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.