The Cry of Revenge to the Eternal Father

Divine Appeal Reflection - 72

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 72 :"With many sins, revenge cries out on My Eternal Father’s behalf."

Our Adorable Jesus lifts the veil and lets us hear a terrifying and tender sound: the echo of human sin rising before the Father like a wounded cry. It is the cry of Abel’s blood, of betrayed innocence, (cf Gen 4:10; Hos 11:1–4) of love refused . Yet when Christ reveals this, His voice trembles with sorrow more than anger. He stands within our daily lives—crowded buses, tense offices, quiet bedrooms where consciences wrestle at night—and shows how every hidden compromise participates in this cosmic drama. Through the light of the Bible, we see that sin is not merely rule-breaking but a rupture of communion . The Catechism (cf CCC 1849–1851, 1855)  explains that sin turns the heart away from living love . Like Adam hiding in fear (cf Gen 3:8–10), we often bury guilt beneath routine. Jesus, however, searches gently, asking us to step into truth. Practically, this begins in honest examinations of conscience amid ordinary tasks, in choosing integrity when shortcuts tempt us (cf Mt 7:13–14). One awakened conscience becomes a silent witness that challenges surrounding indifference.The soul perceives that acknowledging sin is already an encounter with mercy, where divine justice prepares not destruction but rebirth (cf Lam 3:22–23).

The human heart trembles because it recognizes itself in this appeal. Our Adorable Jesus does not speak to strangers but to friends who wound Him unknowingly each day. St. Augustine of Hippo confessed that the heart wanders restlessly until it returns to God, a truth visible in modern anxieties and compulsions. Peter’s collapse in the courtyard reveals how fear distorts love , yet Christ’s gaze restores him. In homes fractured by impatience, in workplaces marked by rivalry, (cf Jn 13:34–35) we relive this denial whenever we prefer comfort to charity . Jesus invites us to weep with hope, not despair. Practically, this means daring to apologize first, to repair reputations we have harmed, to renounce profitable injustices . We sit beneath His merciful gaze and allow defenses to fall. Such humility heals communities more powerfully than eloquent words (cf Jas 5:16). The soul discovers that divine “revenge” is the relentless pursuit of restoration. Each sincere act of repentance joins Christ’s redeeming work, transforming kitchens, classrooms, and offices into places of reconciliation where grace quietly overturns cycles of resentment .

Our Adorable Jesus widens our vision to the wounds of the world, where collective sins cry out through injustice and neglect. The prophets(cf Is 1:11–17; Am 5:21–24) saw societies corrode when worship separated from compassion . St. Teresa of Avila insisted that deep prayer must overflow into practical love. In crowded cities and forgotten villages alike,(cf Mt 25:31–46) Christ suffers in the poor, the excluded, and the misunderstood . Sin becomes social when indifference hardens into systems. In families, this appears as patient attention to the weakest member; in professions, as refusal to exploit. Contemplatively, the soul carries the world’s pain into silent union with Christ, interceding like Moses for a fragile people (cf Ex 32:11–14). Small faithful actions accumulate into cultures of mercy. Every work of justice consoles the Heart of Jesus and softens the cry of sin. Thus all vocations become channels through which divine compassion enters history, gradually reshaping structures through converted hearts (cf 2 Cor 5:17–20).

The path grows deeper as Jesus leads the soul into purifying darkness where hidden motives are exposed. John of the Cross describes this night as painful mercy, stripping illusions so love may mature. St. Paul learned that weakness unveils the power of grace (cf 2 Cor 12:9–10),(cf Job 42:1–6) and Job discovered God within bewildering suffering . In daily life, this purification surfaces when efforts fail, relationships strain, or spiritual dryness persists . Our Adorable Jesus invites perseverance rather than escape. Practically, we continue faithful duties, seek reconciliation,(cf Heb 12:11; Prov 3:11–12) and accept correction with humility . Silence before God becomes a furnace where ego is refined. Those purified by suffering accompany others with gentle understanding (cf 2 Cor 1:3–4). The soul senses that the cry of sin is being transfigured into a song of surrender. Every vocation becomes a crucible where divine justice heals by transforming desire, aligning human freedom with God’s loving will (cf Rom 8:28–29).

