Small Fires Everywhere That Inundate Souls

Divine Appeal Reflection - 152

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 152: "Small fires have been lit everywhere like contagious plagues which inundate souls and inflames them to everything. The great blasphemies have covered My figure and My heart bleeds from pain."

Our Adorable Jesus unveils one of Satan's oldest and most subtle strategies: he rarely seeks to destroy the Church through dramatic scandals or immediate apostasy. More often, he begins with what seem like "small fires"—faults so ordinary that they appear unworthy of concern. The evil one knows that a great forest is seldom consumed by a single blaze but by one neglected ember left to smolder unnoticed. Thus, his greatest victories are won not when souls openly reject God, but when they gradually lose their sensitivity to whatever wounds His Heart .These fires often begin in places hidden from human eyes: an unhealed resentment quietly defended, a criticism repeated under the guise of concern, a jealousy disguised as zeal, an attachment to comfort that weakens generosity, or a subtle preference for one's own will over humble obedience (cf. Jas. 3:14–16; Eph. 4:26–27). Left unrepented, these interior embers slowly become habits, habits become vices, and vices shape families, communities, and even cultures that no longer recognize the fragrance of holiness .Sacred Scripture repeatedly reveals this hidden progression. Absalom did not first conquer Jerusalem;(cf. 2 Sam. 15:1–12) he quietly stole the hearts of the people through flattering words before raising the banner of rebellion . Korah likewise began by sowing dissatisfaction before leading many to oppose the authority established by God (cf. Num. 16:1–35). In the same way, Judas first allowed small compromises to settle within his heart before betrayal reached its dreadful fulfillment (cf. Jn. 12:4–6; 13:27). The tragedy of every age is that tolerated embers eventually become consuming flames. Satan knows that when countless "small fires" are left unattended, souls gradually mistake smoke for fresh air, darkness for light, and spiritual mediocrity for peace (cf. Is. 5:20; Mt. 6:22–23; CCC 1869).

These fires can burn even within the Church, not because Christ has abandoned His Bride, but because every member remains free either to cooperate with grace or to yield to temptation (cf. Mt. 16:18; Jas. 1:14–15; CCC 1732). The enemy cannot destroy the Church from without if her children refuse to open the doors of their hearts from within (cf. Eph. 4:27; 1 Pet. 5:8–9). Thus, he quietly kindles small interior fires: when priests compare ministries instead of giving thanks for one another's gifts (cf. 1 Cor. 12:4–7); when bishops fear human approval more than fidelity to the Gospel (cf. Gal. 1:10; Acts 20:27); when seminarians seek admiration before holiness (cf. Jn. 12:43); when catechists teach sound doctrine without first being formed in prayer (cf. Jn. 15:5); when liturgical ministers become more conscious of being seen than of standing before the living God (cf. Heb. 12:28–29); or when parish councils become places of personal influence rather than humble discernment before the Holy Spirit (cf. Acts 15:28). These hidden fires seldom begin with grave sins. They begin with an unguarded word, an old resentment left to smolder, a refusal to forgive, a quiet rivalry, a habitual complaint, or the desire to prevail rather than to seek the truth in charity . Such embers appear insignificant, yet they slowly consume the communion for which Christ shed His Blood (cf. Jn. 17:20–23). The sons of Eli (cf. 1 Sam. 2:12–17; 1 Sam. 4:10–11) first lost reverence for holy things before Israel itself suffered spiritual disaster . Ananias and Sapphira (cf. Acts 5:1–11) allowed hidden hypocrisy to enter the newborn Church, revealing that even the earliest Christian community was vulnerable when hearts ceased to be transparent before God . Gregory the Great warned that pride is most dangerous when it hides beneath religious activity, for it corrupts holy works while appearing to serve them. The Catechism (cf. CCC 1822–1829) reminds us that charity is the soul of every vocation, ministry, and apostolate . Wherever love quietly cools, Christ's Heart is wounded, and the enemy has already kindled a fire, even if every external activity continues without interruption (cf. Rev. 2:4–5; Mt. 24:12).

