Thirsting Jesus Who Looks Upon Our Guilt

Divine Appeal Reflection - 161

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 161: "In the prison of My tabernacle I implore you to assure souls that I long, thirst and look at their guilt but they do not want to look at Me."

There is a hidden tragedy in the human heart: after falling, a person may spend years looking at what he has done while refusing to look at the One who still loves him. Sin turns the eyes inward; shame bends them downward;(cf. Gen 3:8–10) fear makes the soul hide in the interior wilderness . Hagar gives us an extraordinarily human image of this condition. She flees wounded, rejected, pregnant, and apparently without a future, yet in the wilderness God finds her before she has found Him (cf. Gen 16:7–13). She discovers that her suffering has not made her invisible. This becomes profoundly Eucharistic: before the tabernacle, the soul does not come before a God who needs to be informed about its misery;(cf. Ps 139:1–12) it comes before the God who already knows every hidden wound . A man ashamed of years of addiction may sit at the back of a church unable to pray; a woman carrying an old betrayal may enter the chapel only to cry; a priest troubled by a secret failure may kneel before the Blessed Sacrament unable to formulate a single worthy sentence. Yet Christ's gaze reaches where words cannot reach . St Isaac the Syrian understood tears as a doorway into profound tenderness before God, while St Mary of Egypt shows how radical repentance can transform a life apparently ruined by sin. The Catechism teaches that conversion begins with the movement of the heart returning toward God (cf. CCC 1427–1431).  The soul must therefore learn a sacred reversal: instead of endlessly staring at the wound,(cf. Is 53:4–5; 1 Pet 2:24) it must allow the Wounded Christ to look into the wound . In Eucharistic silence, this can become the beginning of a new life.

The story of Mephibosheth contains an almost forgotten Eucharistic mystery. He lives in Lo-debar, a place associated with barrenness and obscurity,(cf. 2 Sam 9:1–4) carrying both physical disability and the shame of being connected to a fallen royal house . When summoned before David, he expects nothing but fear,(cf. 2 Sam 9:5–13) yet the king restores his dignity and gives him a permanent place at the royal table . This is a remarkable image for souls who have reduced themselves to their failures. They say internally, I am the divorced one, the addict, the dishonest one, the abandoned one, the person who failed my family, the priest who disappointed people, the Christian who stopped praying. But God does not approach the person merely according to the label produced by history . Grace does not deny what happened; (cf. Rom 8:1–2) it refuses to allow what happened to become the final definition of the person .  Picture a young mother returning to the Church after many years, deeply conscious of her past and hesitant to draw near to Holy Communion. Picture a man leaving prison who wonders whether the Church will ever welcome him again. Picture an elderly woman who, after years of carrying resentment, looks back with regret and fears that she has wasted too much of her life. Each needs to discover that God's mercy can open a new future beyond the failures of yesterday . Consider a recovering alcoholic who has fallen repeatedly and wonders whether God has become tired of him. The Eucharist announces something greater than their self-description: Christ calls sinners toward communion and feeds those who approach Him worthily with the life of grace . St Mechtilde of Hackeborn contemplated the Heart of Christ as a refuge for souls, while St Gertrude the Great developed an intimate Eucharistic spirituality rooted in confident friendship with Jesus. Their mystical witness helps us understand Mephibosheth: the sinner's deepest healing is not merely being told that he is forgiven; (cf. Lk 15:22–24) it is discovering that he is still invited to the King's table . Confession becomes the doorway back into communion, while the Eucharist becomes nourishment for the restored journey (cf. CCC 1422–1424; CCC 1468). The soul that once lived spiritually in Lo-debar can learn again to sit before God without hiding.