At the summit stands the Cross, where Our Adorable Jesus answers the cry of sin with a louder cry of forgiving love. He gathers humanity’s violence into His own flesh and offers obedient trust to the Father (cf Lk 23:34; Phil 2:8). Mary’s steadfast presence reveals how suffering united to Christ becomes redemptive (cf Jn 19:25–27). In ordinary existence—enduring illness, forgiving repeated injuries, fulfilling unnoticed responsibilities—we participate in this mystery (cf Col 1:24; Mt 16:24). The believer places every pain within Christ’s pierced Heart. Such hidden offerings release grace into families and societies, countering vengeance with mercy (cf Rom 5:20–21). Justice and compassion meet in the soul that consents to love amid wounds. The terrifying cry of sin is gradually silenced by the victorious hymn of resurrection . Thus every vocation becomes an extension of Calvary and Easter morning, where daily sacrifices acquire eternal weight. Jesus invites us to live as bridges between heaven and earth,(cf Jn 20:21) allowing His reconciling love to pulse through all human realities .

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, awaken our hearts to the cry of sin and the greater cry of Your mercy. Grant us courage to repent, strength to repair, and love to offer our daily sufferings with Yours. Make our lives instruments of reconciliation, so the Father’s justice shines as healing grace. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 72

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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

 VOLUME 1

“The Freemasons are abusing Me in the tabernacles and in My very Gospel. The iniquity is repugnant. Evil concerns are in the hands of the freemasons. They have all agreed to abolish the Mass.”

“My daughter, spend these terrible hours with Me; I need your company. Watch, pray and atone. Implore mercy for sinners. Do not tire. The  freemasons are abusing Me in the tabernacles and in My very Gospel. The iniquity is repugnant. Unite your heart to My tears of blood.  These are the moments they are labouring hard to abolish My Holy  Sacrifice of the Mass. My Eternal Father is so offended. What a  sorrow! With their own hands they are executing themselves.  They only desire to see the Church in ruin.

Evil concerns are in the hands of the freemasons. They have all agreed to abolish the Mass. What a pain! Satan is in the midst of their ranks. I assure you that souls are allied with Satan. My great love for mankind keeps me day and night in the Blessed Sacrament. How much pain do I receive from their treason and indignity. With many sins, revenge cries out on My Eternal Father’s behalf. I desire mankind to be saved. No one goes to hell without his consent. I am calling all back to My sheepfold. The world has lost its senses.”

“I bless you.”

2.30 a.m., 19th January 1988

Copyright © 2015 Bishop Cornelius K. Arap Korir, Catholic Diocese of Eldoret, Kenya.  All rights reserved. Reproduced from ON THE EUCHARIST: A DIVINE APPEAL, Volume I by www.adivineappeal.com. 

The Loss of Dignity and Light of Reason

Divine Appeal Reflection - 71

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 71: "Many have lost their dignity and light of reason."

The human heart carries within itself a terrible and beautiful freedom — the capacity to rise toward radiance or to collapse inward without sound.Instead of plunging into darkness all at once, one gradually loses sight of the light. This is the tragedy revealed by the Divine Teacher: the loss of clarity begins long before the loss of peace. When perception is wounded, a person can function, achieve, even appear successful—yet inwardly drift from truth. Scripture shows this slow dimming in the life of Samson, whose strength remained for a time even as discernment faded, until blindness became literal (cf. Judg 16:20–21). Such blindness is rarely dramatic in ordinary life. It appears when conscience is postponed, when truth is inconvenient, when silence replaces moral courage. The intellect becomes crowded with noise yet starved of wisdom. The will grows tired of choosing the good repeatedly. The interior world becomes dull, restless, distracted. According to the Catechism of the Catholic Church,(cf. CCC 1865, 1790–1791) repeated sin forms habits that cloud moral perception and weaken freedom . This is profoundly human: the gradual normalization of what once troubled us. The soul does not intend darkness—it simply stops resisting it. 