Prayer groups, religious communities, convents, monasteries, diocesan offices, apostolic movements, and Catholic organizations are not immune to these hidden fires. Wherever souls sincerely gather to serve Christ, the enemy quietly labors to replace supernatural charity with subtle self-love . He kindles comparison: "Why was she chosen instead of me?" (cf. Jas. 3:16). He sows suspicion: "Perhaps the superior has hidden motives." He feeds discouragement, constant murmuring disguised as discernment, rivalry over ministries or spiritual gifts, endless discussions that never become prayer, attachment to personal preferences over obedience, gossip presented as concern, ideological divisions, possessiveness over apostolates, and the quiet desire to be noticed rather than to become holy (cf. Phil. 2:3–5; Rom. 12:3–5; CCC 1865). Sacred Scripture repeatedly reveals how such hidden embers become destructive fires. Joash remained faithful while he listened to holy counsel, yet after welcoming flattering voices, his heart slowly turned from the Lord (cf. 2 Chr. 24:17–22). King Saul first sought human approval before openly disobeying God's command (cf. 1 Sam. 15:22–24). The disciples themselves argued over who was the greatest while Christ was teaching them the mystery of the Cross (cf. Lk. 22:24–27). Even the Church at Corinth, rich in spiritual gifts, became wounded by rivalry and division because human pride had begun to overshadow charity (cf. 1 Cor. 1:10–13; 3:3–7). St. Dorotheos of Gaza compared the spiritual life to a circle whose center is Christ: the nearer souls draw to Him, the nearer they inevitably draw to one another. The Catechism (cf. CCC 797–801; 813–822) likewise teaches that the Holy Spirit creates communion, while sin scatters and divides the Body of Christ . Thus every hidden resentment, whispered complaint, neglected reconciliation, and refusal to forgive becomes dry wood awaiting a spark. Satan rejoices whenever those called to manifest the unity of heaven begin reflecting the divisions of the world, while Christ continues praying, "that they may all be one" .

The devil also walks quietly through Catholic families, knowing they are the domestic churches where future saints are formed—or where hidden wounds are passed from one generation to the next (cf. CCC 1655–1658). He rarely begins by shattering marriages through dramatic betrayals. Instead, he kindles small daily fires that appear too ordinary to notice. A husband gradually stops expressing gratitude for his wife's hidden sacrifices (cf. Eph. 5:25–33). A wife shares her husband's faults with others instead of bringing them to him with honesty and love (cf. Mt. 18:15; Eph. 4:29). Parents become so busy providing every material comfort that they no longer kneel to pray with their children (cf. Deut. 6:6–7). Meals continue, yet thanksgiving disappears (cf. 1 Tim. 4:4–5). Sundays slowly revolve around recreation while worship becomes secondary (cf. Ex. 20:8–11). The Rosary remains untouched because "everyone is too tired," and little by little, conversation becomes filled with criticism instead of blessing, teaching children suspicion rather than hope (cf. Phil. 2:14–15; Jas. 3:9–10). These hidden embers slowly consume the atmosphere in which faith breathes. Brothers cease apologizing because pride feels easier than humility (cf. Mt. 5:23–24). Elderly parents become inconveniences rather than living treasures to be honored .  Our Adorable Jesus grieves these "small fires" because they extinguish love long before they extinguish belief. Scripture reveals this mystery with remarkable clarity. Lot's wife looked back for only a moment, yet that single glance exposed a heart still attached to what God was asking her to leave behind (cf. Gen. 19:15–26). Michal first despised David's worship within her heart before spiritual barrenness followed (cf. 2 Sam. 6:16–23). Martha's anxious preoccupation slowly eclipsed the one thing necessary until Christ gently called her back to His presence (cf. Lk. 10:38–42).  The Catechism teaches that the family is the first school of Christian life,(cf. CCC 1655–1658; 2204–2206) where children first learn faith through daily experiences of love, forgiveness, sacrifice, and prayer . For this reason, Satan quietly targets these ordinary moments, knowing that eternity is often shaped not by extraordinary events but by the countless hidden choices through which hearts are gradually formed either for God or for the world (cf. Deut. 6:6–7; Lk. 16:10).