Manasseh (cf. 2 Chr 33:9–16) presents an even more unsettling mystery. His life contains grave wrongdoing, idolatry, and profound corruption, yet captivity finally brings him to humility, prayer, and conversion . His story is important because some souls do not merely carry guilt; they carry years of deliberately chosen darkness. A businessman may have built his prosperity through exploitation. A person may have destroyed friendships through manipulation. A parent may recognize too late the damage caused by uncontrolled anger. A priest may realize that his pride has wounded people entrusted to his pastoral care. Someone may have spent years using another person emotionally, sexually, financially, or spiritually. Such people cannot simply say, “Forget the past.” Genuine mercy does not erase responsibility . Zacchaeus demonstrates that conversion can require concrete restitution (cf. Lk 19:1–10). David's repentance after grievous sin (cf. 2 Sam 12:1–13; Ps 51:10–12) shows that authentic contrition involves allowing God to recreate the heart . The Catechism (cf. CCC 1431–1432) teaches that conversion requires an interior turning toward God accompanied by genuine repentance and a determination to change .  St Margaret of Cortona likewise demonstrates how profound conversion can redirect a wounded past into radical penitence and love.St Camillus de Lellis is a powerful witness that a disordered life can be seized by grace and transformed into extraordinary service of suffering humanity. St Angela of Foligno's mystical journey shows how awareness of sin can deepen into an astonishing awareness of God's holiness and mercy. But Manasseh teaches something particularly striking:(cf. 2 Chr 33:12–13) God's mercy can reach a person even after years of resistance . The soul must therefore never say, “I have gone too far.” It must say, “I must finally turn around.” (cf. Hos 14:1–4). Before the tabernacle, the hardened person can begin with one honest sentence: Jesus, I have spent years avoiding Your gaze. That admission may be more precious than many elaborate prayers (cf. Ps 51:17). The Eucharistic Lord does not ask the sinner to manufacture worthiness; He asks for truth, repentance, humility, and surrender . The moment the guilty person finally looks toward Christ, the prison of self-condemnation begins to lose its authority (cf. Rom 8:31–39).

The widow of Nain reveals another dimension of the Eucharistic mystery: Christ sometimes sees suffering before suffering knows how to ask for help (cf. Lk 7:11–15). She is not recorded as making a request. Jesus encounters her procession of grief and responds with compassion before she presents an articulated prayer (cf. Lk 7:13). This is an extraordinary consolation for people who are too exhausted to pray. A mother caring for a severely disabled child may have no beautiful words left. A refugee may sit silently during Mass unable to understand everything being said. A man grieving his wife may stare at the tabernacle for twenty minutes without saying anything. A nurse returning home after watching a patient die may simply kneel and weep. A priest overwhelmed by parish burdens may close the church door and sit before the Blessed Sacrament in exhausted silence. Silence before Jesus is not necessarily spiritual emptiness; sometimes it is the soul's final language when suffering has exhausted every other language (cf. Rom 8:26). St Elizabeth of the Trinity developed a spirituality of interior recollection in which the soul learns to remain consciously before the indwelling God. St Julian of Norwich, contemplating suffering through the mystery of divine love, discovered a confidence deeper than immediate circumstances. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1378–1380) teaches that Eucharistic worship extends beyond participation in Mass and includes adoration of Christ truly present in the sacrament . This means that someone sitting silently before the tabernacle is not wasting time. The soul is placing itself where Christ can touch what words cannot reach. A grieving widow may receive no immediate explanation. A sick person may remain sick. A family crisis may continue. Yet the person can gradually discover that being seen by Christ is itself a profound form of consolation (cf. Ps 34:18; Mt 28:20). The Eucharistic Christ does not always remove the cross; sometimes He changes the person carrying it . The soul that remains with Him can eventually whisper, Jesus, I cannot explain my pain, but I refuse to suffer without You .

