Diseases With No Physician or Medicine

Divine Appeal Reflection - 185

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 185: "There are very many diseases as an admonishment...Time is approaching and there will come many diseases which will be allowed by My Eternal Father. There will be no physician or medicine to cure them. If souls listen to Me and respond to My Call of Mercy then it will be their salvation and peace."

The words “There are very many diseases as an admonishment” lead us into a mystery that must be approached with both reverence and theological sobriety. The Gospel does not permit us to look at another person's illness and declare that a particular sin caused it; Jesus Himself rejected that simplistic conclusion when speaking about the man born blind (cf. Jn 9:1–3) and about those who died in tragic circumstances (cf. Lk 13:1–5). Yet Scripture(cf. Rom 8:20–23) does reveal that humanity lives within a creation wounded by sin, mortality, and disorder, and that suffering can become an awakening to realities the comfortable heart easily forgets . An admonishment is not necessarily a sentence; it can be an alarm. A fever can tell the body that something requires attention; similarly, the fragility of human existence can expose the illusion that we possess tomorrow. The remarkable king Hezekiah discovered this when illness suddenly brought the brevity of life before him (cf. 2 Kgs 20:1–6). The prophet Elisha's servant Gehazi provides an entirely different picture: outward health can coexist with an inward disease of greed that gradually possesses the person (cf. 2 Kgs 5:20–27). Simon the Pharisee also reveals an invisible disorder when he can sit near Jesus while remaining unable to recognize the greatness of mercy (cf. Lk 7:36–50). There are diseases of the body that medicine can diagnose and diseases of the soul that truth must expose. Envy can grow into hatred, pornography can distort the imagination, resentment can harden the heart, greed can weaken compassion, and religious pride can resist repentance (cf. Mt 5:27–28; Mk 7:20–23; 1 Tim 6:9–10; Lk 18:9–14). Scripture(cf. Ps 139:23–24; Prov 4:23) calls us to examine what is hidden within . The Catechism(cf. CCC 1500–1510) recognizes human vulnerability to illness while affirming medical care, prayer, and the possibility of uniting suffering with Christ . Thus the Appeal calls not to fear, but to honest examination: What within me is quietly becoming unhealthy before God? What habit is weakening my love? What wound is becoming resentment? Prayer brings these hidden places into God's light, where truth can lead to repentance and healing .

The phrase “Time is approaching” becomes especially powerful when understood not as a timetable for predicting particular catastrophes, but as an unveiling of the urgency of conversion. Every human life is moving toward an encounter with God, and nobody knows the precise hour in which earthly opportunities will close (cf. Mt 24:42–44; Heb 9:27). The five foolish virgins discovered too late that preparedness cannot be transferred from one person to another (cf. Mt 25:1–13). The rich man in Jesus' parable had carefully arranged his earthly future but had not prepared his soul for eternity (cf. Lk 12:16–21). There is therefore a terrifying spiritual possibility: a person can spend years preparing for retirement while never preparing for eternity. A surgeon can schedule every medical examination yet postpone Confession indefinitely. A student can plan an entire career while allowing the vocation of holiness to remain undefined. A couple can insure their property, educate their children, and accumulate savings while allowing resentment to become permanent within the home. A priest can prepare homilies, budgets, meetings, and parish programmes while neglecting the silent friendship with Christ from which his priesthood receives its meaning. The unusual biblical figure of Baruch, Jeremiah's scribe, shows how God can interrupt a person's ordinary plans with a call to reassess what he is seeking amid a collapsing world (cf. Jer 45:1–5). St. Joseph Pignatelli's life of patient fidelity during the suppression of the Jesuits shows that holiness may require remaining faithful when the structures one trusted suddenly disappear. The Gospel's urgency is not “be afraid of what is coming”; it is “do not postpone what grace is asking of you today.” The Catechism calls conversion a continual task because the baptized remain in need of ongoing purification (cf. CCC 1427–1429). Every sunrise is therefore another opportunity to return before the soul is forced by circumstances to ask why it waited.

The words “If souls listen to Me and respond to My Call of Mercy” reveal the extraordinary tenderness hidden within the warning. Jesus does not merely tell humanity that danger exists; He announces that mercy is already moving toward the danger. Notice the sequence: listen → respond → salvation → peace. Listening is more than hearing religious language. It means allowing Christ's word to penetrate the place where the soul has constructed its defences. Naaman initially resisted the simplicity of the prophet's instruction because he expected something more spectacular, yet his healing began when pride surrendered to obedience (cf. 2 Kgs 5:9–14). The disciples on the road to Emmaus had knowledge of Scripture but needed Christ to open their understanding from within their disappointment (cf. Lk 24:25–32). The Ethiopian official was already reading Isaiah but needed Philip to help him recognize the One toward whom the Scripture pointed (cf. Acts 8:26–39). A soul may possess religious information and still remain deaf to the particular grace God is offering today. Responding to mercy can therefore become remarkably concrete: making a long-delayed Confession, breaking a relationship that repeatedly leads into serious sin, asking a child for forgiveness, returning money obtained dishonestly, seeking professional help for destructive dependence, reconciling before resentment becomes a family inheritance, returning to Sunday Eucharist after years away, or accepting the sacrifice demanded by one's vocation (cf. Mt 5:23–24; Lk 19:8–9; Heb 10:24–25). St. Mary Magdalene of Pazzi’s writings reveal the seriousness with which she understood God’s transforming love, while St. Mark Ji Tianxiang’s perseverance amid prolonged weakness and his eventual martyrdom show how grace can remain at work even amid a difficult spiritual struggle (cf. 2 Cor 12:9–10). The Catechism(cf. CCC 1422–1424) teaches that Penance is the sacrament of conversion and reconciliation through which the sinner returns to communion with God and the Church . Mercy does not ask whether our wounds are impressive enough to deserve healing; it asks whether we will finally open them to the Divine Physician.

The statement that there may come a time when “there will be no physician or medicine to cure them” requires particular discernment. Catholic faith does not oppose medicine, physicians, scientific research, vaccination, hospital care, or responsible public-health measures. Jesus Himself used medical imagery positively(cf. Lk 5:31) and praised the physician's role in relation to the sick . The Church has consistently regarded healthcare as a work of mercy and encourages appropriate medical treatment (cf. CCC 1509). The deeper spiritual force of the Appeal therefore lies beyond a prediction about medical science. There is a boundary before which every physician eventually stands: medicine can sometimes restore a body, but it cannot abolish mortality. A doctor may remove a tumour but cannot remove humanity's final encounter with death. A psychiatrist may help heal psychological suffering but cannot replace the forgiveness of sins. A surgeon can repair a heart but cannot teach it whom to love. Medical care can strengthen the body, but Christian healing reaches deeper, asking where life finds its ultimate meaning and to whom it is finally entrusted (cf. Ps 16:5–11; Rom 14:7–9). King Asa’s experience offers an important distinction:(cf. 2 Chr 16:12–13; Jer 17:5–8) the problem was not that he sought physicians, but that his dependence on them was not accompanied by a return of his heart to God . Faith therefore does not reject medicine; rather, it places human skill beneath divine providence, recognizing that every form of healing remains within God’s greater purpose . The Anointing of the Sick reveals this mystery even more deeply: Christ comes to the suffering person with strengthening grace, forgiveness, and spiritual consolation, uniting the person’s suffering with His own Passion and preparing the soul for eternal life . Healing may restore the body, but Christ desires to restore the whole person to communion with God. Thus healing may come through treatment, through unexpected recovery, through grace to endure prolonged illness, or through peaceful preparation for eternity . The Christian therefore seeks healing of the body while entrusting the whole person to Christ, the Divine Physician whose saving work reaches beyond the limits of earthly life.

And then comes the astonishing promise: “it will be their salvation and peace.” This is the destination toward which the entire Appeal moves. Our Adorable Jesus does not merely desire humanity to endure sickness, hardship, or uncertainty; He desires souls to return to communion with Him, where true salvation and peace are found (cf. Jn 17:3; 1 Tim 2:3–4; CCC 161–162). Christian peace is therefore far deeper than the removal of difficulties. A person may still face illness, unemployment, persecution, bereavement, family conflict, or an uncertain future and yet possess an interior peace rooted in Christ . Like the disciples in the storm,(cf. Mk 4:37–41) the soul may remain surrounded by frightening circumstances while learning to entrust itself to the Lord who is present within the boat . Peace is not necessarily the disappearance of the storm; it is discovering that Christ remains Lord. Consider Eleazar,(cf. 2 Macc 6:18–31) the elderly scribe in the Maccabean persecution, who refused to preserve his life through apostasy because he understood that a person's fidelity could become an instruction for generations after him . Consider the widow of Zarephath, (cf. 1 Kgs 17:8–16)who faced famine yet learned to entrust the last of her resources to God's providence . Consider Paul, whose bodily weakness became a place where divine grace was experienced as sufficient rather than as an excuse for despair (cf. 2 Cor 12:7–10). The Christian does not ask only, “Will God remove this?” but also, “What can God make of this if I surrender it to Him?”  A physician can silently entrust each patient to Christ. A person who has received a frightening diagnosis can use suffering to reconcile with an estranged sibling. A healthy person can stop postponing gratitude. A parish can become a place where the sick are not hidden away but surrounded by prayer and practical care. The Catechism teaches that Christian hope sustains the heart amid trials and directs it toward eternal blessedness (cf. CCC 1817–1821). Thus the deepest response to this Appeal is neither panic nor speculation about future diseases. It is immediate conversion. Pray while you can pray. Reconcile while you can reconcile. Confess while you can confess. Love while you can love. Receive the Eucharist with awakened faith. Visit the sick. Forgive the offender. Abandon the sin that has become habitual. Entrust tomorrow to Providence. The greatest disease may be believing that there will always be another opportunity to return. Mercy is calling now. And the soul that responds discovers that even when earthly healing has limits, Christ's mercy has no horizon.