The words of Our Adorable Jesus, "they inflame them to everything," unveil one of the deepest mysteries of the human heart. God created the soul with one infinite capacity—to burn with love for Him alone. Every desire, affection, talent, relationship, and aspiration was meant to receive its light and order from the fire of divine charity (cf. Deut. 6:5; Mt. 22:37–38; CCC 1765–1766). When this sacred fire is neglected, however, the heart does not become empty; it becomes restless. It continues to burn, but with lesser flames. The tragedy is not that the soul ceases to love, but that it begins loving everything except the One for whom it was created (cf. Jer. 2:13; Rom. 1:21–25). Created goods then ask of the heart what only the Creator can give, and every disordered love silently promises a fullness it can never deliver.This mystery is poignantly revealed in King Saul. Anointed by the Spirit (cf. 1 Sam. 15:22–23; 18:6–12; 28:5–7) and chosen by God, he slowly allowed the fire of humble obedience to be replaced by the fever of self-preservation. Jealousy eclipsed gratitude, fear displaced trust, and the desire to preserve his own kingdom became stronger than his desire to obey God's will . His tragedy was not simply moral failure but the gradual redirection of his deepest love. The throne occupied his heart more completely than the Lord. St. Francis de Sales teaches that the heart was fashioned to rise continually toward God. When earthly loves are not purified by divine charity, they become weights that keep the soul from ascending into the freedom and peace for which it was created (cf. Col 3:2; Gal 5:1; CCC 1822-1829). A parent may become consumed with securing a child's future while scarcely nourishing the child's eternal soul (cf. Deut. 6:6–7). A priest may devote himself tirelessly to apostolic success while neglecting the hidden intimacy from which every fruitful ministry is born (cf. Jn. 15:4–5). A religious may faithfully preserve external observances while slowly losing the joy of her first love (cf. Rev. 2:4–5). A young professional may eagerly follow every new trend yet feel little hunger for the Bread of Life (cf. Jn. 6:35). Even generous souls can become so occupied with holy works that they forget the Holy One for whom those works exist (cf. Phil. 3:7–8). Our Adorable Jesus therefore warns that the greatest danger is not merely becoming inflamed by evil, but allowing countless lesser fires to consume the heart until the fire of divine love grows almost imperceptibly cold (cf. Mt. 24:12). Only the Holy Spirit can rightly order every human affection, so that every passion, every gift, every responsibility, and every desire becomes a single flame rising toward the Eternal Father through Christ (cf. Rom. 5:5; Gal. 5:22–25; Lk. 12:49; CCC 733–736; CCC 2558).

Yet Our Adorable Jesus reveals these hidden fires not to discourage His faithful but to awaken them to vigilant love and deeper communion with His Sacred Heart . Every fire kindled by the enemy can be overcome by a greater Fire—the Holy Spirit dwelling within humble and surrendered hearts (cf. Acts 2:1–4; Rom. 5:5). Gossip is extinguished by silent intercession (cf. Jas. 5:16). Jealousy yields to gratitude for another's gifts (cf. Rom. 12:15; Phil. 2:3–4). Criticism is transformed by blessing those who wound us (cf. Lk. 6:27–28). Division is healed through Eucharistic humility, where all kneel before the same Lord (cf. Jn. 17:20–23; CCC 1396). Every sincere confession quenches hidden embers before they become destructive flames . Every worthy Holy Communion enlarges charity where selfishness once reigned (cf. Jn. 6:56–57; CCC 1391–1397). Every Holy Hour teaches the heart to recognize God's gentle voice above the noise of pride and wounded emotions . Every family Rosary strengthens the bonds of peace (cf. Col. 3:14–15), and every hidden act of forgiveness closes another door through which the enemy seeks to enter (cf. Eph. 4:26–27). Isaac of Nineveh taught that the person who has conquered his own heart has achieved something greater than one who has conquered kingdoms, because a purified heart becomes a dwelling place of God's peace. The Apostle Peter therefore urges the Church to remain sober and watchful, for the adversary continually seeks someone to devour (cf. 1 Pet. 5:8–9), while St. Paul (cf. Rom. 12:21) reminds believers to overcome evil with good rather than allowing evil to overcome them . The Divine Appeal thus becomes a summons to every vocation—to bishops and children, priests and parents, contemplatives and missionaries, religious and lay faithful—to extinguish the smallest fires before they spread. Christ is not first searching for extraordinary heroes, but for hearts so humble, vigilant, and filled with love that they refuse to shelter even the smallest ember of pride, resentment, vanity, compromise, or indifference . It is within these hidden sanctuaries of fidelity that the Fire of the Holy Spirit burns most brightly, and through such ordinary yet surrendered souls, the Sacred Heart of Our Adorable Jesus quietly renews His Church and continues saving the world (cf. Mt. 5:14–16; Gal. 2:20; CCC 826).

Prayer 

Our Adorable Jesus, extinguish every hidden fire of sin within our hearts and enkindle within us the holy fire of Your Sacred Heart. Purify our thoughts, words, and desires; sanctify our families and vocations; preserve us from every spiritual contagion, and make us living flames of Your love, drawing countless souls into Your eternal Kingdom. Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 152

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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

VOLUME 1

“Souls are racing to perdition.”

“My daughter, listen to My warning from My Divine Mercy. Like a beggar, I ask for prayers of atonement. Souls are racing to perdition. My Divine Mercy is followed by Divine Justice. Bending over the world I pour tears of blood over My Church. Pray a great deal. Do not fear the devil. Bring Me souls. He will always torment your body. Never will he be on your side but I will not abandon you to death. The devil will always labour hard to destroy you in order to prevent you winning souls for Me and repairing. Even then do not be tired. Quench My thirst. When a soul falls into perdition it is eternally lost. This is a grave moment. Adore My Presence in the Blessed Sacrament. I beg you to respond to My Love in your life. I have chosen you as a victim to kneel before Me on earth in order to pray. Console Me and bring Me more souls. Do not be afraid to lose your personality.