Ebed-melech gives the final image: Jeremiah lies helpless in a muddy cistern, abandoned by people who want him silenced,(cf. Jer 38:7–13) and an unexpected outsider risks himself to rescue him . The scene can become an icon of souls trapped beneath accumulated sin, trauma, addiction, shame, loneliness, or despair. Some people do not need another condemnation; they already condemn themselves every morning. Some do not need someone to remind them that they have fallen; (cf. Gal 6:1–2) they need someone courageous enough to help them climb out . A teenager hiding self-destructive behaviour may need a trustworthy adult who notices the change. An elderly parishioner who has stopped attending Mass may need someone to visit rather than someone to complain about his absence. A prisoner may need a Catholic volunteer willing to sit beside him without treating him as permanently disposable . A prostitute may need someone to address her as a person rather than as her occupation. A priest secretly battling discouragement may need a brother priest who listens without humiliation and encourages him toward appropriate help . A homeless man outside the parish may need food, friendship, practical assistance,(cf. Jas 2:14–17) and eventually an invitation into the sacramental life . St Vincent de Paul made mercy concrete among the poor; St Jeanne Jugan gave dignity to abandoned elderly people; St Marianne Cope served those whom society feared; St Benedict Joseph Labre embraced a hidden poverty that made him appear insignificant while becoming a pilgrim of Eucharistic love. These saints reveal that contemplation which never touches human misery remains incomplete . The Eucharist sends the contemplative back into the streets with the eyes of Christ (cf. Mt 25:40). The Catechism (cf. CCC 1397) teaches that the Eucharist commits us to the poor and calls those who receive Christ to recognize Him in the needy .  Thus the mystery reaches its summit: Christ waits in the tabernacle for souls who are afraid to look at Him, and He asks those who have learned to look at Him to become His eyes for others . We enter the chapel carrying guilt; Christ gives mercy. We receive mercy; Christ gives us compassion. We receive compassion; Christ sends us toward another human being trapped in a cistern (cf. 2 Cor 1:3–4). The final miracle is therefore not merely that the sinner is forgiven. It is that the forgiven sinner becomes capable of rescuing someone else.

Prayer

O Adorable Jesus, teach us to look at You when guilt makes us hide. Find us in every wilderness, cistern, grief, and failure. Let Your Eucharistic gaze heal our shame, awaken true repentance, restore our dignity, and make us instruments of mercy for forgotten souls who cannot yet lift their eyes toward You. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 161

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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

VOLUME 1

“I refuse nothing.”

“My daughter, pray a great deal; I want sinners to be converted. I shed tears of blood because the majority of priests have degraded the nobility of their ministry through living in superficiality and they have denied what I am to them. I am abused and blasphemed by many through them. Everlasting ages are mine. My Eternal Father’s Justice will be inexorable. I have come to exhort sinners to change their lives. The hour is drawing near. Pray a great deal.

More than that, among the few who believe in Me, too few rely on My Mercy. Many know My Eternal Father as their God and creator but few trust in Him as their Eternal Father. In the prison of My tabernacle I implore you to assure souls that I long, thirst and look at their guilt but they do not want to look at Me.

When in the first line, the souls consecrated to Me pour scorn on Me. From them I find nothing apart from loneliness and desertion. I need you to tell souls that all of them are in the midst of perils. They have to be on their guard now before it is too late. These are grave moments. Bring Me souls in your prayers. I refuse nothing. I love and accept each soul as if it was the only one on earth. The devil

knows how short his time is.”

“I bless you.”

2.25 a.m., 9th June 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).

Jesus’ Severe Hand to Priests

Divine Appeal Reflection - 160

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 160: "My hand will be very severe with those priests who have abused Me and do not believe in My words of Mercy to mankind."

There are words that should make a priest pause before the tabernacle until every illusion of self-importance has fallen away. The priest is not merely a religious professional, a parish administrator, a preacher, or a dispenser of sacred services. Through Holy Orders he is configured to Christ and entrusted with a participation in Christ's own priestly mission (cf. CCC 1536; CCC 1563). The mystery is almost frightening: Christ places His mysteries into human hands. Those hands may baptize a child, absolve a sinner, anoint the dying, bless a marriage, elevate the Host, and pronounce words through which Christ gives Himself to His Church . The priest therefore lives beneath a mystery greater than his personality. St Ephrem the Syrian contemplated the astonishing holiness surrounding the Eucharistic mystery, allowing the wonder of Christ's self-gift to shape his reverence, prayer, and poetic theology (cf. Jn 6:51–58; CCC 1324–1327). St Isaac the Syrian understood spiritual authority through profound humility, compunction, and tears, revealing that genuine pastoral strength flows not from self-importance but from a heart softened before God and compassionate toward human weakness . St John Eudes saw the priesthood as intimately belonging to the Heart of Christ, emphasizing that the priest is called to allow Christ's love, holiness, compassion, and self-offering to become increasingly visible through his own life and ministry . Their spirituality exposes a frightening possibility: a priest can become familiar with what should continually astonish him. He can hold the Eucharist without trembling, enter the confessional without compassion, preach mercy without himself seeking mercy, and speak about Calvary while protecting himself from sacrifice . Yet Christ's severity is not the opposite of His Mercy. Precisely because souls are precious, He takes the shepherd seriously .  The closer a priest stands to the Sacred Mysteries, the more urgently those mysteries must penetrate his own soul. The altar cannot remain something external to him. What he offers sacramentally must gradually become the offering of his entire existence—his time, celibacy, obedience, sacrifices, pastoral burdens, joys, wounds, and hidden fidelity . The priest who offers Christ must continually allow Christ to transform the one who offers, so that the Eucharistic sacrifice celebrated at the altar increasingly becomes a Eucharistic pattern of life .