Prayer 

Our Adorable Jesus, uncover every hidden sickness within us and heal what only Your mercy can reach. Teach us not to fear suffering but to use every moment for conversion, reconciliation, prayer, and love. When human remedies fail, keep our hearts peaceful, trusting Your Cross, Resurrection, mercy, and eternal healing. Amen.

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

Pray More and Love One Another

Divine Appeal Reflection - 185

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 185: "Make people pray more and love one another. My Heart is filled with pain. I ask many to help souls to return to Me."

“Make people pray more and love one another.” There is a hidden order in these words that reaches into the very structure of Christian existence. Our Adorable Jesus places prayer before love because the heart cannot continually give what it has not first received from God. Prayer opens the soul to grace, teaches it to remain in Christ, and allows divine love to become the source of human charity . The branch bears fruit only by remaining united to the vine;(cf. Jn 15:1–5; Gal 5:22–23) likewise, the Christian gradually becomes capable of patient, sacrificial love by remaining rooted in Christ .  Prayer brings them back to the Source. We do not merely pray because we need God; we pray so that God's love may increasingly become the love with which we meet others. Yet He places love immediately beside prayer because prayer that truly encounters God eventually becomes responsible for another human being. The soul enters prayer alone but should not emerge alone. It returns carrying names, wounds, families, enemies, forgotten people, priests, sinners, the dying, the unborn, and souls whose existence it may never know. Moses discovered this mystery when Israel's sin became something he carried before God rather than merely something he condemned (cf. Ex 32:30–32). Job prayed for his friends after enduring their misunderstanding, and his own restoration became mysteriously connected with intercession for those who had wounded him (cf. Job 42:7–10). This is a profound form of spiritual maturity: the heart ceases asking only, “Lord, what will You do for me?” and begins asking, “Lord, whom are You asking me to carry?” The Catechism teaches that intercession is a prayer of petition that conforms us to Christ's own prayer for humanity (cf. CCC 2634–2636). A mother praying over a sleeping child, a priest kneeling before an empty tabernacle, a farmer praying before beginning his work, a student praying for a troubled classmate, or an elderly person offering a Rosary for unknown sinners may therefore become hidden bearers of souls. Prayer is where God secretly teaches one heart to become spacious enough for many hearts.

Then comes the command that exposes whether prayer has truly enlarged us: “love one another.” Jesus does not say merely to admire one another, agree with one another, or remain pleasant toward one another. He asks for the difficult charity by which one person's salvation becomes important to another person even when affection is absent. Consider the obscure figure of Abigail (cf. 1 Sam 25:23–35). She recognized that David's wounded honour was about to become violence and intervened before blood was shed . Her love was not passive kindness; it entered another person's anger and prevented destruction. Consider also Jonathan, who loved David enough to surrender his own prospects of kingship rather than allow jealousy to govern him (cf. 1 Sam 18:1–4; 20:30–34). Love becomes most supernatural when it protects another person's good at a cost to our own preference. A supervisor can protect an employee from unjust blame. A priest can refuse to ridicule a penitent's repeated weakness. A wife can interrupt a cycle of retaliation by becoming silent long enough to pray before answering. A young person can refuse to participate in humiliating someone on social media. A sibling can visit the relative whom everyone else has abandoned. St. Isaac the Syrian's vision of mercy reaches toward this astonishing interior freedom: another person's weakness is no longer an opportunity for superiority but a summons to compassion. The Catechism(cf. CCC 1827) calls charity the bond of perfection because it orders the entire Christian life toward communion with God and neighbour . The person who tests your capacity to love may be revealing the precise place where your prayer still needs conversion.

The words “I ask many to help souls to return to Me” reveal another hidden dimension: Christ does not merely ask us to bring people into religious activity; He asks us to help them return to Him. Return implies that something has been lost: innocence, trust, prayer, sacramental life, vocation, truth, hope, or the sense of God's presence. The prodigal son’s return begins with an interior awakening: before he can repair what has been broken, he must first dare to believe that the Father’s house remains open to him (cf. Lk 15:17–24; Rom 2:4). Many souls stay away from Confession not because they consider sin insignificant, but because shame has persuaded them that they are no longer worthy of mercy . Some young people withdraw from prayer not because they reject God, but because prolonged suffering and unanswered questions have obscured His nearness . Some priests experience deep exhaustion not because their love for Christ has disappeared, but because even those who carry others need moments of renewal, fraternity, rest, and prayer . A Christian may therefore participate in another person’s return simply by making the possibility of return visible. A patient listener, a sincere invitation to Confession, a Rosary offered for someone who has stopped praying, or a gentle word after a painful failure can become a small doorway through which grace is recognized again . Philip approached Nathanael not by forcing him into an argument, but by leading him toward an encounter with Jesus (cf. Jn 1:43–51). Likewise, Andrew brought Simon into Christ’s presence (cf. Jn 1:40–42), and the Samaritan woman (cf. Jn 4:28–30, 39–42) became a witness through whom others were drawn toward Jesus. Sometimes evangelization begins by becoming living evidence that God’s mercy is still waiting at the door . The Samaritan woman(cf. Jn 4:7–30, 39–42) returned to her town carrying testimony after Christ had reached the hidden wound beneath her public life . The Gerasene man(cf. Mk 5:1–20) who had been isolated among the tombs became a witness among his own people after encountering Christ . St. Mary Magdalene de’ Pazzi’s intense concern for the conversion and renewal of souls reveals how contemplative love can become deeply missionary without becoming noisy. A heart immersed in God cannot remain indifferent to those who are far from Him. The Catechism(cf. CCC 863–865) teaches that every Christian participates in Christ’s mission according to his or her vocation and circumstances . Thus a parent, nurse, farmer, student, religious, mechanic, lawyer, catechist, prisoner, contemplative, or priest can become a keeper of the door through which another soul quietly returns to Christ—sometimes through a word, sometimes through patient presence, sometimes through hidden sacrifice, and sometimes through a prayer known only to God.

But Jesus' command to love one another reaches its highest intensity when love becomes a form of spiritual warfare against the fragmentation caused by sin. The devil divides; Christ gathers. Sin isolates; charity restores communion. Bitterness creates invisible prisons in which two people can remain physically close while spiritually separated. Prayer begins breaking those walls because it brings the other person into the presence of God before bringing the person into our argument. The two disciples travelling to Emmaus were walking away from the community in disappointment, but Christ entered their conversation and gradually restored their understanding (cf. Lk 24:13–35). Onesimus' story reveals the Gospel entering a relationship marked by social inequality and transforming the possibility of domination into Christian brotherhood (cf. Philem 10–16). The four men who carried the paralytic teach another astonishing form of love: when the suffering person cannot reach Jesus by himself, other people can carry him (cf. Mk 2:1–5). Sometimes loving someone means carrying them in prayer until they can walk toward Christ for themselves. This has extraordinary practical consequences. Offer up prayers for the alcoholic who declines assistance. Offer up prayers for the family member who has left the church.  Pray for the priest whose weaknesses scandalize you. Pray for the child who has stopped speaking. Pray for the colleague who envies you. Then ask what concrete act of charity corresponds to that prayer. Perhaps a phone call. Perhaps an apology. Perhaps financial assistance. Perhaps patient silence. Perhaps truthful correction. Perhaps simply refusing to speak maliciously about the person. St. Vincent de Paul and St. Louise de Marillac demonstrated that charity must eventually acquire hands and feet. A prayer that asks God to help someone while refusing every opportunity to help that person ourselves has not yet reached its full apostolic maturity.

The deepest word in the Appeal may therefore be “one another.” Jesus does not envision isolated saints competing for individual holiness. He envisions a humanity in which grace circulates from heart to heart through prayer and charity, like blood through one living body . Your holiness can become another person's shelter; another person's fidelity can become your strength. A hidden nun may pray for a missionary. A missionary may baptize a child. That child may one day become a priest; that priest may hear the confession of a stranger who returns to God and reconciles with his family; that family may raise a child who later becomes a physician serving the poor. One hidden act of prayer can therefore become the beginning of a chain of grace whose final fruits may remain unknown to us until eternity . Heaven alone may know the complete genealogy of a single prayer. This is the mystical dimension of the communion of saints (cf. CCC 946–962). St. Thérèse of Lisieux discovered an apostolic universality hidden within a life apparently confined to Carmel. St. Josephine Bakhita transformed suffering received into a life of forgiveness and witness. St. André Bessette became an instrument of consolation through apparently humble service. Their lives expose our earthly obsession with measurable influence. Jesus may be asking you to do something whose fruit you will never see. Perhaps the most important prayer you will ever pray will be offered when you are tired and nobody knows you prayed. Perhaps the person you patiently love today will carry that memory for decades and return to Christ because of it. Perhaps your forgiveness will prevent bitterness from entering another generation. Pray more until another person's salvation becomes part of your daily concern. Love one another until another person's wound becomes impossible for you to ignore. Then prayer will cease being an escape from humanity, and love will cease being merely human affection. The two will become one movement of Christ's own Heart: ascending toward the Father in prayer and descending toward wounded humanity in mercy. And perhaps this is precisely what Our Adorable Jesus desires when He asks us to make people pray more and love one another: that the earth may quietly begin to resemble heaven—not through extraordinary achievements, but through one praying heart, one forgiven wound, one hidden sacrifice, and one act of love at a time. As prayer draws the soul toward God, charity makes His presence tangible among His children .

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, teach us to pray until we carry souls before You, and to love until their wounds become our concern. Expand our hearts beyond preference, resentment, and convenience. Make our ordinary prayers and hidden charities channels of Your grace, reconciling divided hearts and gently leading wandering souls back home. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 185

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“If souls listen to Me and respond to My Call of Mercy, then it will be their salvation and peace. Make people pray more and love one another. I ask many to help souls to return to Me.” 

“Listen, My daughter. My will and desire is that mankind be converted through prayer, through the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

In the world and My Church there are distractions of all kinds. This is a grave moment. Time is short for saving souls. There are very many diseases as an admonishment. Pray a great deal to atone and appease the wrath of My Eternal Father.