Small fires have been lit everywhere like contagious plagues which inundate souls and inflames them to everything. The great blasphemies have covered My figure and My heart bleeds from pain. Pray more and sacrifice all... before it is too late.”

“I give My blessing.”

12.00 a.m., 25th May 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).

Falling into the Mire of Errors

Divine Appeal Reflection - 151

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 151: "If mankind do not hear My words, time will come and it will fall in this mire of errors. "

When Our Adorable Jesus warns, "Time will come and it will fall in this mire of errors," He unveils a hidden law of the spiritual life: souls are seldom conquered by a single act of rebellion. They are quietly reshaped by small infidelities until error no longer feels foreign but familiar. A mire never drags a traveller down at the first step. It first feels soft beneath the feet, almost harmless, until every step without caution draws him deeper. So it is with the heart. Error begins whenever we repeatedly choose what is easier over what is true, human approval over holiness, or immediate satisfaction over eternal life (cf. Mt. 7:13–14; Jas. 1:14–15; CCC 1739). The tragedy is that the soul often imagines it is progressing while quietly losing the firm ground of divine truth (cf. Heb. 2:1; 2 Pet. 3:17). This mystery is vividly seen in King Rehoboam. Surrounded by wise counsel,(cf. 1 Kgs. 12:1–19) he deliberately embraced the voices that flattered his pride rather than those that called him to humility. The division of Israel  merely revealed the deeper division already present within his own heart . Every rejected light makes the next rejection easier, not because God ceases offering grace, but because the conscience gradually loses its desire to receive it (cf. Jn. 3:19–21; Eph. 4:17–19; CCC 1865). St. Gregory of Nyssa taught that the soul is created for an unending ascent into God. When it ceases advancing through continual conversion, it inevitably begins to descend into illusion. This same mystery unfolds quietly today. A judge who once trembled before the demands of justice may slowly allow public opinion to outweigh truth, forgetting that every judgment is first rendered before God (cf. Rom. 14:10–12). A parent may gradually compromise the Gospel to avoid conflict with a child. A priest may soften difficult truths so as not to lose popularity. None of these hearts intend to abandon Christ; they simply stop responding to His quieter invitations (cf. Rev. 2:4–5). This is the true mire of error: not merely believing falsehood, but gradually losing the spiritual vision by which truth is recognized. The saints consistently teach that fidelity to the smallest inspirations of grace protects the soul from the greatest deceptions, for every hidden act of obedience sharpens the heart's ability to recognize the voice of the Good Shepherd amid the countless voices of the world .

The deepest mystery of the "mire of errors" is that it is not first an intellectual disaster but a tragedy of love. Before the mind embraces falsehood, the heart has already begun loving something more than God. The intellect then quietly labors to justify what the affections have already chosen. For this reason, Sacred Scripture presents idolatry as both spiritual adultery and blindness, for every disordered love gradually distorts the soul's vision of reality (cf. Jer. 2:13; Ezek. 16:15–30; Rom. 1:21–25). Truth is rarely rejected by reason alone; it is first eclipsed by a heart that has ceased delighting in the living God (cf. Jn. 3:19–21). This mystery is profoundly revealed in Gehazi, the servant of Elisha. He walked beside a prophet, witnessed miracles, heard the word of the Lord, and saw Naaman restored through divine mercy . Yet his heart gradually became captivated by wealth. By the time he pursued Naaman for silver and garments,(cf. 2 Kgs. 5:20–27) his feet merely followed the path his heart had already chosen . The leprosy that covered his body revealed the deeper sickness already spreading within his soul: the beauty of God had slowly been replaced by the attraction of earthly gain.  This same drama unfolds in ordinary life. A young religious may begin comparing her hidden service with the visible gifts of others until envy slowly extinguishes the joy of her vocation (cf. Jas. 3:16). A Catholic writer who once desired only to glorify Christ may gradually become more concerned with admiration than fidelity, fearing criticism more than infidelity to the Gospel (cf. Gal. 1:10). Parents may rejoice over their children's academic success while scarcely noticing whether they are growing in prayer, purity, and charity . Thus the mire deepens—not because the soul suddenly hates God, but because lesser loves quietly occupy the throne that belongs to Him alone. Our Adorable Jesus therefore calls us not merely to correct our thinking but to purify our loves, for where the heart rests, the whole life inevitably follows . Only a heart wholly captivated by Christ remains free from the illusions that slowly draw souls into the mire of error.