To contemplate abuse of priestly authority mystically is to contemplate what happens when something consecrated for another person's salvation becomes an instrument of self-love. The shepherd receives authority in order to wash feet, not to possess consciences (cf. Jn 13:3–15). Christ's model of authority is not domination but self-emptying . Ezekiel's (cf. Ezek 34:2–10) warning against shepherds who feed themselves rather than the flock becomes painfully relevant whenever ministry becomes a platform for ego, money, sensuality, control, or prestige . A priest may misuse a penitent's trust, manipulate vulnerable people, exploit parish finances, conceal wrongdoing, cultivate admiration, or use spiritual language to protect personal interests . Such acts are not merely administrative failures; they wound the very people whom the priest was ordained to serve. The Church's teaching on the sacrament of Penance is especially sobering: the confessor is a servant of God's forgiveness, must respect the fallen person, love truth, exercise sensitivity, and lead the penitent patiently toward healing . Imagine therefore a wounded woman finally finding courage to enter a confessional after years of shame, only to encounter contempt. Imagine a young man disclosing an addiction while expecting mercy, only to be treated as a nuisance. Imagine a poor family trusting a priest with their resources and discovering that sacred stewardship has become personal enrichment. Imagine a child approaching a priest with innocent trust and that trust being violated. These are not abstractions. They are wounds carried in human bodies and memories. A priest must understand that every vulnerable person placed before him may be someone whom Christ has entrusted to his pastoral heart. St Vincent de Paul discovered Christ in the abandoned. St John Bosco protected vulnerable young people through patient fatherhood. St Giuseppe Moscati, though not a priest, demonstrates how professional authority can become sacrificial service rather than self-exaltation. St Oscar Romero learned to place his authority increasingly at the service of threatened and forgotten people. The priest who truly contemplates Christ crucified cannot comfortably use another human being for himself (cf. Gal 2:20). The crucifix should make exploitation spiritually impossible.

Perhaps the most mysterious danger is not simply abusing people but ceasing to believe that Mercy can transform them. A priest may begin with a burning desire to save souls and eventually become cynical. He hears the same sins repeatedly. He sees marriages collapse, young people abandon the Church, addictions return, families remain divided, and penitents fall again after promising to change. Slowly, without noticing, he can begin to think: This person will never change. That thought is spiritually dangerous because it limits the human possibility according to present appearances rather than God's grace (cf. Mt 19:25–26). The Gospel contradicts such despair everywhere. Saul becomes Paul (cf. Acts 9:1–22). Augustine becomes a bishop and doctor of the Church after years of wandering (cf. 1 Tim 1:12–16). Mary Magdalene (cf. Jn 20:11–18) becomes a witness to the Resurrection . The Samaritan woman (cf. Jn 4:28–30, 39–42) becomes an evangelizing witness in her own community . The thief (cf. Lk 23:39–43) beside Christ receives hope at the final hour . Yet mercy does not mean pretending sin is harmless. Christ forgives precisely because sin is serious . The priest must never become so accustomed to sin that he loses compassion, nor so sentimental about compassion that he ceases to call the sinner toward conversion . A confessor should be firm about sin precisely because he loves the sinner and desires his freedom, healing, and restoration . Mercy does not remove the truth; it leads the sinner through truth toward transformation . When a priest stops believing that grace can resurrect a ruined life, his ministry may continue externally while its mystical fire gradually weakens within. But Christ's power to restore remains greater than human failure .