I beg you not to allow My Word to die. If you do not do what I tell you then you will be captured by satan, the Red Lucifer, who is very conscious of this serious moment. These are times of overwhelming violence. Time is approaching and there will come many diseases which will be allowed by My Eternal Father. There will be no physician or medicine to cure them. If souls listen to Me and respond to My Call of Mercy then it will be their salvation and peace. Make people pray more and love one another. My Heart is filled with pain. I ask many to help souls to return to Me.

Lucifer has taken possession of many souls and he tells them that My Eternal Father does not exist. What more could I have suffered for mankind.

...speak to souls, many are eternally lost. Many do not see the torment and pain of perdition. I call them all. My Mercy is immense, their repentance is sufficient. I ask for prayers.”

“I give My blessing.”

Copyright © 2015 The Late Bishop Cornelius K. Arap Korir | Catholic Diocese of Eldoret, Kenya. All rights reserved. Reproduced by adivineappeal.com from "On the Eucharist: A Divine Appeal" (Vol. 1).

Jesus in the Tabernacle, Looking and Loving

Divine Appeal Reflection - 184

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 184:  "Many come before My Tabernacle, while in front of Me and I looking and loving them, they turn their mind and attention away."

“Many come before My Tabernacle” begins with a mystery that human language can scarcely contain: the soul enters a place in which the King is already waiting for it. We often think adoration begins the moment we kneel before the tabernacle, yet the mystery is deeper: Christ’s Presence did not begin when we entered the chapel; our awareness of the Presence began (cf. Mt 28:20; Jn 6:35–40). Our Adorable Jesus is not waiting to become present; He is waiting because He is already there, loving, offering, and inviting the soul into communion . We do not enter the Presence to make Him present; we enter so that His Presence may become more deeply present within us. He does not begin looking when we begin praying; He has already been looking. He does not begin loving when we become recollected; He is loving before our attention becomes capable of receiving that love (cf. Jn 6:37–40; 1 Jn 4:9–10). This reverses the ordinary understanding of prayer. We think adoration means looking at Jesus, yet the deeper mystery is that we first enter the gaze of One who eternally sees us. Hagar encountered the God who saw her in the desert when nobody else appeared to care about her existence (cf. Gen 16:7–14). Nathanael (cf. Jn 1:47–49) discovered that Jesus had seen him before their physical meeting, revealing a divine knowledge that precedes human recognition . The tabernacle therefore becomes a school of being seen. The ashamed sinner, the exhausted mother, the priest carrying hidden wounds, the religious experiencing dryness, the young person confused about vocation, the elderly person who feels forgotten—all arrive beneath a gaze that knows everything and withdraws nothing of love. The most profound act of Eucharistic adoration may therefore begin before words: allowing Jesus to look at the person we spend our entire life trying to hide. We may conceal our weakness from family, disguise failure before friends, hide fears from colleagues, and even refuse to acknowledge our sins within ourselves; yet before the tabernacle, we stand before the One from whom nothing within us is hidden (cf. Ps 139:1–4; Heb 4:13). Our Adorable Jesus already knows what we struggle to reveal, yet His knowing is not rejection; it is the beginning of mercy . Yet His knowledge does not become rejection. It becomes love. This is the first mystical wound of the Appeal: He sees us completely, and He remains.

Then comes the painful contrast: “while in front of Me… they turn their mind and attention away.” There is something deeper here than ordinary distraction. The human person possesses a remarkable capacity to escape from the One who is closest. Adam hid from God after sin, not because God had disappeared but because shame had altered Adam's ability to remain beneath the divine gaze (cf. Gen 3:8–10). Cain similarly withdrew into a self-enclosed world after his brother's murder (cf. Gen 4:8–16). The soul before the tabernacle can reproduce this ancient movement in miniature. The body remains, but the interior person flees. The mind may flee into memories, calculations, imagined conversations, resentments, anxieties, ambitions, or rehearsed fears because remaining quietly before Jesus can disturb the fragile securities around which we have built our inner world (cf. Ps 139:23–24; Mt 6:21). Sometimes distraction is therefore more than simple difficulty concentrating; it can reveal a heart reluctant to remain exposed before divine Love . We may escape into thoughts because Christ’s Presence gently reaches places within us that we have learned to avoid. Yet precisely there, Our Adorable Jesus waits—not to condemn the wounded soul, but to receive what it has been afraid to surrender (cf. Heb 4:15–16; 1 Jn 4:18). A man kneels before Jesus after betraying his wife but spends the entire Holy Hour planning how to justify himself. A religious receives a correction and spends adoration mentally proving that the superior was wrong. A businesswoman brings a financial anxiety before the Eucharist but refuses to surrender control of the outcome. A young person asks Jesus for freedom from an attachment while secretly protecting the attachment in imagination. A parish leader kneels before the Blessed Sacrament while internally rehearsing how to defeat another parishioner. These are not simply failures of concentration. They reveal the places where attention is protecting an attachment from the gaze of Christ. St. Teresa of Ávila's teaching on recollection is profound here: prayer gathers the scattered powers of the person back toward the divine Friend. The Catechism(cf. CCC 2709–2711) presents this interior recollection as fundamental to contemplative prayer, where the heart gathers itself before God and lovingly turns toward Him . Therefore, when the mind drifts away, we need not become impatient with ourselves. We can quietly turn inward and ask: What drew my heart away, and what fear, longing, wound, memory, or attachment was seeking my attention? . The distraction itself can become an invitation to deeper self-knowledge and a gentler return to Christ . The wandering mind can become a quiet map revealing what still occupies the interior life . Then every return to Jesus becomes more than the recovery of concentration; it becomes a little surrender, a renewed choosing of His Presence over whatever has captured the heart (cf. Jn 15:4; Phil 3:13–14).

“I am looking and loving them” contains perhaps the most astonishing sentence in the Appeal. Jesus does not say merely that He sees them; He joins seeing and loving. Divine vision is not cold observation. He sees everything and loves without abandoning truth. This is precisely what humanity struggles to do. We often see people's failures and withdraw affection; Jesus sees the entire wound and continues to love while calling the person toward conversion (cf. Jn 8:1–11). The gaze of Christ upon Peter after his denial was not merely accusation; it pierced him into repentance without destroying him (cf. Lk 22:61–62). The gaze of Jesus upon the rich young man(cf. Mk 10:17–22) contained love even though the man ultimately walked away from the invitation to surrender his possessions . This gives Eucharistic adoration a profound reparative dimension: the soul comes before the One whose love is repeatedly refused, and chooses to remain where others have chosen to leave. At this point adoration becomes companionship. The world may ignore Him; the soul remembers Him. The world may hurry past; the soul remains. The world may use His Name carelessly; the soul speaks it with reverence. The world may receive His gifts while forgetting the Giver; the soul returns thanks. A hospital cleaner may spend five minutes before the tabernacle before beginning a night shift and offer the coming hours for dying patients. A truck driver may stop at a small roadside church, kneel briefly, and entrust to Jesus the strangers he will meet. A mother may adore while holding the knowledge that her child has abandoned the faith. A priest may remain before the Eucharist after hearing accusations against himself, refusing to let wounded pride dictate his next pastoral decision. St. Margaret Mary Alacoque's Eucharistic spirituality of reparation illuminates this mystery of remaining near Love that is not adequately loved. Yet the deeper mystery is not that we console Our Adorable Jesus because His divine Love lacks power, but because He freely desires the loving response of the creature (cf. Jn 15:9–13; Rev 3:20). When love is refused, the adoring soul offers a free response where indifference has closed the heart: one act of adoration, one hour of loving presence, becomes a quiet human “yes” answering the divine Love that has been neglected (cf. Mt 26:40–41; Jn 4:23–24). In this way, the soul before the tabernacle becomes a small but real response of love to Love.

There is another mystical paradox hidden here: Jesus remains perfectly present even when the soul is imperfectly attentive. The Eucharistic presence does not fluctuate according to our emotions. The consecrated Host does not contain “more Jesus” when we are recollected and “less Jesus” when we are distracted. Christ remains wholly present by the sacramental reality of His Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity (cf. CCC 1374). This is spiritually devastating to the ego because it destroys our tendency to make experience the measure of reality. A person may feel nothing and yet be before infinite Love. A person may experience profound consolation and yet be spiritually resisting conversion. The prophet Elijah discovered God not in the spectacular manifestations he expected but in the mysterious stillness that followed them (cf. 1 Kgs 19:9–13). The disciples(cf. Mk 4:35–41) on the stormy sea believed themselves abandoned while Jesus was physically present with them, even though they interpreted His silence as absence . Likewise, the soul may say, “Jesus seems far away,” while the deeper truth is that Jesus has not moved even one step. This becomes crucial for the sick, the elderly, the depressed in spirit, the exhausted parent, the religious in dryness and anyone who cannot sustain prolonged concentration. An elderly woman whose memory permits only brief moments of attention may repeatedly turn toward the tabernacle and whisper the Name of Jesus. A dying patient may be unable to formulate a prayer but can offer a single conscious movement of love. A person with a restless mind may spend an hour returning to Christ a hundred times. Heaven does not measure prayer merely by the length of our concentration, but by the love with which we return whenever distraction, weakness, or dryness carries the mind elsewhere (cf. Mt 6:6; Lk 18:1). St. John of the Cross reveals through his teaching on spiritual dryness that the disappearance of sensible consolation does not signify the departure of God; often, the soul is being invited to love Him more purely, beyond feelings and spiritual sweetness . The distracted soul that lovingly returns to Christ may be offering Him something more precious than it realizes: the freedom to begin again. The soul may actually be learning a purer faith: to adore not because adoration feels beautiful, but because Jesus is worthy of adoration even when the soul feels nothing (cf. CCC 2729–2731). This is one of the deepest forms of Eucharistic fidelity.

