf. Rom 12:1; Heb 13:15–16). Our Adorable Jesus therefore desires more than a place in our thoughts or prayers. He seeks to establish within us a sanctuary where our time, desires, wounds, work, relationships, victories, failures, and sufferings can continually become offerings . The heart becomes an altar when nothing is kept outside the reach of love. The mother offers her fatigue, the priest his hidden burdens, the worker his honest labour, the sick person his suffering, the young person his future, and the sinner his repentance. Then ordinary existence ceases to be spiritually fragmented: cooking, studying, earning, forgiving, waiting, suffering,(cf. Col 3:17; 1 Cor 10:31) and serving can all ascend toward God as one continuous sacrifice of love . The deepest altar is therefore not built with stone. Christ erects it within the surrendered heart, and upon it the soul gradually learns to offer its entire life. The patriarchs built altars at moments of encounter, making their journeys into places of worship (cf. Gen 12:7–8; 13:18). Elijah(cf. 1 Kgs 18:30–39) repaired the broken altar on Carmel before calling the people back from divided allegiance . This image becomes intensely personal: what if the altar inside us has stones missing? One stone may be unforgiveness. Another may be secret vanity. Another may be habitual impurity. Another may be an attachment that God has repeatedly asked us to surrender. Another may be fear of human opinion. Another may be the desire to control people we claim to love. Another may be prayer performed mechanically without surrender. Jesus wants to rebuild the altar—not merely decorate the ruins. A doctor can make an altar of professional integrity by refusing to alter a medical report for money. A cashier can make an altar of honesty by returning excess change even when nobody would discover the difference. A student can make an altar of truth by reporting his own examination mistake rather than exploiting it. A widow can make an altar of loneliness by offering the evening hours for priests and families rather than allowing isolation to become bitterness. A married couple can make an altar of their bedroom by protecting tenderness, fidelity and mutual dignity from whatever would cheapen their covenant. A priest can make an altar of his hidden fatigue by offering it to Christ instead of taking frustration out on those he serves. These are Eucharistic acts because they transform ordinary life into self-gift . The altar is erected stone by stone whenever the soul chooses love over self.

The final mystery is that the Name of Jesus is meant to become more than a word upon the lips; it becomes the hidden atmosphere of the entire existence. Gradually, His Name begins to govern the smallest movements of the heart: the word we choose when irritated, the honesty we preserve when unseen, the patience we offer when wounded, the way we use possessions, the dignity we give the vulnerable, the suffering we quietly unite to His Cross, and the way we return to prayer after falling . Jesus is no longer merely remembered during prayer; His Presence begins shaping how the whole life is lived.The soul no longer merely remembers Jesus during prayer; it begins to live from Jesus in everything. The Holy Name becomes the hidden rhythm beneath the whole life, until work becomes offering, suffering becomes communion, relationships become charity, and even silence becomes worship . Yet the most radical form of devotion to the Name is not merely speaking it frequently—it is living in such a way that the Name is not contradicted by the life carrying it (cf. Col 3:17; Tit 2:10). A person who says “Jesus” while cheating the poor profanes what the Name signifies. A Christian who invokes Jesus while deliberately destroying another person's reputation turns a holy Name into a covering for unholy behaviour. Conversely, someone who rarely speaks publicly but forgives, serves, tells the truth, protects the vulnerable and remains faithful under pressure can make Christ's Name perceptible without constant verbal explanation . The priest carries the Name into the confessional; parents carry it into the hidden education of children; spouses carry it into fidelity when affection temporarily becomes difficult; youth carry it into friendships where purity is mocked; workers carry it into decisions made when nobody is watching; the elderly carry it into patient suffering; the sick carry it into the offering of helplessness; the contemplative carries it into silence; the missionary carries it across cultures. Even the person who has lost the ability to do much externally can repeatedly whisper the Name and offer the whole self to Christ. The Name begins on the lips, descends into the heart, becomes engraved upon decisions, and finally becomes an altar from which the whole life is offered. This is the striking depth of the Appeal: Jesus is not asking merely to be mentioned more often. He is asking to become the One whom the heart remembers before everything, consults within everything, receives above everything and offers everything to. (cf. Acts 2:21; Rom 10:9–13; Phil 2:9–11; CCC 2666–2670).

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, engrave Your Holy Name deeply within us. May we remember You before every word, decision, temptation and encounter. Remove every stone that prevents Your altar from rising in our hearts. Let our work, suffering, relationships and hidden sacrifices become offerings, so that Your Name may be loved through our entire lives. Amen.

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