There is an even deeper mystery: every Mass places the priest beneath the judgment of the mystery he celebrates. At the altar, Christ's self-offering is not merely remembered; the Church sacramentally participates in the one sacrifice of Christ (cf. Lk 22:19–20; Heb 9:11–14; CCC 1362–1367). The priest's hands become instruments through which this mystery is sacramentally made present. Yet the altar silently asks him: Are you willing to become what you place before the Father? (cf. Rom 12:1). St Maximilian Kolbe offers a terrifyingly beautiful image of priestly self-gift: priesthood cannot ultimately be understood apart from the Cross, where the shepherd learns to give himself for others rather than merely perform religious duties (cf. Jn 10:11–15; Jn 15:13; Rom 12:1). St Joseph Cafasso formed priests and accompanied prisoners through a spirituality marked by mercy, sober awareness of judgment, and preparation for eternity, reminding ministers that every soul must be led toward the ultimate encounter with God . St Lorenzo Ruiz, a layman and martyr, reminds the ordained that radical fidelity is not the exclusive possession of priests and religious but belongs to every baptized Christian, each called to remain faithful to Christ whatever the cost . For a priest, however, the altar repeatedly confronts the temptation to separate ministry from personal conversion. He can preach sacrifice while avoiding inconvenience, preach forgiveness while retaining grudges, preach poverty while becoming attached to luxury, preach chastity while secretly cultivating impurity, preach trust while manipulating people for control . This is the terrible possibility of sacramental contradiction. Yet the Eucharist is also the place of restoration. A priest can kneel after a difficult day and bring Christ not a successful image but his exhaustion, temptation, disappointment, loneliness, and failure (cf. Mt 11:28–30). The Church (cf. CCC 1566) explicitly teaches that the Eucharistic mystery is the heart and centre of priestly life and that priestly pastoral charity flows from the Eucharistic sacrifice . The altar therefore does not merely reveal whether the priest is working; it reveals what the priest is becoming. If he remains close to the Eucharistic Christ, his heart can gradually acquire Christ's own dispositions—patience toward the weak, courage toward evil, compassion toward sinners, fidelity amid obscurity, and willingness to spend himself for souls (cf. Phil 2:5–8).

The deepest answer to this warning is not fear of punishment but a priest allowing himself to be possessed by the Heart of the Good Shepherd (cf. Jn 10:11–15). A priest becomes spiritually dangerous when he begins to think, These are my people, my parish, my ministry, my reputation, my success. They are not his. They belong to Christ (cf. 1 Pet 5:2–4). The priest is a servant of mysteries and a shepherd under the authority of the true Shepherd (cf. 1 Cor 4:1; Jn 21:15–17). St John Henry Newman contemplated the priestly life as a hidden participation in Christ’s work, where much of a priest’s deepest fruitfulness is born invisibly through prayer, sacrifice, and faithful union with Our Adorable Jesus (cf. Jn 15:4–5; 1 Cor 4:1). St Clement Mary Hofbauer tirelessly sought souls amid difficult circumstances, refusing to allow pastoral disappointment to extinguish his zeal (cf. Gal 6:9; 2 Tim 4:2). St Luigi Orione carried an extraordinary apostolic love for abandoned and suffering people, revealing that authentic priestly charity naturally moves toward those whom the world overlooks, forgets, or leaves behind . St José de Anchieta spent himself evangelizing and serving in demanding circumstances. St Peter Claver made the dignity of enslaved people a concrete expression of Christian love. These saints reveal a priesthood that moves outward because it has first been consumed inwardly by Christ .