The final mystery is perhaps the most demanding: what Jesus asks to receive from us before the tabernacle is ultimately not our attention alone, but our entire attention transformed into love. The mind is the doorway through which the heart gathers itself; attention is therefore capable of becoming an offering. When we deliberately return from resentment to Jesus, we offer Him our memory. When we stop planning revenge, we offer Him our imagination. When we surrender anxiety, we offer Him our future. When we refuse impurity, we offer Him our desires. When we forgive, we offer Him our wounds. When we choose silence instead of immediately reaching for the phone, we surrender our attention to Christ and allow our time to become an offering (cf. Ps 46:10; Mk 1:35). When we kneel before the tabernacle after a serious fall and refuse to hide from His mercy, even our shame can become the beginning of repentance and return . Nothing sincerely surrendered to Our Adorable Jesus is wasted—not even the time we give Him, nor the shame we bring before His merciful Presence. This is why Eucharistic adoration can become a hidden school of self-emptying. Jesus is not merely asking, “Will you look at Me?” He is gradually asking, “Will you allow Me to possess the places to which your attention continually escapes?” The Samaritan woman discovered that Jesus could enter the hidden history she preferred not to expose (cf. Jn 4:16–19). Peter discovered that Christ could enter the wound of his denial and transform it into pastoral love (cf. Jn 21:15–17). Mary Magdalene(cf. Jn 20:11–18) discovered that the place of her deepest grief could become the place of resurrection encounter . Thus the tabernacle becomes more than a destination; it becomes an interior furnace. We enter carrying scattered thoughts and gradually learn recollection; we enter carrying wounds and learn trust; we enter carrying sins and learn mercy; we enter carrying other souls and learn intercession; we enter carrying ourselves and learn surrender. St. Gertrude the Great's Eucharistic devotion, St. Clare of Assisi's profound Eucharistic contemplation and St. Peter Julian Eymard's spirituality of Eucharistic self-giving each point toward this transformation of presence into offering. The final question of the Appeal is therefore terrifyingly intimate: While Jesus is looking at me with uninterrupted love, where exactly am I looking? And if I discover that I have wandered, the answer is not despair. It is simply to turn again. To look again. To remain again. To let His gaze find us again. For perhaps the greatest Eucharistic miracle within us is not that we never become distracted, but that after every wandering, grace teaches us how to return to the One who never stopped looking at us.

Prayer 

Our Adorable Jesus, You remain before us, looking and loving when our minds wander. Gather our scattered hearts back to You. Teach us to adore You in silence, consolation and dryness. May every return to Your Eucharistic Presence become an act of love, reparation and surrender to Your Sacred Heart. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 184

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“Contemplate My Love from My Divine Mercy in the sacrament of My Love, behold what I represent...”

“My daughter, contemplate My Love from My Divine Mercy in the Sacrament of My Love; behold what I represent, I am very present in every Consecrated Host.

By replication of My Presence in each particle all over the world I dwell and abide sacramentally. This is the very and universal Presence of My Divine Love.

To the souls consecrated to Me, I am a stranger. Many come before My Tabernacle, while in front of Me and I looking and loving them, they turn their mind and attention away. Many possess the devil willingly within them. They come before My mystery, receive Me, then cast Me at the feet of the devil to whom they have consecrated themselves.

Day and night I continue bearing these sacrileges with tears of blood. My Love is greater than their sins. I love mankind more than they offend Me. With love I call them back bearing abuses, insults and blasphemies. If only they listen and respond to My calling! My desire is to save them. I love mankind so much and that is why I did not hesitate to lay down My Life for them. I was dead and now I live forever. The everlasting ages are mine.

I only receive insults. I have nowhere comfortable for Me in the souls I love so much. I have nothing more precious like the souls of mankind. Many souls are running to perdition and they are eternally lost. I do not wish anyone to perish. The world is full of perils. I come to exhort sinners.

As I am exposed, I will pour the treasures of My Infinite Mercy into human souls.”

“I give My blessing.”

12.00 a.m., 14th July 1988

Copyright © 2015 The Late Bishop Cornelius K. Arap Korir | Catholic Diocese of Eldoret, Kenya. All rights reserved. Reproduced by adivineappeal.com from "On the Eucharist: A Divine Appeal" (Vol. 1).

Considering Jesus, Receiving His Grace

Divine Appeal Reflection - 183

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 183:  "Consider Me. Open your heart to receive My graces in order that you may get more strength to bring souls to Me. "

“Consider Me” may be one of the most penetrating invitations in the entire Appeal because Jesus does not begin by asking for activity. He asks for attention to His Person. Before the soul carries His message, it must become captivated by His presence; before it attempts to change others, it must allow itself to be gazed upon and changed by Him. To consider Jesus is to place Him at the centre of interpretation:(cf. Heb 12:2–3; 2 Cor 5:14–15) His wounds interpret suffering, His silence interprets abandonment, His mercy interprets failure, His Cross interprets sacrifice, and His Resurrection interprets hope . The disciples on the road to Emmaus possessed Scripture,(cf. Lk 24:25–32) memories and disappointment, yet their hearts began burning only when Christ Himself entered their darkness and interpreted everything around Him . Mary Magdalene illustrates another depth: she remained near the tomb when others had departed,(cf. Jn 20:11–18) and precisely within that fidelity she encountered the Risen Lord . There is therefore a mystical discipline hidden in “Consider Me”: do not allow the event to become greater than the Person.  A father discovers his son has secretly failed in something important and, before reacting, pauses to imitate Christ’s patience and mercy (cf. Lk 15:20–24; Col 3:12–13). A doctor receives an angry complaint from a patient’s family and silently remembers Jesus who endured unjust accusation without hatred (cf. 1 Pet 2:23; Isa 53:7). A priest hears the same confession again and recalls the Shepherd who patiently seeks the wandering sheep (cf. Lk 15:4–7; Jn 10:11). A young woman is publicly shamed online and, before responding, looks toward Christ who entrusted His cause to the Father rather than retaliating . A businessman loses a contract through another person's dishonesty; before allowing bitterness to govern him, he considers Calvary. Such moments are hidden chapels. The Catechism(cf. CCC 2715) calls contemplation a gaze fixed upon Jesus . Thus the first apostolate of the soul is not speaking about Christ—it is learning to look at Christ until His way of seeing becomes our own.

“Open your heart to receive My graces” then reveals the extraordinary vulnerability required of a soul that wants to become apostolic. God can pour without measure, yet the human heart can remain strangely closed. The tragedy is not that grace is scarce; it is that the soul may become skilled at protecting itself from the very grace it requests. Naaman initially resisted the simplicity of the prophet's instruction because his pride expected something more dramatic; healing began when he surrendered his preferred method and entered the Jordan (cf. 2 Kgs 5:9–14). Peter similarly resisted the vision of the sheet because grace was asking him to cross a boundary his religious imagination had considered fixed (cf. Acts 10:9–20, 34–35). Ananias(cf. Acts 9:10–19) had to open his heart to the terrifying possibility that the persecutor Saul could become his brother . Grace frequently arrives carrying something we would not have ordered. A parishioner asks forgiveness from someone who has never apologised first.A religious sister is sent to an apostolate she considers unimportant; a father discovers that his adult child no longer needs advice but the safety of being heard; an accountant is required to expose wrongdoing by a respected superior; a young man recognizes that a cherished friendship repeatedly draws him toward sin; a widow discovers that loneliness can become a hidden sanctuary of intercession . These are not merely disturbances to spiritual life; they may be the very thresholds through which grace enters. St. Gertrude the Great’s Eucharistic devotion and St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross’s profound surrender illuminate this receptive mystery: holiness grows not by controlling grace, (cf. Jn 15:4–5; Rom 12:1–2) but by yielding the interior freedom to God . Grace is God’s free participation in His divine life, entirely undeserved and freely given . Yet the soul must cooperate with this gift (cf. CCC 2002). Sometimes that cooperation becomes one costly prayer: “Jesus, I surrender my expectations; let Your grace take whatever form You desire.”

“Receive My graces in order that you may get more strength” contains a profound apostolic paradox: Jesus gives strength before He gives the assignment for which that strength will be needed. Often we discover only afterwards why a particular suffering, discipline, prayer or humiliation was permitted. David learned courage while protecting sheep before he needed it before Goliath (cf. 1 Sam 17:32–37). Esther entered the hidden discipline of royal life before discovering that her position had become a means of protecting her people (cf. Esth 4:13–16). Joseph endured betrayal,(cf. Gen 37:23–28; 41:37–57; 50:20) slavery and imprisonment before understanding how those hidden years had prepared him to preserve countless lives . The same mystery unfolds in ordinary souls.The nurse who patiently cultivates gentleness while caring for a difficult patient may one day carry that same tenderness into the room of a dying stranger (cf. Col 3:12–13; 2 Cor 1:3–4). The seminarian who learns to listen before speaking may eventually sit with a wounded penitent who needs compassionate presence more than immediate answers . A mother patiently caring for a child with difficulties may unknowingly be prepared to comfort another grieving mother years later. The worker who refuses a small dishonest gain may acquire courage to confront greater corruption;(cf. 2 Cor 1:3–4; Rom 5:3–5) the soul that perseveres through spiritual dryness may later sustain someone whose faith has collapsed . Grace often prepares the soul long before its future purpose becomes visible. St. Ignatius of Loyola taught attentiveness to the interior movements of the soul, while St. Francis de Sales revealed how fidelity in small duties becomes ordinary soil for holiness . Grace does not destroy our humanity but perfects it . Christ sanctifies the person we actually are—the parent, priest, farmer, teacher, artisan, student, doctor, religious, or grandparent . What grace quietly forms in us today may become the strength by which Christ carries another soul tomorrow.