The most frightening aspect of the "mire of errors" is that it does not merely influence the soul; it gradually reshapes it according to what it loves and contemplates. God created us in His image so that, by beholding His glory, we might be continually transformed into His likeness . Sin reverses this divine movement. Instead of becoming more like Christ, the heart slowly conforms itself to the illusions it repeatedly embraces (cf. Rom. 12:2). At first, error is a choice; eventually, it becomes the atmosphere in which a person thinks, judges, desires, and even prays. This mystery is poignantly revealed in Lot's wife. Though her body obeyed the angel and left Sodom, her heart remained attached to what God had already condemned. Her backward glance was not mere curiosity but the disclosure of a divided love (cf. Gen. 19:15–26). For this reason, Our Adorable Jesus  (cf. Lk 17:32) later uttered the solemn warning, "Remember Lot's wife" . The greatest danger is not living in the world but allowing the spirit of the world to dwell within the heart .  This hidden transformation continues in ordinary life. A Catholic physician may compromise one moral principle to satisfy professional expectations until his conscience no longer feels the conflict it once knew (cf. Rom. 2:14–15). A mother may become so preoccupied with providing material security that her children quietly learn to trust possessions more than Divine Providence . A priest may begin measuring ministry by visible success rather than hidden conversions, allowing efficiency to eclipse the mystery of grace . A young woman may spend years comparing herself with carefully crafted images until she forgets that her deepest identity was received in Baptism, not earned through admiration (cf. Gal. 3:26–27; CCC 1272). None of these changes happen suddenly. They are the slow formation of the heart by whatever it habitually beholds. Christ therefore calls His disciples to guard not only their actions but also the direction of their gaze, for the soul gradually becomes like the object of its contemplation (cf. Ps. 115:4–8; Phil. 4:8). Those who continually fix the eyes of their hearts upon Christ are gradually transformed into His likeness from glory to glory (cf. 2 Cor. 3:18; Heb. 12:2; CCC 1694). Those who instead gaze habitually upon the passing spirit of the world slowly absorb its instability, confusion, and emptiness, for the heart inevitably becomes like the object of its contemplation .

A person trapped in a swamp soon realizes a painful truth: the harder he struggles by his own strength, the deeper he sinks.So too, only the humble heart that admits its need allows Christ to lift it from the mire into the freedom of His grace (cf. Ps. 40:1–3; Jn. 15:5; Jas. 4:6–10; CCC 2559). Our Adorable Jesus reveals that the same mystery often governs the spiritual life. The mire of error cannot ultimately be escaped through intelligence, discipline, influence, or human effort alone. The wound of sin lies deeper than the human will can heal, and only grace can restore what grace alone created . Humility is therefore not weakness but the soul's silent confession: "Lord, if You do not lift me, I cannot rise" . At that moment, the heart ceases striving to save itself and begins allowing itself to be saved. This is the threshold where divine mercy quietly enters . This mystery shines profoundly in the life of King Manasseh. After years of idolatry, violence, and desecration of the Lord's sanctuary, prosperity never awakened him, but captivity did. The chains upon his hands became the beginning of freedom because they shattered the illusion that he could live apart from God (cf. 2 Chr. 33:10–20). His restoration began the moment he humbled himself before the God he had rejected. Likewise, the prodigal son did not truly begin his journey home when he left the far country,(cf. Lk. 15:17–20) but when he finally confessed, "I will arise and go to my father". Naaman (cf. 2 Kgs. 5:10–14) received healing only after stooping into the humble waters of the Jordan .  This mystery quietly unfolds in countless lives today. A respected professor spends decades believing that every mystery can be solved by research, until the death of his wife confronts him with questions no intellect can answer. Kneeling for the first time in years before the tabernacle, he discovers that God's presence consoles where explanations cannot (cf. Job 42:1–6; Phil. 4:7). A successful entrepreneur loses everything that once defined him and gradually learns that Divine Providence is more secure than financial success (cf. Prov. 3:5–6; Mt. 6:25–34). A young religious, exhausted from trying to appear perfect, finally places her poverty before the Eucharistic Jesus and discovers that holiness is not the reward of flawless performance but the fruit of complete surrender . A father, ashamed of years of neglecting his family, kneels in the confessional believing he has come too late, only to find the Father's embrace already waiting for him (cf. Lk. 15:20–24; Jn. 20:22–23). Every saint has passed through this hidden doorway. They discovered that the deepest victory over the mire of error is not achieved by climbing higher through self-reliance but by descending lower in humility, where Christ Himself stoops to raise the soul . The Cross is the eternal proof that God always descends before He lifts.