 The priest who spends an hour before the tabernacle should eventually become more patient with the difficult parishioners. The priest who celebrates the Passion should become more willing to forgive. The priest who hears confessions should become more merciful toward human weakness. The priest who carries the Eucharist to the sick should become more attentive to those who feel forgotten (cf. Mt 25:35–40). The priest who preaches heaven should live as a pilgrim rather than as a proprietor of earthly status (cf. Phil 3:20). This is where the severe warning becomes an extraordinary invitation: “Let Christ purify the shepherd before the shepherd wounds the flock.” The priest must examine his friendships, use of money, digital habits, treatment of women and children, relationship with authority, prayer life, Eucharistic devotion, handling of power, response to criticism, and willingness to seek help when struggling (cf. 1 Tim 4:16). He must permit trusted brother priests and legitimate superiors to speak truth into his life . He must go to confession not merely because he is required to, but because he too is a sinner desperately dependent upon mercy (cf. 1 Jn 1:8–9). He must remember that his greatest dignity is not that people call him Father, but that he belongs to Christ . The priest's deepest protection is not reputation, intelligence, popularity, or ecclesial position. It is remaining near Jesus. The tabernacle is therefore both sanctuary and tribunal: sanctuary because Christ receives the exhausted shepherd; tribunal because His silent Presence exposes every false motive . And perhaps the most beautiful prayer a priest can make is simply: Jesus, do not let me become an obstacle between You and the souls You died to save. For the priest who genuinely prays this is already allowing Divine Mercy to become severe—not against his person, but against everything within him that refuses to become like Christ . The Church (cf. CCC 1565–1566) teaches that the priestly ministry exists for the salvation of others and that its strength flows from the Eucharistic sacrifice . The priest who lives this mystery does not merely administer mercy; slowly, painfully, sacrificially, he becomes its human witness.

Prayer

O Adorable Jesus, look upon Your priests with merciful severity. Strip away every hidden ambition, impurity, pride, hardness, and misuse of authority . Give them the tears of Your Heart, the courage of Your Cross, and the tenderness of Your Mercy . Before they shepherd Your flock, teach them to kneel before You, remain little, and serve with humble, sacrificial love . Amen.

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

The Merciful Warning

Divine Appeal Reflection - 160

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 160:  "Make My merciful warning known to all and tell them I need them to be saved from their sins which lead to perdition.”

The deepest mystery within this appeal is that Divine Mercy does not merely forgive sin after it has wounded the soul; Mercy pursues the soul before sin has finished destroying it (cf. Lk 15:4–7; Ez 18:23). The divine warning therefore comes from the Heart of a God who sees farther than the sinner sees himself. We see the pleasure of a moment; God sees the chain that pleasure may create. We see a compromise; God sees the gradual deformation of conscience (cf. Jas 1:14–16). We see an indulgence; God sees a possible slavery (cf. Jn 8:34). We see resentment as something we have a right to keep;(cf. Heb 12:15) God sees a wound slowly poisoning charity . The mystical dimension is startling: before sin becomes an action, it often becomes an interior consent; before it becomes a chain, it becomes a thought welcomed repeatedly; before it becomes a prison, it becomes something the heart begins defending (cf. Mk 7:21–23). This is why Christ's warning is mercy. The Holy Spirit illumines conscience not merely to make us ashamed, but to make conversion possible . The light that exposes the wound is already the beginning of healing. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1848) teaches that God's grace must uncover sin in order to convert the heart and lead it toward eternal life . Therefore, when conscience becomes uncomfortable during prayer, when a repeated sin suddenly appears more terrible than before, when a person begins to recognize what he previously excused, this may be not God's rejection but God's pursuit (cf. Lk 19:5–10). Divine Mercy disturbs the false peace of the sinner because it desires to give him the true peace of reconciliation .

The word perdition takes us into one of the most sobering mysteries of human freedom. Catholic faith does not reduce sin to weakness without consequence. Sin is a rupture of communion with God and wounds the dignity of the person created for eternal union with Him . Mortal sin  involves grave matter, full knowledge, and deliberate consent . Yet the Church simultaneously proclaims the immeasurable greatness of Divine Mercy: no sin is beyond God's forgiveness when the sinner turns toward Him in genuine repentance . Here lies a terrifying paradox: the greatest danger to the soul is not that it has fallen, but that it may cease believing that it can return . Judas experienced remorse but did not surrender his despair to Christ; Peter experienced devastating failure but allowed Christ's mercy to find him again (cf. Mt 27:3–5; Jn 21:15–19). The difference reveals something mystical about salvation: God does not save us by eliminating our freedom; He invites our wounded freedom to surrender itself to grace (cf. CCC 1847). The prodigal son had to arise and begin the journey home (cf. Lk 15:17–20). Zacchaeus had to descend from the tree and receive Christ concretely into his life (cf. Lk 19:1–10). The thief beside Jesus had to turn his dying heart toward Him (cf. Lk 23:39–43). Mercy is infinitely available, but it must be received. The Catechism describes conversion as God's gracious work awakening the heart while requiring the person's response (cf. CCC 1427–1432). Thus the warning is not designed to make souls obsess over hell. It is meant to awaken them from spiritual sleep. It is the cry of Love saying: Do not remain where your soul is dying when the Father's house is still open (cf. Lk 15:20–24).