Then comes the astonishing purpose: “to bring souls to Me.” Jesus does not say merely to bring souls toward religious activity, institutions, arguments or even our own example. He says “to Me.” The apostolate terminates in the Person of Christ. Andrew did not gather admiration around himself; he brought Peter toward Jesus (cf. Jn 1:40–42). Philip did not make himself the centre of the Ethiopian's search; he opened the Scriptures until the traveller encountered Christ and entered the sacramental life (cf. Acts 8:26–39). The Samaritan woman did not possess theological credentials, yet her encounter with Jesus became sufficiently real that others were drawn to investigate for themselves (cf. Jn 4:28–30, 39–42). Here lies a severe examination for every apostolic soul: Am I bringing people to Jesus, or am I unconsciously bringing them to myself? A catechist can become more interested in being admired than in awakening hunger for Christ. A preacher can become attached to applause. A Catholic social-media creator can begin measuring apostolic fruit through numbers. A parish leader can defend a ministry because it has become part of personal identity. A parent can confuse transmitting faith with controlling an adult child's spiritual decisions. The genuine apostle eventually becomes transparent. Consider the obscure servant girl in Naaman's household: she possessed almost no social power, yet her simple witness became a bridge toward healing (cf. 2 Kgs 5:1–4). Consider Onesimus, (cf. Philem 10–16) whose transformed relationship with Paul became part of a deeper reconciliation with Philemon . Consider the friends who carried the paralysed man through the roof:(cf. Mk 2:1–12) their faith did not merely seek physical improvement; it placed him directly before Jesus . Today, bringing souls to Christ may mean refusing to join gossip so that another person's dignity remains intact; helping a confused teenager distinguish attraction from vocation; accompanying a dying neighbour to receive the sacraments; quietly paying school fees for a child whose parents are struggling; explaining the faith to someone who has only encountered Catholicism through hostility; or simply remaining beside a grieving person without filling the silence with religious clichés. The Catechism(cf. CCC 849) describes the Church as missionary because she exists to communicate Christ and His salvation . The deepest evangelisation is therefore not making ourselves unforgettable but making Christ encounterable.

The whole Appeal finally forms a mystical ladder: consider, open, receive, strengthen, bring. Yet beneath these five movements is one extraordinary truth: Jesus wants to transform the soul into a living passage for grace. The soul looks at Him until it receives His gaze; it opens until grace enters; grace strengthens it until fear no longer dictates its choices; then Christ's own love begins reaching other souls through its ordinary existence. This is why hidden holiness can possess immense apostolic power. A contemplative nun who spends decades unknown may carry missionaries in the sanctuary of prayer. A bedridden man may offer every painful hour for priests. A grandmother may entrust her grandchildren by name to Christ before the Blessed Sacrament each morning (cf. 1 Sam 1:27–28). A lorry driver may pray a decade of the Rosary at each safe stop, offering his journeys for families he will never know (cf. 1 Thess 5:17–18). A cleaner may restore dignity to a neglected hospital room while quietly interceding for every patient who will enter it (cf. Col 3:23–24). A prisoner's sincere conversion may become a testimony that reaches another prisoner who has lost all hope. A child who sees his father kneel beside his bed every night may carry that image of prayer for fifty years. The hidden apostolate is full of mysteries because God can attach enormous spiritual consequences to acts whose earthly visibility is almost zero. St. Bruno's hidden contemplative vocation, St. Mariana de Jesús's penitential intercession for her people, and St. André Bessette's humble ministry of receiving countless troubled people each demonstrate different forms of this fecundity. The Eucharist reveals the summit: Christ gives Himself completely, remains hidden, and nevertheless becomes the source from which the Church receives life (cf. CCC 1324, 1325, 1368). Therefore, “Consider Me” is not merely an invitation to think about Jesus. It is an invitation to let Christ’s Presence become the hidden sun around which the whole soul turns (cf. Jn 15:4–5; Col 3:17). Then the eyes learn mercy, words carry truth without wounding, suffering becomes intercession, work becomes service, silence becomes prayer, and relationships begin to bear His fragrance (cf. Eph 4:29; Col 3:12–15; 2 Cor 2:15). Eventually, evangelization is no longer merely something the soul plans to do; the transformed life itself becomes its quiet proclamation . Having contemplated Jesus deeply, the soul begins to leave traces of Him wherever it goes.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, teach us to consider You until Your gaze becomes our gaze. Open every hidden part of our hearts to Your grace. Strengthen us for the souls You entrust to us. May our words, silence, work, suffering and love become hidden channels through which souls encounter You. Amen.

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

DIVINE APPEAL 183

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“Everyone must pray. Never before has the world needed prayer like at this present time.”

“Listen to My words of Mercy. My Love and Mercy are limitless. In the Sacrament of My Love I am ever there waiting and longing for souls. I want the world to know that My Heart is overflowing with Mercy. I rest in nothingness... My Love is greater than their sins. I long for their response to My Love. I want My salvation to prevail in the souls of mankind.

Pray a great deal. Do not be afraid to tell Me all. Do not be scared when My Presence takes hold of you. I want you to be used to My Presence.

I am thirsty for souls. Bring Me souls in your prayers. Consider Me. Open your heart to receive My graces in order that you may get more strength to bring souls to Me. I come here to seek shelter. The souls I love so much do not understand to what extent.

Behold in the Sacrament of My Love I am disposed to save lost souls before they enter into perdition.

My Eternal Father’s wrath is overflowing with anger. Everyone must pray. Never before has the world needed prayers like at this present time. I am everywhere to save souls.

My flock is about to be dispersed. In the prison of My Tabernacle I remain day and night longing and waiting for souls.”

1.30 a.m., 11th July 1988

Copyright © 2015 The Late Bishop Cornelius K. Arap Korir | Catholic Diocese of Eldoret, Kenya. All rights reserved. Reproduced by adivineappeal.com from "On the Eucharist: A Divine Appeal" (Vol. 1).

A World Needing Prayer Like Never Before

Divine Appeal Reflection - 182

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 182:   "In My Church Lucifer marches... I want souls to know that I call them all to prayer, penance, Holy Masses... Never before has the world needed prayers like at the present time. Evil grows to monstrous proportions... "

“In My Church Lucifer marches…” These words should awaken in every soul not curiosity about the activity of darkness, but an urgent return to prayer. The answer given in the Appeal is strikingly simple and immensely profound: prayer, penance and Holy Masses. Heaven is directing humanity back to the instruments already entrusted to the Church. When darkness marches, the soul must kneel. When confusion increases, the soul must pray. When temptation becomes stronger, the soul must not abandon the very practices through which grace strengthens it (cf. Eph 6:10–18; 1 Pt 5:8–9). Daniel continued to pray at his appointed times even when prayer became dangerous, because his relationship with God was not dependent upon favourable circumstances (cf. Dan 6:10–23). The Apostles continued in prayer after the Ascension, persevering together until the promised Spirit came (cf. Acts 1:12–14). The Church therefore cannot respond to the spiritual darkness of an age by becoming a prayerless Church. We have to live prayer, revive prayer and defend our prayer life regardless of the cost. If necessary, we must rearrange our schedules, reduce entertainment, rise earlier, remain awake longer, travel farther, endure misunderstanding and sacrifice comfort. A soul that continually says, “I have no time to pray,” may eventually discover that its days contain space for many things while God receives only what remains (cf. Mt 6:33; Lk 10:41–42). A mother may offer the first quiet moments before the household rises; a worker may begin the day with God before entering his duties; a student may kneel before opening the books; a priest may defend his time of prayer as carefully as his pastoral schedule; a religious may preserve holy silence; and an elderly person may turn wakeful nights into hidden intercession (cf. Ps 5:3; Mk 1:35; Col 4:2). Prayer cannot be merely fitted into life whenever circumstances become convenient. It must become the inner axis around which life is ordered, so that work, relationships, suffering, rest, and service continually return the heart toward God (cf. Jn 15:4–5; 1 Thess 5:17; CCC 2697–2699).

The revival of prayer begins in the apparently ordinary places where many spiritual battles are actually decided. The sincere morning prayer must return. Before the telephone, before social media, before messages, before news, before business, the soul should first remember whose creature it is and whose day it has received (cf. Ps 5:3; Mk 1:35). Even a few minutes of genuine thanksgiving, surrender, examination and offering can establish the direction of the whole day. Then the Angelus can transform the ordinary hours into sacred thresholds, calling the heart at morning, midday, and evening to remember the mystery of the Incarnation amid the demands of earthly life (cf. Lk 1:26–38; Jn 1:14). A farmer can pause beside the field, a driver before resuming the road, a worker during a brief break, or a student between lessons, allowing the clock itself to become a gentle summons to God . Parents can teach children that time is not merely measured by hours but offered back to the One who gives it. And the Rosary should become more than an object carried in the hand;(cf. Lk 2:19; Acts 1:14) it should become a prayer entered with attention, love, and interior recollection, allowing Mary to lead the heart more deeply into the mysteries of Christ . A decade prayed slowly while walking, travelling or waiting can be more fruitful than many prayers hurried through mechanically (cf. Lk 2:19, 51). A father and daughter can pray one decade for a family member in difficulty; a mother can pray the Rosary while preparing supper; a young person can pray it before an examination; a priest can place his parish beneath Mary's maternal intercession; a religious community can offer each mystery for particular souls. The measure is not merely the number of prayers completed, but whether the soul is actually entering the mystery of Christ (cf. CCC 2708). A sincere Rosary is not an escape from the world; it is a way of carrying the world's wounds into the mysteries of Christ.

The Appeal also calls us to recover faithful perseverance in novenas and chaplets. There is something spiritually revealing about beginning a novena with enthusiasm and abandoning it when consolation disappears. The faithful soul learns to remain even when prayer feels dry, repetitive or apparently unanswered . Tobias and Sarah prayed from very different places of suffering, yet their prayers converged within God's hidden providence (cf. Tob 3:1–17; 12:12–15). The early Christians prayed for Peter while he remained imprisoned, continuing in intercession even when the answer seemed impossible (cf. Acts 12:5–17). This is the hidden school of perseverance: we remain in prayer not because the answer is already visible, but because God remains worthy of our trust while everything is still hidden (cf. Hab 2:3–4; Lk 18:1–8). A novena offered for a sick loved one may continue through unanswered days; someone discerning a vocation may keep praying when the path remains uncertain; a mother may entrust a wandering child to Christ for years without seeing outward change. A parish praying for priests may never discover which hidden soul was strengthened through its intercession, while a Divine Mercy Chaplet offered for the dying, imprisoned, addicted, abandoned, or forgotten can become an unseen act of mercy whose fruits remain known to God alone (cf. Mt 6:4–6; Jas 5:16). St. Monica’s perseverance illustrates this mystery, but her witness points beyond one story: faithful prayer does not demand visible evidence before continuing to love. Thus a novena should not become a spiritual negotiation—“I pray, therefore God must give”—but an offering of steadfast trust: I remain because I belong to You, even before I understand what You are doing (cf. Rom 8:24–25; 1 Thess 5:17–18). Chaplets must become acts of trust rather than mechanical repetitions. Even when tired, distracted or spiritually dry, we return. Even when the answer seems delayed, we return. Even when others mock our devotion, we return. The enemy would gladly make us stop praying; therefore perseverance itself becomes an act of resistance (cf. Gal 6:9; CCC 2742–2745).