To exist is to bear divine imprint; to live carelessly is to obscure it. The tragedy of the prodigal described by Jesus Christ is not merely moral failure but existential diminishment—the son who once belonged to the household of love consenting to hunger among what cannot satisfy (cf. Lk 15:14–16). This descent is visible everywhere today. A professional who sacrifices integrity for advancement, convincing himself compromise is necessary. A young person measuring worth by digital approval, forgetting interior value. A family slowly drifting into emotional distance because reconciliation feels uncomfortable. None of these destroy dignity—but each veils it. The human person becomes smaller than his or her calling.  When desire detaches from truth, life contracts. The loss is not God’s image but its radiance. Restoration begins when one dares to remember who one was created to be. Grace does not invent dignity—it reveals it again. Every sincere act of repentance is an expansion of the soul back toward its original height.

The dimming of reason often begins with subtle refusals of truth. Not dramatic denials—but gentle evasions. Conscience speaks quietly; distraction answers loudly. Over time, moral perception becomes selective. What once disturbed now seems normal. Scripture portrays this interior hardening in Pharaoh, (cf. Ex 8:15, 32; 9:34) whose repeated resistance gradually made responsiveness to truth almost impossible . The process is psychological, spiritual, and deeply personal. One begins by excusing a small injustice, then rationalizing a larger one, (cf. Jn 3:19–20) until truth itself feels oppressive rather than liberating . The Catechism of the Catholic Church (cf. CCC 1791) teaches that conscience can become nearly blind through habitual refusal of moral good .  Modern life intensifies this condition through constant stimulation that leaves little room for reflection. Without silence, reason cannot listen. Without humility, it cannot learn. Without grace, it cannot heal. The Divine Teacher therefore does not merely present truth; He restores the capacity to perceive it.Illumination begins in stillness—when the soul finally allows reality to speak without distortion. 

The conversion of Peter the Apostle reveals how swiftly perception is restored when the soul stops defending itself before truth . His collapse was not the end of vision but the beginning of it. Tears became the moment when illusion dissolved. He discovered what many souls fear to learn—that self-knowledge born of repentance is more stabilizing than self-confidence built on denial (cf. Ps 51:3–6). The same pattern appears in Paul the Apostle, whose zeal was once sincere yet misdirected until divine light interrupted his certainty and reoriented his entire understanding of truth . When grace illumines, it does not merely correct behavior—it rearranges perception itself. One begins to see God where He was ignored,(cf. 2 Cor 4:6) sin where it was excused, and mercy where despair once ruled .

 What is most striking is how quietly this transformation often begins. Grace rarely overturns the soul through spectacle; it heals through fidelity. A person examines the day honestly before sleep (cf. Lam 3:40). Another restrains anger before it hardens into resentment . Someone speaks truth where silence would protect reputation but wound integrity . Another seeks reconciliation before pride builds distance.  Every act of sincerity refines perception, and each movement toward truth clears what long habit has obscured . Slowly, the soul recovers its sensitivity—like eyes adjusting to dawn after a long night of shadow (cf. 2 Cor 4:6). Holiness, then, is not sudden brilliance but the patient purification of vision, the steady restoration of the heart’s capacity to see as God sees . The intellect becomes clearer because the heart becomes simpler (cf. Mt 5:8). The will becomes stronger because it chooses truth repeatedly despite resistance . The conscience (cf. 1 Tim 1:5) becomes luminous because it is no longer negotiated but obeyed . The human spirit—though wounded, distracted, and weary—remains deeply responsive to grace because it is created for God (cf. Gen 1:26–27; Wis 11:23–26). When grace is welcomed, perception itself is healed: the mind is renewed, the heart enlightened, and reality seen as it truly is . That is the beginning of freedom. That is the beginning of wisdom. That is the beginning of life restored.