One of the most astonishing mystical realities is that Christ desires the salvation of people who may presently desire nothing of Him (cf. 1 Tim 2:3–4). Saul was not searching for Jesus when grace overtook him on the Damascus road; he was travelling in the opposite direction (cf. Acts 9:1–6). The Samaritan woman did not approach the well expecting a theological encounter that would expose the deepest truth of her life (cf. Jn 4:7–18). Zacchaeus climbed a tree merely to see Jesus, but Jesus was already seeking him (cf. Lk 19:1–10). Matthew was sitting at his tax booth when Christ's call interrupted his ordinary life (cf. Mt 9:9). Mary Magdalene's story (cf. Jn 20:11–18) reveals a woman whose past does not prevent her from becoming a witness to the Resurrection . Grace often arrives before the sinner understands that grace is searching for him. This gives an extraordinary depth to apostolic intercession. A mother praying for a son who has abandoned the Church may think nothing is happening, yet the mysterious action of grace cannot be measured by visible results (cf. Col 4:2–4). A priest may hear a confession from someone who returns after twenty years and discover that a single sentence spoken decades earlier remained alive within that person's conscience (cf. Is 55:10–11). A grandmother may spend years praying for a grandson imprisoned by addiction, while God silently prepares an encounter that she will never witness . St. Monica’s perseverance reveals the hidden strength of intercessory fidelity; St. Ambrose shows how courageous truth can become an instrument of mercy; and St. John Vianney reveals, through the confessional, the immense dignity of one soul returning to God (cf. Lk 15:7; Jas 5:19–20). The apostolate of salvation often begins where nobody notices: before the tabernacle, beside a sickbed, within a prison, through the tears of a mother, or in the silent offering of a contemplative heart (cf. Mt 6:6; Col 4:2–4). Christian conversion therefore cannot remain self-centred; it naturally becomes intercession, charity, and concern for the salvation of others (cf. 1 Tim 2:1–4; CCC 1822, 2634–2636).

To make a merciful warning known requires a purification of the person delivering it. One cannot authentically warn another about the danger of sin while secretly enjoying the other's condemnation (cf. Mt 7:1–5). Christian correction is born from the sorrow of the Heart of Christ, not from superiority (cf. Gal 6:1). Nathan confronted David after his grave sin, but his purpose was restoration rather than humiliation (cf. 2 Sam 12:1–13). Paul corrected the Corinthians severely at times, yet his apostolic concern was that they return to truth and communion (cf. 2 Cor 7:8–10). Jesus spoke with extraordinary directness to the Pharisees,(cf. Mt 23:13–39; Lk 19:41–44) but His tears over Jerusalem reveal that divine severity is never separated from divine compassion . St. Gregory the Great showed that true pastoral leadership begins with responsibility for souls rather than personal authority . St. Vincent de Paul united truth with practical mercy, reminding the Church that love for souls must eventually become concrete service (cf. Mt 25:35–40). St. Teresa of Ávila combined uncompromising pursuit of holiness with patience toward human weakness, leading souls toward deeper friendship with Christ . St. Francis de Sales demonstrated that correction can be firm without becoming harsh, allowing charity to preserve the dignity of the person being guided (cf. Eph 4:15; CCC 1827). Their witness shows that concern for salvation is not domination or condemnation; it is courageous love that seeks truth, repentance, healing, and ultimately communion with The deepest apostolic warning is therefore not shouted from above;(cf. Rom 12:15) it kneels beside the sinner and weeps with him . A father warning a son about addiction must communicate, “Your life is worth fighting for,” rather than “You disgust me” (cf. Eph 4:15). A wife confronting destructive behavior must seek truth without retaliation (cf. Eph 4:25–32). A priest correcting a penitent must protect the dignity of the person while refusing to rename sin as virtue (cf. Jn 8:10–11). A friend witnessing a destructive relationship may need the courage to speak when silence would become complicity . The warning becomes mystical when the salvation of the other becomes more important than our desire to be right. This is participation in the Heart of the Good Shepherd, who searches for the lost rather than waiting for them to find their own way home (cf. Lk 15:4–6). Conversion itself is not merely moral self-improvement; it is a return of the entire person toward God, made possible by grace (cf. CCC 1431–1432).