The final hope hidden within this appeal is that Our Adorable Jesus never warns about the "mire of errors" without at the same time revealing His burning desire to rescue every soul trapped within it. The mystery of the Incarnation is precisely this: the eternal Son did not remain distant from humanity's confusion, but freely descended into our poverty, suffering, and death in order to restore the divine likeness that sin had disfigured . Divine love never waits safely on the shore; it enters the depths to seek the one who cannot return by his own strength (cf. Lk. 19:10; Jn. 3:17). This saving descent is beautifully foreshadowed in the prophet Jeremiah. Faithful to God's word, he was lowered into a muddy cistern where he slowly sank into the mire, powerless to free himself until another descended with cords to draw him out (cf. Jer. 38:6–13). The mystery reaches its perfect fulfillment in Christ, who entered the abyss of human misery, bore the weight of sin without committing it, descended even to the realm of the dead, and rose victorious so that no darkness could ever become inaccessible to His mercy (cf. Is. 53:4–6; Eph. 4:8–10; 1 Pet. 3:18–19; CCC 632–635). As Catherine of Siena contemplated, the bridge between heaven and earth is the Crucified Christ, stretched across the abyss created by sin so that every soul may safely return to the Father. This mystery continues quietly in ordinary life. A priest overwhelmed by parish financial burdens and hidden disappointments still ascends the altar each morning, believing that Christ remains faithful even when consolation has disappeared (cf. Lam. 3:22–26; Heb. 13:8). A widow whose home has become painfully silent lays her loneliness upon the altar and discovers that suffering offered in love becomes communion with the Crucified rather than isolation . A seminarian burdened by regret finally kneels in the confessional, where he discovers that the Father's mercy had been waiting long before he found the courage to return . A young person trapped in addiction whispers the Holy Name of Jesus with what seems like his last strength and finds that grace is already reaching deeper than his chains (cf. Ps. 130:1–8; Mk. 9:24). This is the deepest consolation of the Gospel: the Christian life is not first the story of sinners climbing toward God, but of God continually descending toward sinners. The Good Shepherd enters every ravine to seek the lost sheep, the Divine Physician touches wounds others fear to approach, and the Eucharistic Lord remains hidden among us until every willing heart is led home . Wherever humility opens the smallest door, mercy enters. Wherever the soul admits, "Lord, I cannot save myself," Christ answers, (cf. Mt. 14:27; Lk. 19:10) "Fear not; I have come to seek and to save what was lost" . There, the mire of error becomes the very place where divine mercy reveals its greatest triumph. 

Prayer

Our Adorable Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, preserve us from the hidden mire of error and keep our hearts humble, faithful, and attentive to Your grace. May Your truth enlighten our minds, Your mercy purify our hearts, and Your Holy Spirit lead us safely in the path of holiness until we bring many souls into Your eternal Kingdom . Amen.

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

Divine Appeal 151

ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL

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

VOLUME 1

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

“My daughter, as I am exposed I will pour the treasures of My infinite mercy into human souls. If mankind do not hear My words, time will come and it will fall in this mire of errors.

I agonise over souls. Pray more for the consecrated souls. Many have lost My Life. They have allowed themselves to be dominated by the devil. Almost all of them abuse Me. What more could I have suffered for this mankind? I love souls and I am torn into pieces by them. Pray and atone. It is time to pray.”

“I give My blessing.”

24th May 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).

World Desolated by Iniquitous Evil

Divine Appeal Reflection - 150

Today, consider in Divine Appeal 150:  "I am thirsting for the souls of mankind. The world is desolated because of the iniquitous evil with exaggerated freedom and without scruples. "

When Our Adorable Jesus laments that "the world is desolated," He reveals a reality that human eyes rarely perceive: the deepest desolation is not first found in wars, economies, governments, or collapsing cultures, but in hearts that have gradually become empty of God (cf. Hos 4:1–2; Rom 1:21–25). A civilization does not suddenly fall; it slowly loses its capacity to adore, until the Creator is forgotten and created things quietly take His place (cf. Ex 32:1–8; Lk 18:8; CCC 2097). The first ruins are invisible. They appear when prayer becomes an interruption instead of a necessity, when conscience becomes quieter than personal preference, (cf. Am 8:11-12; CCC 29) and when the presence of God is replaced by endless noise . The soul may continue functioning normally, smiling, working, and succeeding, while inwardly resembling an abandoned sanctuary where the lamp before the tabernacle has silently gone out . This was the hidden tragedy during the reign of King Asa. He began by relying entirely upon the Lord, witnessing astonishing victories that no human strength could have achieved. Yet after years of success, his heart gradually transferred its trust from God to political alliances and human calculation. His greatest fall was not military but interior:(cf. 2 Chr 14:11-12; 16:1-12) he slowly ceased needing the God who had once been his only confidence . Desolation had entered long before disaster arrived. This same mystery quietly unfolds today. A husband faithfully provides for his family yet has not spoken to Christ except in hurried obligation for many months.  Outwardly, nothing appears broken; inwardly, the sanctuary has grown empty.  Once this identity is forgotten, the soul instinctively begins searching for substitutes—success, pleasure, recognition, control, or independence—none of which can satisfy the infinite hunger created for divine communion . Jesus therefore teaches that the world's restoration will never begin merely through better structures or greater prosperity. It begins whenever one soul quietly returns to the hidden sanctuary of the heart, allows Christ once again to occupy its center,(cf. Jn 14:23; Ez 37:26-28; CCC 260) and rediscovers that the true opposite of desolation is not comfort but the living Presence of God dwelling within .