The revival must then move from the individual heart into the family and Christian community. Lucifer's march is resisted when homes recover their identity as little domestic churches, where prayer is not occasional decoration but the breathing of the household (cf. CCC 1655–1658). A family can kneel together in the evening, however simple the prayer may be. Parents can pray sincerely with their children rather than merely instructing them to pray. Husband and wife can place their disagreement before God before allowing resentment to become permanent. Siblings can pray for one another instead of speaking about one another. A family can gather around a sick member and intercede rather than allowing fear to dominate the house. Grandparents can teach grandchildren the Angelus, the Rosary and simple acts of Eucharistic love. Even a household with only one practising member can have one person quietly become its hidden intercessor, like Abraham standing before God on behalf of others (cf. Gen 18:16–33). Community prayer must likewise become deep, sincere and faithful, not merely a social gathering carrying religious language. When Christians gather for a Rosary, Eucharistic prayer, novena, Holy Hour, Scripture meditation or communal intercession, they should bring real souls before Christ: priests, marriages, children, the dying, vocations, sinners, the persecuted, the abandoned, the poor and those who have lost faith . A parish prayer group should not measure its success by noise or numbers but by whether hearts become more repentant, charitable and Eucharistic. A community that spends an hour praying sincerely for one troubled family may accomplish an apostolate that no public programme could replace. Epaphras offers a beautiful hidden model:(cf. Col 4:12–13) his apostolic labour included persevering prayer for souls he carried before God . Community prayer becomes powerful when people stop gathering merely to pray together and begin carrying one another before the throne of mercy

Finally, the Appeal's deepest challenge is this: will we pay the price required to recover prayer? “Never before has the world needed prayers like at the present time” means that prayer cannot remain an accessory added when convenient. Something in our lives may have to die so that prayer can live again. We may have to surrender late-night entertainment to rise for morning prayer; silence unnecessary conversations to protect the Rosary; reduce screen time to complete a novena; give up comfort for Eucharistic adoration; travel to Mass; wake during the night to intercede; fast from food or entertainment; kneel when the body prefers the couch; continue the Chaplet when the heart feels nothing; return to confession when pride says we are already good enough; and preserve Sunday Mass when competing commitments appear more urgent . The widow who refused to stop knocking, Daniel who maintained his prayer despite opposition, Anna who remained before God in fasting and worship, and the first Christians who persevered in intercession reveal one hidden law of the spiritual life: what the heart truly values, it learns to guard through fidelity .  It is often born from the quiet refusal to abandon the ordinary meeting-place with God. (cf. Lk 16:10; 1 Thess 5:16–18). Therefore, let the Angelus reclaim moments of the day for God; let morning prayer place the first movement of the heart beneath His gaze; let the Rosary accompany our journeys; let novenas teach us to remain when answers seem delayed; let chaplets carry trust through darkness; let Scripture continually renew the mind; let fasting loosen the heart from disordered attachments; let confession restore the soul to grace; let Eucharistic adoration rekindle wonder before the Real Presence; and let Holy Mass remain the centre from which everything else receives its meaning (cf. Rom 12:1–2; CCC 1324, 1368). Let families rediscover the grace of kneeling together, communities become schools of intercession, priests protect the hidden sanctuary of personal prayer, religious guard the contemplative roots from which apostolic fruitfulness grows, the sick transform their limitations into offerings, and the elderly become persevering watchmen before God (cf. Col 4:2; Jas 5:16; 2 Cor 4:16–17). The soul that remains faithful in small encounters gradually becomes a dwelling-place where prayer no longer feels like an occasional activity, but like the breathing of love itself . Whatever the cost, prayer must live again. For when Lucifer marches, the Christian does not merely complain about the darkness—the Christian returns to the place of grace. The soul kneels. The Rosary is taken up. The Angelus is prayed. The Chaplet rises. The family gathers. The Church intercedes. The Eucharist is adored. And through these humble fidelities, the human heart becomes once again territory claimed for Christ (cf. 2 Chr 7:14; Eph 6:18; 1 Thess 5:16–18; CCC 2697–2699, 2742–2745). The answer to the march of darkness is not less prayer because the battle is difficult; it is more prayer because the battle is real.

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, revive our prayer life at any cost. Restore sincere morning prayer, the Angelus, Rosary, novenas, Chaplets, family prayer and deep community intercession. Draw us faithfully to Holy Mass, Confession and Adoration. When Lucifer marches, make us kneel, persevere and pray until our lives become instruments of Your victory and mercy. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 182

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“Never before has the world needed prayers like at the present time.”

“My daughter, pray and watch in these dark hours. These are hours of terrible abandonment. It is from pain I pour My tears over mankind. Souls do not want to listen to My words of Mercy. Many souls consecrated to Me have whipped and stepped on Me. Pray a great deal to defend My Church.

In My Church Lucifer marches... I want souls to know that I call them all to prayer, penance, Holy Masses... Never before has the world needed prayers like at the present time. Evil grows to monstrous proportions... those who have the work of saving souls; many of them... what a pain!”

Many souls are eternally lost and My blood is now in vain for these particular souls.

Pray a great deal. I weep over My Church. What more could I have suffered for mankind.

From My Divine Mercy I have come to exhort sinners to change their lives before it is too late. Time is short for saving souls. As I am exposed I will pour the treasures of My infinite Divine into human souls. My Divine Mercy will be followed by Divine Justice.”

“I give My blessing.”

1.30 a.m., 10th July 1988

Copyright © 2015 The Late Bishop Cornelius K. Arap Korir | Catholic Diocese of Eldoret, Kenya. All rights reserved. Reproduced by adivineappeal.com from "On the Eucharist: A Divine Appeal" (Vol. 1).

Responding to the Love of Jesus

Divine Appeal Reflection - 181

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 181:  "Respond to My Love. I lead, bless and strengthen you. Seek to console Me. Do not be afraid to lose yourself. Follow Me along this painful path. I am Love and union is Love... My Divine..."

“Respond to My Love” reveals a mystery more demanding than merely knowing that Jesus loves us: Love is standing before the soul and waiting for an answer. The initiative is entirely His; the response becomes ours. Before we prayed, He loved; before we understood grace, He was drawing us; before we could offer anything, He had already offered Himself (cf. 1 Jn 4:19; Rom 5:8). “I lead, bless and strengthen you” discloses a hidden geography of grace: Jesus does not merely accompany a soul after it has chosen Him; He mysteriously prepares the road, supplies strength for the next step and sometimes permits the soul to discover its poverty precisely so that it may learn dependence. The young Samuel did not recognise the divine voice immediately; he needed Eli to teach him how to listen (cf. 1 Sam 3:1–10). The disciples at Emmaus(cf. Lk 24:13–32) walked beside Christ while remaining unable to recognise Him until grace opened their hearts to see what their eyes could not perceive . Something similar can happen within ordinary existence: Christ may approach disguised beneath what the soul would rather escape—an interruption that ruins the schedule, a person whose presence irritates us, a duty that feels beneath our dignity, a delay that exposes our impatience, or a suffering that reveals an attachment hidden even from ourselves. A doctor may discover that the difficult patient is asking for compassion rather than efficiency; a mother may encounter Christ anew in the child whose needs have completely altered her imagined future; a priest may meet the suffering Christ in the penitent who returns yet again after falling . Grace does not always arrive in forms that please the ego. Sometimes grace arrives through circumstances we would never have chosen, gently dismantling our attachment to control so that God can lead the heart beyond its own designs into a deeper communion with Him . What appears to disrupt our plans may become the very path through which Christ enlarges the soul. The mystical response is therefore deeper than emotional consolation: it is consent. “Jesus, if You have allowed me to meet You here, teach me how to love You here.” This is the beginning of mystical obedience—recognising that even an unwanted moment can become sacred when surrendered to Christ (cf. Rom 8:28; CCC 2716–2717).

“Seek to console Me” enters an even more mysterious chamber of Eucharistic spirituality. The infinite Christ does not need consolation as a deficient creature needs comfort; yet, in the economy of His Incarnation and Eucharistic self-giving, He permits His Heart to be encountered as rejected, forgotten and wounded by the sins of humanity. The soul is invited into the astonishing vocation of standing where love is refused. Simeon saw beforehand that Mary's union with Christ would pass through a sword (cf. Lk 2:34–35). At Calvary, the beloved disciple remained near the Cross when many others had disappeared (cf. Jn 19:25–27). The women who followed Jesus from Galilee continued their fidelity when the visible triumph of His mission had collapsed into apparent defeat (cf. Lk 23:49, 55–56). Their apostolate was no longer accomplishing outward things; it was simply remaining with Love when Love appeared defeated. This is the hidden meaning of consolation. A soul may console Jesus by quietly repairing something it damaged without waiting to be discovered, by giving up the last word in an argument, by praying for the person who received the promotion it secretly desired, by returning money accidentally overpaid when nobody would have noticed, by sitting with a grieving stranger at a funeral when others have already left, by choosing not to expose a colleague's mistake for personal advantage, or by blessing in prayer the person whose rejection still hurts . A teacher may spend personal time preparing a struggling student whom nobody expects to succeed; a nurse may preserve the dignity of an unconscious patient who cannot thank her; a father may surrender his evening plans to accompany a frightened child; a young person may delete a cruel message before sending it; a religious may accept an unwanted assignment without allowing resentment to enter prayer . These hidden sacrifices become little sanctuaries of consolation because they allow Christ's love to triumph precisely where self-love would have demanded its rights. A night-shift security guard may whisper a prayer each time he passes a chapel door. A prisoner may offer his inability to change his circumstances as an intercession for souls. Such acts appear microscopic before the world. Mystically, they can become acts of companionship with the rejected Christ. The Catechism's teaching on Eucharistic adoration and reparation opens precisely this horizon: Christ remains truly present and invites the Church to linger before Him in worship (cf. CCC 1378–1381). Consolation is therefore not sentimentality. It is the courage to say, by one's presence, “Jesus, where You are forgotten, I will remember You.”

