Divine Appeal Reflection - 193
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 193: "My plans to work through a soul depends on the freedom that I get from that particular soul. I want to hide in your heart always if you allow Me.”
The most astonishing mystery in this Appeal is that the Almighty desires to work through a creature without violating the creature’s freedom. “My plans to work through a soul depends on the freedom that I get from that particular soul” reveals a divine humility almost too deep for ordinary contemplation. God can create without consultation, command nature without resistance and sustain existence without permission, yet when He approaches the moral freedom of a human person, He waits for consent . Grace precedes the soul, searches for it, awakens it, attracts it and strengthens it, but does not enslave it . This means that the greatest obstacle to a divine plan may not be weakness, lack of talent or difficult circumstances, but an unwilling freedom. Jonah(cf. Jon 1:1–3; 3:1–4; 4:1–11) carried a prophetic calling while his heart resisted the destination to which God was sending him . Moses(cf. Ex 3:10–12; 4:10–16) initially resisted his mission through fear and inadequacy . Ananias(cf. Acts 9:10–19) had to surrender his fear before Saul could receive the ministry God intended to accomplish through him . The young Samuel had to learn that divine initiative can arrive quietly in the night and require a listening heart before the mission becomes clear (cf. 1 Sam 3:1–10). Here lies a terrifyingly beautiful truth: God's plan may be perfect while our cooperation remains incomplete. A priest may be surrounded by souls yet give Christ little interior freedom. A parent may ask God to transform a family while refusing to surrender anger. A religious may desire holiness while defending the need to be appreciated. A professional may ask God to use his talents while reserving his finances from moral scrutiny. A young person may ask for vocation while secretly insisting upon conditions. The question is therefore not simply, “What does God want to do through me?” but “How much freedom have I actually given Him?” .
The words “the freedom that I get from that particular soul” reveal that divine cooperation enters history through concrete personal surrender. God does not ask an abstract humanity to cooperate; He asks this soul, with this temperament, this history, these wounds, these gifts, these responsibilities and these particular relationships . The phrase “that particular soul” destroys spiritual comparison. Christ does not ask us to become someone else; He asks the fidelity that belongs to our own vocation. The widow of Zarephath was not called to become Elijah;(cf. 1 Kgs 17:8–16) her little flour and oil became the place where providence appeared . Bezalel was not called to become Moses;(cf. Ex 31:1–6; 35:30–35) his craftsmanship became the means through which the sanctuary took shape . Grace works similarly in us: the mother through patient love, the priest through ministry, the worker through honest labour, the student through study, and the sick through trusting surrender. God does not ordinarily sanctify us by making us someone else, but by filling our own calling with His grace . Holiness begins when we stop asking why we were not given another person’s mission and faithfully offer God what He has entrusted to us. The carpenter, teacher, mother, priest, farmer, professional, religious, or elderly person may discover that the very gifts and circumstances they once considered ordinary can become instruments of Divine Love when surrendered to Him . Holiness therefore begins not with imitation of another person's calling, but with allowing Our Adorable Jesus to transform our own vocation into a place of His Presence. Phoebe did not exercise apostolic mission in Paul's manner,(cf. Rom 16:1–2) yet her service became significant for the early Christian community . Thus freedom is surrendered not only through dramatic vocations but through thousands of ordinary permissions. A school secretary may allow Christ to work through her when she refuses to humiliate an impatient parent . A mechanic may permit Christ to work through him by refusing to exaggerate a repair bill (cf. Lev 19:35–36; Lk 16:10). A farmer may sanctify his work by refusing to cheat a neighbour over measurements . A daughter caring for an elderly parent may give Christ access to her fatigue when she chooses tenderness instead of resentment . A priest may give Christ freedom when he allows an unexpected interruption to become an apostolic encounter rather than an annoyance (cf. Mk 5:21–34). Divine plans often enter the world through permissions so small that the soul itself scarcely recognises their eternal significance . The mystery is not that God needs our abilities. He desires our consent because love seeks communion, and communion requires freedom .