The final mystery is perhaps the most demanding: a person who has truly encountered Divine Mercy cannot remain indifferent to the possibility of another soul being lost (cf. 2 Cor 5:14–15). This does not mean living in panic about other people's salvation. It means acquiring something of Christ's own thirst for souls (cf. Jn 19:28). Moses stood before God and pleaded for the people after their grave apostasy (cf. Ex 32:30–32). Paul expressed an almost incomprehensible willingness to suffer for the sake of his people (cf. Rom 9:1–3). Epaphras (cf. Col 4:12) wrestled in prayer for the spiritual maturity of others . These are windows into apostolic love: the salvation of another becomes an interior burden carried before God. The Eucharist deepens this mystery because participation in Christ's sacrifice cannot remain purely private; the one who receives Christ is drawn into Christ's self-offering for the world . The contemplative therefore becomes apostolic. The mother becomes apostolic through hidden intercession. The priest through preaching, confession, and sacramental ministry. The teacher through truth and example. The businessperson through justice and integrity (cf. Am 5:24). The young person through courageous purity and friendship (cf. 1 Tim 4:12). The sick person through patient offering of suffering (cf. Col 1:24). The elderly person through intercession. The forgotten person through fidelity hidden from public recognition (cf. Mt 6:4–6). Every vocation can become a sanctuary from which the cry for souls rises toward God. The Catechism teaches that daily conversion is nourished by the Eucharist and expressed through prayer, reconciliation, charity, endurance, and concrete transformation . Therefore, the ultimate response to this appeal is not simply to tell others about sin. It is to become so deeply possessed by Christ's mercy that our presence itself begins calling others home (cf. 2 Cor 5:20). We warn because we love. We intercede because we hope. We sacrifice because Christ sacrificed Himself. We forgive because we have been forgiven. We persevere because a soul is precious beyond calculation . And beneath everything stands the unfathomable mystery: the God who needs nothing has chosen, in His mysterious love, to involve us in the salvation of souls (cf. 1 Cor 3:9). The warning is therefore ultimately a cry of Divine Love: not “Be afraid of Me,” but “Do not let anything separate you from the Love for which you were created.” (cf. Rom 8:35–39)

Prayer

O Adorable Jesus, give us Your thirst for souls. Let us see sin with Your truth, yet see every sinner through the eyes of Your mercy . Awaken those who have grown spiritually cold, strengthen those who are struggling, and gently lead the wandering home . Receive our prayers, sacrifices, silence, words, vocations, and entire lives as offerings for the salvation of souls . May nothing in us hinder Your saving love from reaching those who are in danger of losing You. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 160

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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

VOLUME 1

“The earth is crumbling.”

“My daughter, I speak to you. I am using you to warn souls before it is too late. The earth is crumbling like quicksand. In the centre of My Church more than ever satan is marching in order to get rid of all souls. He stalks the world with fury maddening and capturing souls. I implore you to speak to everyone even though they do not believe you. My hand will be very severe with those priests who have abused Me and do not believe in My words of Mercy to mankind.

It is satan’s hour to capture souls. Listen to My call of mercy to this mankind. It is My great work of redemption. I will bring you few beloved souls of mine who will help you in this work as I have willed. Give My words to the small hosts. I need the desire to pray for the appeasement of the wrath of My Eternal Father. Make My merciful warning known to all and tell them I need them to be saved from their sins which lead to perdition.”

“I bless you.”

2.00 a.m., 8th June 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).