A silent plague has crept into the heart of the human family, masked in what society now celebrates as “progress” or “normal.” What once stirred conscience now passes as entertainment, education, and even virtue. The sacred is mocked, and immorality is mainstreamed. Our Adorable Jesus laments this tragedy, revealing not just sorrow, but judgment: “The Red Lucifer has imprisoned the poor souls that live immorality, their eyes are covered with mire” (Divine Appeal 249). This is no mere decline—it is a catastrophe of light exchanged for darkness, of baptized souls stumbling in fog, forgetting the dignity they once received (cf. Eph 5:8–11).
The tragedy is not visible chains, but an inward captivity—one so deceptive that many guard it fiercely, mistaking their darkness for light. Lucifer, the ancient enemy, no longer comes as a monster, but as an influencer of culture, policy, and desire. As the Red Flame, he blinds the eyes of many with the mire of disordered passions—pride that resists truth, sensuality that silences conscience, and a culture of self where God is forgotten (cf. 2 Cor 4:4; Gen 3:4–6).
This is more than impurity; it is blindness chosen and defended. Souls, once temples of the Holy Spirit (cf. 1 Cor 6:19–20), now mistake slavery for liberation, and sin for authenticity. The enemy has taught many to call chains "choice," and darkness "wisdom" (cf. Jn 3:19–20; 2 Pet 2:19). And yet, Christ still calls—through the Church, through the whisper of conscience, through the Cross—to open their eyes and return to the freedom of holiness.
This mire has crept even into the heart of the Church, the very sanctuary that was meant to be a refuge of truth and holiness. The light of the Gospel is meant to shine clearly from the altar, but now flickers beneath the heavy smoke of confusion and compromise.
A sorrowful corruption of sexuality—once honored as a sacred bond between man and woman within the covenant of marriage (cf. Gen 1:27–28; Mt 19:4–6)—now deeply wounds the Body of Christ. The rise of ideologies that celebrate homosexuality and LGBTQ identities as alternatives to God’s design has introduced confusion into hearts and pulpits alike. This distortion has not only misled the faithful but has also drawn into its mire some priests and consecrated souls, who, once afire with devotion, have stumbled under the pressure of false compassion and worldly acceptance. What was meant to be a sign of self-gift has been redefined by self-will, and in place of clarity, many now walk in a fog of compromise, where truth is whispered and error is shouted.
The vows of celibacy and chastity, once seen as radiant signs of divine intimacy and interior freedom, are now often misunderstood—as outdated rules to escape or bend, rather than as holy offerings poured out in love. In a culture that exalts indulgence and mocks restraint, these vows are no longer perceived as treasures but as chains. Yet they were never meant to restrict, but to reveal a deeper spousal union with Christ and His Bride, the Church (cf. Mt 19:12; 1 Cor 7:32–35).
Sadly, the Church’s prophetic voice—commissioned to guard this sacred witness and shepherd the lost—has, in many places, grown faint. Not because it lacks truth, but because it fears the cost of proclaiming it. Where once the Word was thundered from pulpits with fire and tears, it is now too often whispered through clenched lips—hesitant, lest it be scorned by the world it was sent to redeem (cf. Jer 1:17–19; Ez 3:17–18).
The faithful, especially the young, are left adrift in a world that celebrates self-expression over self-mastery, and desire over truth. What was once clearly called sin is now recast as identity; what was once considered sacred is now debated and diluted (cf. Rom 1:25–27; 2 Tim 4:3–4). The Church suffers not only from outside forces but from a deep interior battle—where even those chosen to serve at the altar are drawn into the mire they were called to lift others out of.
Perhaps one of the most painful signs of our times is how immorality has been transformed into a kind of marketplace currency, exchanged daily in the culture without pause or shame. What was formerly concealed in the shadows is now on display—bodies utilized as ads, intimacy sold like products, and virginity considered as something disposable (cf. Eph 5:3-5; Rom 1:24-27).
The dignity of the human person, created in the image of God (cf. Gen 1:27; CCC 1700), is now routinely exploited, as purity is mocked and vice is dressed up as liberation. This spirit of moral decay touches every layer of society: in education, where truth is bent to suit desire; in politics, where scandals are normalized; in art, where beauty is distorted; in the media, where sin is marketed; and even in the family, where emotional manipulation replaces sacrificial love (cf. Is 5:20; 2 Tim 4:3–4).
Vocations that were once altars of self-gift—priesthood, marriage, teaching, governance—have too often become platforms for ego, ambition, or compromise, when detached from the Cross (cf. Mt 23:5–7; Phil 2:3–5). And the most tragic irony is this: the human soul, which longs to be loved, is often deceived into feeding on imitations—temporary pleasures, false intimacy, superficial affirmation—thinking it is full, while slowly starving inside (cf. Jn 6:27; Jer 2:13).
This is the mire Our Adorable Jesus weeps over—a mire that suffocates the desire for purity, blinds the eyes to truth, and silences the voice of conscience. Yet even in this filth, His mercy is ready to cleanse, to restore, and to rebuild what has been desecrated (cf. Is 1:18; Lk 5:13; Ps 51:10–12). Will we let Him?
Yet even in the dense shadows of today’s moral confusion, Our Adorable Jesus does not withdraw His gaze. He does not strike us down in wrath, but beckons with a wounded whisper, the cry of a Love betrayed yet still burning: “Come back to Me.” His voice trembles—not with rage, but with the aching tenderness of One who longs for His lost children. It is the sorrow of a pierced Heart, yet it carries the unyielding promise of mercy and restoration.
He is not calling us simply to feel guilty, but to come home—to recover what we have lost: our dignity as children of God (cf. Rom 8:14–17), the purity of our conscience (cf. CCC 1795), and the ability to see what is true and good again (cf. Mt 6:22–23). Our Lord does not keep His distance from the filth of our sins.
No—He entered into it fully when He climbed the Cross, carrying the weight of our sins (cf. 2 Cor 5:21), suffering out of love to lift us from the mud (cf. Ps 40:2). But His love needs an answer. We cannot remain silent or keep delaying (cf. Heb 3:15). Every excuse we make hardens our hearts and clouds our vision even more (cf. Eph 4:18–19).
When we defend sin, we turn away from His mercy and repeat the betrayal of Calvary (cf. Heb 6:6). This is a serious moment in history. Evil is loud and shameless (cf. 2 Tim 3:1–5), and many are following it blindly. But God’s grace is still stronger (cf. Rom 5:20). His mercy is waiting (cf. Lk 15:20).
Now is the moment for bold return—to confess honestly, forgive fully, heal deeply, and begin anew (Acts 3:19; CCC 1423–1424). The Church must reclaim her holiness (Eph 5:25–27), families rebuilt on the firm foundation of prayer and faithfulness (Josh 24:15; CCC 2205), and every vocation—be it priesthood, marriage, or single life—rekindled with a pure love for God (Rom 12:11; CCC 2013).
Let us step out of the darkness of sin and rise as humble pilgrims, washed clean by the Lamb’s precious Blood (Rev 7:14; 1 John 1:7).
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