When God restores vision, the world is not replaced — it is transfigured. The ordinary becomes transparent with meaning. The human person begins again to perceive as heaven perceives: God as origin and end, others as bearers of sacred dignity, suffering as participation rather than interruption, (cf. Rom 8:28; Col 3:1–3)time as vocation rather than accident . What once appeared burdensome becomes purposeful. What once seemed random reveals hidden coherence. Work becomes collaboration with providence. Speech becomes stewardship of truth. Relationships become entrusted mysteries. Even weakness becomes luminous — (cf. 2 Cor 12:9–10) no longer proof of failure, but an opening through which grace enters .  The heart is re-ordered, the conscience re-awakened, the mind re-anchored in truth. One who sees rightly begins to live radiantly, often without knowing it. Every faithful act becomes a point of illumination in a dimmed world — (cf. Phil 2:15; Mt 5:14–16) a quiet testimony that divine light has not withdrawn . The Christian vocation, in every state of life, is therefore luminous participation: to become a living place where reality is perceived as God intends. For the deepest human longing is not merely to understand, nor even to be good — it is to see truly. To behold without distortion. To recognize without fear. To stand within reality as it is held in the gaze of God. And the Divine Teacher never ceases His patient work of illumination. He touches the blind places gently. He heals perception gradually. He opens eyes not by force, but by love — until the soul, once shadowed, begins to live in light again .

Prayer 

Our Adorable Jesus, Light of every searching heart, awaken what has grown dim within us. Heal our perception, purify our conscience, and restore reverence for truth. Where we have grown numb, make us attentive. Where we have wandered, guide us home. Let Your light make us fully human again. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 71

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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

 VOLUME 1

“My left hand points to a warning and My right to a miracle.”

“My daughter, pray, watch and atone. Listen to My Voice of mercy and love for mankind. Pray more for the scandals of this world. My left hand points to a warning and My right hand to a miracle. I speak with tears in My Heart. I am so ridiculed and spat upon by My own... What a pain to me! Time is approaching when My Church will be devastated and sacked. My own... have become like enraged lions. There are very many sacrileges committed against My Presence in the tabernacles. Many have lost their dignity and light of reason. The devil has chained their hearts. Led by him they labour hard to abolish the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. The chalice is filled.

My Eternal Father’s justice is so powerful and will exterminate what is rotten... I want him to make My word echo in souls. My word addresses everyone to do penance and pray. They have to abandon sin. Never before has the world needed prayers like in these tragic times. If there are no prayers the power of the evil one will win. What a pain! The souls I love so much do not understand me. I am in agony over souls.

I am so abused and denied. With My Head bowed down I am forced to walk through the milling crowds. From all this I ask for prayers and atonement. I am so much afflicted. In My Vigil for sinners I never sleep. I am ever watchful beneath My sacramental veil.”

“I implore to be exposed. At least once a week will be more consoling to Me. If I am lifted I will draw all men to myself.”

2.00 a.m., 

18th January 1988

Copyright © 2015 Bishop Cornelius K. Arap Korir, Catholic Diocese of Eldoret, Kenya.  All rights reserved. Reproduced from ON THE EUCHARIST: A DIVINE APPEAL, Volume I by www.adivineappeal.com. 

Jesus Whipped by Forgetfulness

Divine Appeal Reflection - 70

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 70:  "So many have forgotten and whipped Me. More then ever they continue insulting and abusing Me."