“Do not be afraid to lose yourself” strikes at the secret idol hidden even inside religious life: the desire to remain in possession of oneself while appearing to belong to God. We can surrender money and still protect our pride; surrender time and still demand recognition; serve others and still secretly require gratitude; pray and still insist that God follow our preferred timetable. Yet Jesus speaks of a deeper death—the death of the inner proprietor. The widow of Zarephath released the little she believed remained between herself and starvation (cf. 1 Kgs 17:8–16). The unnamed boy in the Gospel surrendered his small meal, not knowing that Jesus would make his poverty sufficient for a multitude (cf. Jn 6:8–13). Ananias,(cf. Acts 9:10–19) a comparatively hidden disciple, accepted the frightening mission of approaching Saul, the persecutor, because obedience had become greater than personal calculation . These scenes reveal a mystical law: God often asks for the very thing through which we define our security. A parish treasurer may be asked to admit an accounting mistake that could damage his reputation. A religious superior may receive an unjust accusation and discover that the greater sacrifice is not defending herself immediately. A father may surrender the dream of the career he planned for his son. A successful professional may refuse an opportunity obtained through another person's exploitation. A talented choir member may rejoice when another singer receives the solo. A husband may stop collecting evidence of his wife's past mistakes. A woman abandoned by her spouse may surrender the desire to make everyone hear her side of the story and instead entrust her vindication to God. These are hidden deaths. Yet they create interior space. St. John of the Cross understood that the soul cannot become completely receptive to God while clinging possessively to created things. The Catechism(cf. CCC 1430, 2015) likewise places self-denial within the path of discipleship, not as contempt for the person but as liberation for authentic freedom . To lose oneself in Christ is therefore not to become insignificant. It is to lose the false self that must control, possess, explain and be applauded, so that the true self—created for communion with God—can finally breathe.

“Follow Me along this painful path” reveals that Love does not merely ask for surrender; it sometimes asks the soul to remain faithful precisely where fidelity hurts. Christianity becomes most mysterious when obedience and suffering meet. Christ's Cross is not a celebration of pain for its own sake; it is the revelation that love can remain faithful when every natural reason for continuing seems exhausted (cf. Phil 2:6–8; Heb 12:2–3). The three young men entering the furnace did not know beforehand how God would deliver them; they knew only whom they would not abandon (cf. Dan 3:16–25). Eleazar's fidelity in old age shows that some sacrifices become more precious precisely because the person has fewer earthly years left to enjoy the consequences (cf. 2 Macc 6:18–31). St. Gemma Galgani's hidden union with Christ in suffering and St. Elizabeth of the Trinity's interior recollection reveal a mystery easily overlooked: some of the greatest offerings before God are made precisely when nothing impressive appears to be happening. The father caring for a child who cannot understand his sacrifice, the religious sister serving without gratitude, the priest hearing confessions while carrying his own hidden battle, the farmer enduring a failed harvest without allowing bitterness to poison his home, the elderly woman confined to her room yet uniting her weakness to the Eucharistic Sacrifice, or the young man quietly fighting impurity and beginning again after every fall—these lives may remain invisible to the world, yet they can become profoundly Eucharistic (cf. Rom 12:1; Col 3:3). Heaven measures differently from human applause. What appears wasted may become worship when surrendered in faith, hope, and charity (cf. CCC 1505; 1521–1522). The Eucharistic Christ reveals this paradox most perfectly: hidden beneath humble appearances, silent before the world, apparently inactive, yet offering Himself completely and conquering through love (cf. Jn 6:51; CCC 1374). The decisive question therefore emerges when discipleship becomes costly: Can I still call Christ good when obedience asks me to surrender something I cannot recover? Here faith passes beyond admiration into sacrifice, and love becomes real precisely because it remains when there is no visible reward .

“I am Love and union is Love” finally unveils the destination: God does not want merely religious people; He wants communion. Union with Christ is not the disappearance of human personality but its transfiguration into charity. The soul becomes increasingly capable of loving with a love that originates beyond itself (cf. Jn 15:4–5; Gal 2:20). Jonathan's friendship with David offers an unusual biblical image of love that does not possess but gives space for another's good (cf. 1 Sam 18:1–4; 20:13–17). Barnabas shows another mystery: he could recognise God's grace operating in someone whom others distrusted and then spend himself strengthening that person (cf. Acts 11:22–26). The obscure servant girl who directed Naaman toward healing demonstrates how a seemingly powerless person can become the hidden doorway through which another encounters God's mercy (cf. 2 Kgs 5:1–4). This is the apostolic consequence of union: the soul becomes a place through which Jesus can reach someone else. A receptionist can speak one sentence that prevents a desperate person from surrendering to despair. A teacher can deliberately remember the name of the child whom everyone else has reduced to a problem (cf. Isa 43:1; 1 Thess 5:14). A doctor can slow down before a frightened patient, allowing dignity to precede diagnosis (cf. Lk 10:33–37). A husband can recognise exhaustion beneath his wife's silence and respond with tenderness rather than demand . A priest can kneel beside a penitent expecting condemnation and become an instrument of the Father's mercy . A young woman can refuse to circulate a humiliating photograph, quietly defending the dignity of someone who may never know she protected them . In such hidden choices, Christ's charity becomes tangible. A contemplative can spend decades hidden from public recognition while carrying missionaries, sinners and dying souls before the Eucharistic Heart. This is where “union is Love” becomes revolutionary: what enters us from Christ must eventually pass through us toward another soul. The Eucharist is therefore not merely communion received at an altar; it is a school of becoming bread broken for others (cf. CCC 1324, 1391–1397). Jesus leads us toward a love that no longer asks, “What will this cost me?” but, “Where is love asking me to remain?” Then the soul becomes a hidden tabernacle—not because it possesses Christ as property, but because Christ possesses its freedom, its wounds, its relationships, its suffering and its ordinary hours. The final response to Divine Love is thus astonishingly simple and immeasurably costly: to let Jesus love through us until our life itself becomes His answer to a wounded world.

Prayer 

Our Adorable Jesus, teach us to answer Your Love with our whole being. When You lead us through pain, keep us faithful. When You are forgotten, let us console You. Free us from ourselves, unite us completely to Your Heart, and make every hidden sacrifice a living offering for souls. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 181

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“Listen, My daughter, to My cry. Many souls are attacking Me in these dark hours.”

“Listen, My daughter, to My cry. Watch with Me in these dark and terrible hours.

It is My great love for mankind that causes Me to stoop down. Many souls are attacking Me in these dark hours. Bring Me souls and in the Sacrament of My Love dress the wounds caused by the souls consecrated to Me. My Love for mankind goes so far that My Heart can draw great treasure from mere nothing. The souls I love so much do not understand to what extent.

Time is too short for saving souls and the demon is disposed to misleading souls. Pray a great deal.

From My Divine Mercy I give warning. Many souls are running to perdition and they are eternally lost. My dying on the Cross is in vain for these souls.

I pour My tears of blood over this humanity. Many among the consecrated souls cost Me tears of blood. They despise themselves by whipping Me and stepping on Me. I have nowhere to rest among them.

Respond to My Love. I lead, bless and strengthen you. Seek to console Me. Do not be afraid to lose yourself. Follow Me along this painful path. I am Love and union is Love... My Divine...

Copyright © 2015 The Late Bishop Cornelius K. Arap Korir | Catholic Diocese of Eldoret, Kenya. All rights reserved. Reproduced by adivineappeal.com from "On the Eucharist: A Divine Appeal" (Vol. 1).

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.

Divine Appeal 180

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

(Revelation to Sr Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist)

VOLUME 1

“Day and night I have abundant blessings in My Tabernacle ready to give to anyone. No one comes, instead they spit and step on Me.”

“Pray a great deal My daughter. My Divine Justice is shackled by My Mercy.

I have nothing more precious like the souls of mankind. Do not be afraid. I lead and strengthen you. You have to mention My Name more often in all your talks with anyone. Please My daughter, 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.

In the Sacrament of My Love I am so lonely and abused. Think of the value of the present moment, increase your trust and respond to My Love. When a soul falls into perdition it is eternally lost. I am very thirsty for souls. I am waiting for them day and night. Understand My thirst for souls. Keep strengthening your belief in My words.

Day and night I have abundant blessings in My Tabernacle ready to give anyone. No one comes, instead they spit and step on Me. I pour My tears of blood on these very souls.

Pray for souls, in the frontline, the consecrated souls. Do not fear. Speak and listen to My beloved servant. Receive the fount of My grace and power. Open your heart and allow it to overflow in gratitude of Love.

As I am exposed I will pour the treasures of My infinite Mercy into human souls.”

“I give My blessing.”

12.12 a.m., 8th July 1988

Copyright © 2015 The Late Bishop Cornelius K. Arap Korir | Catholic Diocese of Eldoret, Kenya. All rights reserved. Reproduced by adivineappeal.com from "On the Eucharist: A Divine Appeal" (Vol. 1).

Preaching Love and Peace, Leading Souls to Perdition

Divine Appeal Reflection - 179

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 179:  "What a pain! In My Church many... have been transformed into veritable incarnate demons. While they preach love and peace they labour hard leading souls to perdition.”