Jesus does not simply speak of evil, but of "iniquitous evil," revealing a condition in which sin has become so familiar that it no longer awakens remorse. This is one of Satan's most subtle victories. He rarely persuades a soul to reject God openly; instead, he patiently dulls its spiritual sensitivity until what once troubled the conscience gradually becomes acceptable. The tragedy is not merely committing sin but losing the capacity to blush before divine holiness .This hidden process is seen in Gehazi, the servant of Elisha. He did not begin as a dishonest man. He walked beside a prophet, witnessed miracles, and lived close to God's power (cf. 2 Kgs 4:8–37). Yet he quietly entertained small desires for wealth and recognition until his heart became divided. When the opportunity came, (cf. 2 Kgs 5:20-27) he deceived Naaman and lied without trembling before God . Long before leprosy appeared upon his body, another disease had already spread through his conscience—the inability to distinguish personal ambition from fidelity to God. Iniquity had first become interior before it became visible. Such is the frightening mystery of habitual sin: (cf. Heb 3:12-13) the soul slowly loses not only its innocence but even its awareness that it has fallen . This hidden desolation quietly unfolds in ordinary lives.  A Catholic businessman first accepts one dishonest payment to protect his company during difficult times. Years later he speaks of corruption as though it were simply "how the world works." A parent may laugh at behaviors that once called for loving correction, fearing conflict more than a child's spiritual good (cf. Prov. 22:6; Eph. 6:4). A priest who once approached the altar with profound awe may gradually allow routine and busyness to dull his Eucharistic wonder (cf. Mal. 1:6–8; CCC 1387). St. Peter Damian warned that when conscience is repeatedly ignored, it slowly loses its sensitivity to sin. Yet such numbness is not peace but the quiet approach of spiritual death (cf. Eph. 4:18–19; 1 Tim. 4:2). Therefore, Our Adorable Jesus invites every soul to beg for a tender conscience that grieves not merely from fear of punishment, but because it cannot bear to wound the Heart that loved us to the end (cf. Jn. 13:1; Ezek. 36:26; CCC 1431).

Perhaps the most prophetic words of this appeal are "with exaggerated freedom." Jesus is not condemning freedom itself,(cf. Sir 15:14-17; Gal 5:1; CCC 1730) for true freedom is one of the Father's greatest gifts and the very condition for genuine love . Rather, He unveils the deception of a freedom that no longer recognizes truth as its guide. Exaggerated freedom begins when the soul quietly believes that it can determine good and evil for itself while still expecting peace. It is the ancient temptation of Eden repeated in every generation—not merely to disobey God, but to live as though God were no longer necessary for happiness . This subtle illusion is beautifully illustrated in King Uzziah. While he depended upon the Lord, he prospered beyond expectation. Success itself became his greatest temptation. As his power increased, his heart slowly became convinced that the limits established by God no longer applied to him. Entering the sanctuary to perform a priestly ministry that was never entrusted to him, he mistook privilege for permission and ambition for freedom. His greatest tragedy was not the leprosy that later marked his body, (cf. 2 Chr 26:5, 16-21) but the pride that had already separated his heart from humble dependence upon God . Freedom detached from loving obedience quietly becomes slavery to self (cf. Rom. 6:16–22). The same illusion unfolds in ordinary life. A successful entrepreneur may gradually believe that financial independence removes the need for prayer, until profit rather than the Gospel guides every decision (cf. Mt. 6:24, 33). Even a consecrated soul may faithfully observe every rule while inwardly resisting the Holy Spirit's call to deeper surrender (cf. Acts 7:51; Rev. 2:4–5). St. Bernard of Clairvaux taught that the deepest slavery is the heart imprisoned by its own will. Our Adorable Jesus reveals that true freedom is not the absence of limits but the grace to delight in the Father's will (cf. Ps. 40:8; Jn. 8:31–36; CCC 1742). The freest soul is the one whose desires have become one with the Heart of Christ (cf. Jn. 4:34; Gal. 2:20).