High above the noise and haste of the world, the Heart of Our Adorable Jesus waits in silent sorrow, pierced not only by active cruelty but by the quiet forgetfulness of souls (cf. Rev 3:20; Is 65:2). Pride today lashes Him anew: the student who brags to dominate the classroom, the professional who hoards recognition, the parent who scorns a child’s mistakes—all reenact the soldiers’ mockery . Each boast, each dismissive glance, each act of self-importance is a spiritual whip striking His sacred back. Teachers and leaders unknowingly wield this whip when patience fails, when humility is ignored. Yet mystical awareness transforms this scene: those who serve silently, who honor others’ contributions, who humble their ego, become living shields for His wounded Heart (cf. Colossians 1:24). St. John of the Cross saw pride as a dagger against the Body of Christ, and modern acts of arrogance replay the blows of Calvary. Daily reflection, humble service, and active listening allow the faithful to absorb the sting, offering redemptive balm to His ongoing Passion. Every ordinary moment—the patient correction of a misstep, the quiet acknowledgment of another’s effort—becomes a mystical touch that soothes His tortured shoulders and honors the forgotten Heart.

The stripping and humiliation of Jesus—the mock robe, the crown of thorns—are not relics of history but continue in our own day through lust, exploitation, and objectification (cf. Is 53:3–5; Mt 27:29–31). Every glance that reduces another to an object, every social media post that ridicules or shames, every workplace manipulation or abuse mirrors the tearing of His flesh and the pressing of thorns upon His Sacred Head . A student spreading sexual rumors, a manager exploiting subordinates, a peer participating in pornographic culture—each participates unknowingly in this hidden agony. St. Teresa of Calcutta revealed that the naked, forgotten Christ is not distant but present in every abused, humiliated, or exploited soul, hidden beneath every wound, every slight, every act of human neglect . To encounter such a person is to meet Christ Himself; to serve, defend, or console them is to wrap His Sacred Heart in love, repairing the wounds inflicted by indifference, ridicule, and injustice. Yet mystical participation transforms these daily realities: helping a bullied classmate, refusing gossip, promoting virtuous conversation, or defending the dignity of the vulnerable becomes a living act of reparation . Every humble, respectful, and loving choice wraps His Sacred Head in a gentle crown of grace, turning human ridicule and indifference into instruments of healing and sanctifying love, uniting the soul intimately with the ongoing Passion of Christ .

The spitting and verbal mockery Jesus endured are echoed in every modern insult, blasphemy, and irreverent word. When classmates ridicule faith, coworkers belittle devotion, or online forums mock prayer, they reenact the spit upon Christ’s face and the piercing of His sacred Head . Each sarcastic remark, every cynicism toward holiness, and every verbal attack wounds the Sacred Heart of Our Adorable Jesus invisibly, echoing the nails of His Cross . St. Faustina Kowalska recognized that words are living instruments: they can cut the soul as sharply as nails, wounding both the speaker and the Sacred Heart of Jesus. A choir member who spreads rumors, a manager who manipulates trust, a friend who shares or consumes demeaning content—each, often unknowingly, drives invisible nails into His Heart, extending the humiliation He bore on Calvary . Yet this hidden suffering invites mystical participation: when others choose restraint over gossip, encouragement over mockery, and dignity over derision, they become co-healers of His wounded Heart, turning ordinary human interaction into channels of grace . Every careful word, every act of respectful silence, every defense of the vulnerable becomes a balm to the Lamb, repairing the unseen wounds inflicted by human forgetfulness and cruelty. Yet mystical participation transforms human speech into instruments of reparation: choosing silence over gossip, blessing over ridicule, correction over scorn, becomes a living defense of His Heart . Small interventions—defending a sacred practice, offering kind words, publicly honoring faith—wrap the Head of the Lamb in love, shielding Him from ongoing insult and uniting the soul to the ongoing Passion of Christ . Mystical participation turns these verbal blows into spiritual victories. Each respectful word, each blessing, each affirmation of sacred truth repairs a wound inflicted by human forgetfulness. Those who live consciously in the presence of God can intercede for the countless unnoticed injuries, offering healing that is both practical and mystical, (cf. Luke 6:28; CCC 1870–1871) transforming every insult into redemptive light .