The words “What a pain!” reveal a wound in Divine Love that reaches beyond ordinary human wrongdoing. The sorrow is that what was intended to become a channel of grace can become an obstruction to grace. A person may speak about Christ while quietly making Christ more difficult for another soul to encounter. This is the mystery of spiritual contradiction: the mouth retains Christian language while the interior direction has changed. Judas remained close to Jesus while secretly allowing another love to occupy his heart (cf. Jn 12:4–6; 13:21–30). Peter confessed Christ yet, for a moment, resisted the Cross and became an obstacle to the divine plan (cf. Mt 16:16–23). Ananias and Sapphira entered the Christian community while allowing the desire to appear generous to become more important than truth (cf. Acts 5:1–11). Something similar can happen quietly today. A Catholic may kneel reverently at Mass and then spend the journey home destroying another person's reputation. A person may lead the Rosary in a parish group while deliberately excluding a struggling member from fellowship. A parent may faithfully bring children to Mass yet speak to them with such harshness that sacred things become associated with fear rather than love . A respected Christian may defend chastity publicly while quietly tolerating a friend’s sinful relationship, choosing silence because truthful correction feels uncomfortable . A parish worker may welcome wealthy people warmly while treating the poor as interruptions. These contradictions become spiritually dangerous because another soul is learning Christianity through our behaviour. The Church (cf. CCC 823–829) is holy because Christ is holy, yet her members remain capable of grave sin . The question therefore becomes intensely personal: When somebody encounters my Christianity, do they encounter merely religious behaviour, or do they encounter a life increasingly transformed by Christ? The hidden sanctuary of the heart must become the first place where our preaching is true.

The words “while they preach love and peace” expose the possibility of a counterfeit Christianity that sounds beautiful but quietly damages souls. Love without truth can become permission; peace without justice can become silence; mercy without conversion can become indulgence; tolerance without discernment can become abandonment of the person to whatever is destroying him. The prophets confronted religious environments in which worship continued while justice and conversion were neglected (cf. Isa 1:11–17; Jer 7:8–11). Jesus (cf. Mt 23:23–28) similarly warned against religious appearances that concealed interior corruption . Consider a unique practical case: a young person confides that he is trapped in an addiction, and instead of helping him seek confession, professional assistance where appropriate, accountability and a disciplined life, a friend tells him, “God understands; don't be too hard on yourself.” The words sound merciful but may leave the person imprisoned. Someone may realize that a relative is being financially abused yet remain silent to preserve family harmony, while another witnesses a colleague being mistreated and says nothing to avoid confrontation or personal discomfort . Another repeatedly tells a suffering spouse, “Just endure; that is your cross,” when the person actually needs protection, truthful counsel and appropriate help. False peace can become cruelty wearing a gentle face. Authentic Christian mercy does not merely remove discomfort;(cf. Lk 10:30–37) it seeks the person's genuine good . The Good Samaritan did not offer the wounded man encouraging words and walk away. He interrupted his journey, approached the wound, used what he possessed, arranged continued care and accepted personal cost. Likewise, Christian love must become concrete. Sometimes love listens. Sometimes it forgives. Sometimes it confronts. Sometimes it sets a boundary. Sometimes it reports wrongdoing. Sometimes it accompanies someone to confession. Sometimes it quietly removes a temptation from the home. Sometimes it refuses to participate in gossip. Sometimes it says, with tenderness and courage, “What is happening to you is not good, and I will help you seek a better way.” Such love is neither harsh nor permissive; it is love ordered toward salvation (cf. CCC 1822–1829).

The words “they labour hard leading souls to perdition” reveal the terrifying power of influence. A person can spread spiritual damage without ever standing behind a pulpit. Jeroboam established practices that drew an entire people into religious compromise (cf. 1 Kgs 12:26–33). Balaam became associated with a pathway by which others were induced toward compromise and idolatry (cf. Num 31:16; Rev 2:14). Eli's failure to restrain the corruption of his sons allowed sacred ministry itself to become despised (cf. 1 Sam 2:12–17, 22–25). Today influence can be almost invisible. Influence often works beneath the level of words. A life that repeatedly excuses deceit, belittles fidelity, circulates suspicion, or celebrates those who flatter can gradually reshape another person’s conscience until darkness begins to appear reasonable (cf. Isa 5:20; Rom 12:2; Eph 4:17–19). St. John Chrysostom recognized that Christian witness is never isolated; one person’s conduct can strengthen or weaken the moral life of an entire community . Yet grace can travel through the same hidden channels: a truthful choice, a resisted piece of gossip, a gentle correction, or an unnoticed kindness may awaken goodness in another heart . St. Philip Neri revealed this apostolate of joyful holiness, drawing wounded souls toward Christ through humility, patience, friendship, and ordinary fidelity .The Christian therefore never knows how far a hidden act of fidelity may travel. A life faithfully lived can preach without a pulpit, correct without humiliation, and evangelize without publicity (cf. 1 Pet 3:15–16). Every repeated behaviour becomes a lesson to somebody. The Catechism warns about scandal because influence can become an occasion for another person's wrongdoing (cf. CCC 2284–2287). Therefore a Christian should ask not merely, “Is this permitted for me?” but the more apostolic question: “What does my example make easier for another person?” 

There is also a hidden form of spiritual corruption in which the person does not intentionally decide to harm souls but gradually becomes attached to being important to souls. This is particularly dangerous in ministry. A catechist may become irritated when people begin asking questions independently. A prayer leader may feel threatened when another person receives recognition. A priest may gradually become more comfortable with parishioners who affirm him, while becoming defensive or impatient when others offer respectful correction or raise difficult questions . A religious superior may confuse obedience with personal control. A parent may call possessiveness “protection.” A spiritual adviser may make a struggling person unnecessarily dependent upon his personal approval instead of teaching that person's conscience to rest securely in Christ and the Church. These are subtle forms of spiritual ownership. The soul begins by serving another person and eventually wants to possess the place that God alone should occupy in that person's heart. Saul provides a penetrating example: his concern for maintaining honour before the people became entangled with his obedience to God (cf. 1 Sam 15:20–24). Diotrephes desired prominence among the Christian community and consequently acted destructively toward others (cf. 3 Jn 9–10). Even the disciples themselves (cf. Mk 9:33–37) once argued about greatness while physically accompanying Jesus . The practical antidote is radical hiddenness. Do something good that nobody can attribute to you. Allow another person to receive credit. Teach someone to function without your constant supervision. When giving advice, point the person toward Christ rather than toward dependence upon yourself. When correcting someone, correct privately whenever possible rather than enjoying public superiority. When someone entrusted to your guidance chooses another path, do not immediately read it as disloyalty.  When honour is given, quietly direct the heart toward God rather than feeding personal glory. Before exercising authority, examine its deepest motive: am I seeking the person’s good, or safeguarding my own importance? Before giving counsel, ask whether I could genuinely rejoice if that soul eventually needed my guidance less because it had become more firmly anchored in Christ (cf. Jn 3:30; 1 Cor 3:5–7). The Catechism teaches that the moral value of an act involves its object, intention, and circumstances (cf. CCC 1750–1756). The purified servant discovers that another soul’s increasing dependence upon Christ is not a loss of influence, but the fulfillment of his service (cf. 2 Cor 4:5; 1 Thess 2:8).

The Eucharist reveals the complete opposite of this corrupted influence. Christ does not possess souls by diminishing them; He gives Himself so that they may live. He possesses divine authority and yet chooses the humility of sacramental hiddenness. He could compel the human will, yet He waits for free love. He could overwhelm humanity with glory, yet He comes beneath humble appearances (cf. Jn 6:51–58; CCC 1324–1327). This Eucharistic mystery gives practical instructions for every vocation. After Mass, the priest can ask whether his preaching drew souls toward Christ or toward admiration of himself. The parent can examine whether children obey from fear or are learning to love goodness. The teacher can ask whether students depend upon approval or are becoming lovers of truth. The spouse can discern whether love gives freedom for holiness or quietly becomes control (cf. Jn 3:30; Gal 5:13). Blessed Maria Gabriella Sagheddu’s hidden offering reveals a profound principle: genuine self-gift does not need to remain visible;(cf. Jn 12:24) it disappears into the good God desires for another soul . Those who guide others must ask whether they could rejoice if God’s work flourished while their own name became less remembered. St. Charles de Foucauld discovered the apostolate of hiddenness: belonging completely to Jesus without needing importance before others (cf. Phil 2:3–5). Friendship carries the same responsibility. A young person should ask whether his presence makes prayer easier or indifference easier, purity stronger or compromise more attractive (cf. 1 Cor 15:33). Even hidden suffering can become apostolate. The elderly can transform weakness into intercession; the sick can offer painful days for souls; the unemployed can preserve integrity amid financial pressure; and those wounded within the Church can refuse to pass their wounds to others (cf. Col 1:24; Rom 12:21). St. Thérèse of Lisieux shows how apparently insignificant acts of love can become fruitful beyond what the soul can see . Before the Blessed Sacrament, Our Adorable Jesus teaches the deepest pattern: receive, surrender, give, and do not make yourself the centre. The Eucharistic Christ does not draw attention to Himself as earthly power does; He remains hidden, offered, and available for the life of souls . The Christian therefore becomes less a sign pointing toward self and more like clear glass through which another person can glimpse Christ .The Divine Appeal  therefore becomes a piercing examination: Does my presence make Christ more believable? Does my correction lead toward healing? Does my authority create freedom for holiness? Does my speech protect dignity? Does my silence protect peace—or wrongdoing? (cf. Eph 4:29; Gal 6:1–2). A soul can become either a wall that obscures Christ or a doorway through which another encounters Him. May Our Adorable Jesus make our lives doorways from confusion toward truth, from sin toward repentance, from loneliness toward communion, and from fear toward the freedom of divine love .

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, enter the hidden sanctuary of our hearts and purify every intention that is not love. May we never become obstacles to souls seeking You. Make our words truthful, our authority humble, our correction merciful, and our lives transparent pathways toward Your Heart. Let no soul be lost through our example. Amen.

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