The final wound described by Our Adorable Jesus is perhaps the most alarming: mankind acts "without scruples." In its true sense, a healthy scruple is not unhealthy fear but the delicate sensitivity of a conscience formed by love, one that quickly recognizes when it has wounded God or neighbor (cf. Rom. 2:14–15; CCC 1776–1779). To live without scruples is not merely to commit sin but to lose the capacity to grieve over it. The soul no longer asks, "Have I remained faithful to God?" but only, "Can I justify this?" . This is the quiet tragedy of a conscience that has gradually ceased listening to the Holy Spirit, (cf. Jn. 16:8, 13; Heb. 3:13; CCC 1431) whose gentle voice once led it toward repentance, truth, and freedom .Scripture illustrates this through King Ahab. His greatest downfall was not merely stealing Naboth's vineyard but the terrifying ease with which he justified injustice. After allowing Jezebel to orchestrate Naboth's death, (cf. 1 Kgs 21:1-16) Ahab calmly entered the vineyard to enjoy what violence had obtained . The absence of interior sorrow revealed that something more precious than justice had already died within him—his conscience. Only when Elijah (cf. 1 Kgs 21:17-29) confronted him with God's truth did the king begin to recognize the depth of his corruption . A conscience ignored does not disappear; (cf. Heb 3:13) it becomes buried beneath repeated compromises until the soul mistakes spiritual numbness for peace . This same tragedy quietly unfolds in ordinary lives.  A young person consumes hours of immoral entertainment until purity itself appears unrealistic and the Gospel seems excessive. Even faithful Catholics can become spiritually indifferent when they receive the Eucharist week after week without examining their conscience or allowing the Word of God to challenge their lives . St. Catherine of Genoa taught that the closer a soul comes to God's holiness, the more delicately it perceives even the smallest obstacle to divine love—not because it lives in fear, but because it has fallen deeply in love with Christ. The saints possessed tender consciences because they possessed tender hearts. Jesus therefore calls His disciples not merely to avoid grave sin but to preserve an interior sensitivity that quickly returns to Him after every failure. A heart that still feels sorrow for sin is already being touched by mercy, for the Holy Spirit continues speaking where conscience remains alive .

After revealing the world's desolation, its iniquitous evil, exaggerated freedom, and the loss of scruples, Jesus quietly directs our gaze toward hope. He does not invite His disciples to despair over the darkness of the age but to cooperate in the hidden restoration of souls. Throughout salvation history, God has never renewed the world by beginning with structures, governments, or civilizations. He always begins with one heart completely surrendered to Him, through which His grace quietly reaches many others . This mystery is beautifully seen in Josiah. While still a young king surrounded by a nation steeped in idolatry, he first allowed the forgotten Book of the Law to pierce his own heart. Before cleansing Judah, (cf. 2 Kgs 22:11-13)he allowed God to cleanse him . His personal conversion became the beginning of national renewal because authentic reform always flows from interior holiness. Every authentic renewal in the Church follows this pattern. God does not first seek influential people but receptive hearts through whom His holiness can quietly shine (cf. 1 Sam. 16:7; 1 Cor. 1:27–29). Hidden communion with Christ often bears greater fruit than visible success because He Himself becomes the principal Apostle working through the soul (cf. Jn. 15:5; CCC 2715). This mystery unfolds in ordinary life. A father's quiet return to daily prayer gradually transforms the spirit of his home (cf. Josh. 24:15). A teacher formed by Eucharistic adoration begins to reveal Christ through patience more than words (cf. Col. 3:12–15; CCC 1380). A business owner who chooses integrity over profit quietly awakens the consciences of those around him (cf. Prov. 11:3; Mt. 5:16). Such hidden fidelity becomes a living Gospel through which Christ continues renewing the world from within . A young woman who abandons the constant pursuit of social approval begins radiating a peace that quietly leads her friends to ask about the source of her joy. None of these people change the world through extraordinary achievements. They change it because Christ has first transformed them from within . This is the antidote to exaggerated freedom. Instead of living according to self-will, the Christian freely surrenders to the Father's will and discovers the deepest liberty of all—to belong entirely to God (cf. Jn 15:4-5; Rom 12:1-2; CCC 1694, 2013). The world is not ultimately saved by stronger human ideas but by hearts that become living tabernacles where Christ once again dwells, reigns, and quietly restores His creation through the transforming power of His Presence .

Prayer 

Our Adorable Jesus, rescue our hearts from the desolation of sin, the deception of false freedom, and the silence of hardened consciences. Restore within us a pure love for Your holy will. Make us living sanctuaries of Your Presence, so that through our continual conversion many souls may rediscover the joy of belonging entirely to You. Amen.

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