The staggering of Jesus under the weight of the cross mirrors today’s neglect, injustice, and complicity in evil. Each act of turning away from the oppressed, each ignored cry for help, each compromised moral choice adds to the burden He carries . Corporate greed, political corruption, abuse of authority, and the indifference of society replay the stumbling of Our Adorable Jesus under the Cross, each injustice a weight pressing upon His Sacred Heart (cf. Is 53:4–5; Mt 27:32). St. John Paul II emphasized that social sin magnifies His suffering, that the oppression of the vulnerable is a continuation of Calvary itself (cf. CCC 1882; Rom 12:15). Yet mystical participation transforms human response into grace: teachers who defend bullied students, parents who nurture virtue at great personal cost, leaders who govern with integrity, students and workers who refuse to exploit, and every ordinary person who acts to restore justice—all lift hands to steady the Cross . Every decision to serve rather than ignore, to protect rather than manipulate, and to speak truth rather than remain silent becomes a living act of reparation, co-laboring with Christ to bear the world’s burdens. In these humble acts, ordinary life is transfigured: injustice is met with mercy, neglect with fidelity, and the weight of human sin becomes the occasion for redemptive love (cf. Heb 12:2; Rom 8:17–18). Mystical participation transforms daily life into a pilgrimage of reparation, uniting ordinary deeds with Christ’s suffering. Even small gestures—standing up for the bullied, helping an overburdened coworker, offering time to the lonely—become the mystical support that strengthens the stumbling Christ, turning societal neglect into redemptive grace .

The nails that pierced His hands and feet—signs of total surrender and love—continue today in malice, envy, betrayal, ridicule, and indifference (cf. Jn 19:18–30; Is 53:5; Mt 27:35). Hidden sins of omission, the laziness that ignores mercy, the silence in the face of injustice, (cf. Rom 5:6–8; Lk 10:30–37; CCC 604) or the cold neglect of the vulnerable become living nails driven into His Sacred Heart . St. Padre Pio revealed that ordinary suffering, consciously united to Christ, participates in this ongoing Passion, allowing even small daily trials to sanctify the world. The seminarian who prays in dryness, the single parent who cries over a wandering child, the professional who forgives a manipulative colleague—  all offer mystical nails through acts of mercy, humility, and sacrifice . Each intentional act—helping the neglected, defending dignity, speaking truth, loving without reward—becomes a living extension of the Crucifixion and resurrection cycle, transfiguring suffering into grace. Mystical participation transforms nails into instruments of healing, human indifference into channels of divine love,  and ordinary life into a living Calvary . In embracing this sacred collaboration, the soul does more than witness Christ’s Passion—it co-labors in it, offering reparation, restoring dignity, and uniting every hidden act of fidelity to the eternal pulse of His Heart (cf. Col 1:24; 1 Pet 2:21; Rom 8:17–18; Heb 12:2). Each humble gesture—patience in suffering, mercy toward the neglected, forgiveness offered silently—threads human love into the ongoing work of redemption, participating in Christ’s priestly mission (cf. Mt 25:40; Jas 1:27; CCC 604, 1822). Through mystical participation, ordinary life becomes living Calvary: every unnoticed sacrifice, every defense of the vulnerable, every choice to serve rather than ignore transforms human indifference into channels of divine grace, binding the faithful to the invisible but eternal rhythm of His Sacred Heart (cf. Lk 10:30–37; Rom 12:1–2; 2 Cor 4:10–12).

Prayer 

Our Adorable Jesus, awaken in us sorrow for sins that renew Your Passion. Unite our daily choices to Your suffering love. Teach us humility, purity, and charity in every encounter. May we console Your Heart through faithful living and become instruments of healing for the world. Amen.

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