The word “always” makes the Appeal far more demanding than a call to occasional devotion. Jesus does not ask to be welcomed only during Mass, Eucharistic adoration, a retreat, a crisis, a novena or an emotionally consoling prayer. He desires continual access to the person . This does not mean uninterrupted emotional awareness of God; (cf. CCC 2697–2699)it means that the whole person gradually becomes oriented toward Him . The most profound surrender may therefore occur in places that appear completely unrelated to mystical life. A nurse washing an abandoned patient can silently surrender irritation to Christ (cf. Mt 25:40; Phil 2:3–5). A father receiving a disrespectful message from his adult child can pause before answering and allow Jesus to govern his first reaction (cf. Jas 1:19–20; Prov 15:1). A parish treasurer discovering an accounting error can choose transparency rather than concealment . A seminarian receiving correction can resist the instinct to defend himself and allow humiliation to become purification . A married woman carrying a private wound can choose not to rehearse the injury repeatedly in her imagination . A young man alone at night can decide that the person on the other side of his screen must never be reduced to an object (cf. Job 31:1; Mt 5:28–29). In these moments, Christ is not merely being “remembered”; He is being given freedom to act (cf. Gal 5:16–25). This transforms ordinary morality into mystical cooperation. Every temptation can become a place where Christ asks, “May I have this part of your freedom?” Every correction can become another door. Every unexpected sacrifice can become another permission. Every act of forgiveness can enlarge the interior territory available to grace . Saint Francis de Sales taught the sanctification of ordinary duties; Saint Jeanne Jugan demonstrated hidden self-giving in the service of the poor; Saint Isidore the Farmer revealed how apparently simple labour can become permeated with fidelity. Holiness is therefore not merely what happens when we pray; it is what happens when the freedom formed by prayer begins to govern everything else . The soul gradually reaches the point where it no longer asks only, “Is this permitted?” but, “Does this give Jesus greater freedom to live through me?”
The final mystery is almost frightening in its intimacy: “My plans,” “a soul,” “your freedom,” “your heart,” “always.” Christ does not merely ask permission to dwell within the soul; He desires the freedom of that soul so completely that His love can pass through it into places the soul itself may never reach . The surrendered person becomes a meeting point between divine initiative and human freedom,(cf. 1 Cor 3:9; 2 Cor 6:1) a hidden sanctuary through which grace can enter another person’s history . This mystery is already visible in Mary: after receiving the Word within herself, she carried Him into the house of Elizabeth, and the presence she bore awakened joy even before Christ was visibly seen (cf. Lk 1:39–45). The Samaritan woman did not possess theological training or apostolic status;(cf. Jn 4:28–30, 39–42) she simply allowed her encounter with Christ to become an invitation through which others came to Him . The Gerasene man was not permitted to remain physically beside Jesus;(cf. Mk 5:18–20) he was sent into his own surroundings, where his transformed life became proclamation . Even the widow’s two small coins disclose this hidden economy:(cf. Mk 12:41–44; 1 Sam 16:7) what appears negligible before human eyes can possess immense weight before God because love measures the interior gift rather than its external magnitude . Onesimus,(cf. Phlm 10–16; Gal 3:28) once regarded merely through his social status, entered a new identity within Christ’s communion as a brother . A grandmother praying alone may never know which future temptation her Rosary helped another soul overcome. A priest’s fidelity in the confessional may become the beginning of a conversion whose later fruits he never witnesses. A teacher’s refusal to shame one struggling child may protect a fragile conscience from years of despair. A businessman who rejects corruption may quietly teach an entire workplace that conscience cannot be bought (cf. Mt 5:14–16; Phil 2:15–16). A hidden sufferer united to Christ may intercede for souls separated from him by continents and generations (cf. Col 1:24; 2 Cor 4:10–12). This is the hidden apostolic power of a heart possessed by Christ: the soul may remain unnoticed while divine love travels through it.
Therefore the Appeal becomes an examination not merely of what we believe, but of what we still refuse to place at Christ’s disposal. What could He accomplish through this life if fear no longer governed its decisions? What grace remains unopened because I insist on being comfortable? Which person might encounter mercy if I surrendered my resentment? Which vocation might become fruitful if I stopped demanding recognition? Which divine invitation have I repeatedly postponed because obedience would disturb my plans? . The deepest surrender is not simply, “Jesus, help me,” but “Jesus, You may use me.” It is allowing Him to interrupt the timetable we have constructed, purify ambitions we have baptized as good, redirect relationships we have tried to control, touch wounds we have protected, and claim a future whose shape we cannot yet see . Mary’s fiat reveals this extraordinary freedom: God does not destroy her freedom in order to accomplish His plan; He finds in her freedom the humble doorway through which His Word enters history . The same mystery unfolds whenever a Christian freely cooperates with grace . Then ordinary existence becomes sacramental in its hidden apostolic meaning: the parent loving when exhausted, the worker choosing honesty when dishonesty would profit, the spouse forgiving without applause, the religious persevering through dryness, the priest remaining faithful when misunderstood, the sick person offering pain for souls, the student choosing purity when nobody would know . The greatest mystical transformation occurs when the soul no longer asks only, “How can Christ live in me?” but dares to surrender further: “Christ, live through me.” Then His plans begin to enter earthly history through human decisions; His mercy acquires human hands, His compassion human eyes, His patience human endurance, His forgiveness human gestures, and His love human self-gift . The heart becomes His hidden dwelling, freedom becomes His instrument, and ordinary life becomes an unseen extension of His mission. A surrendered soul becomes a place where Heaven can quietly touch earth.
Prayer
Our Adorable Jesus, enter the deepest sanctuary of our hearts and claim our freedom entirely. Break every hidden resistance, attachment, fear, and self-will that keeps us from Your grace. Make our ordinary duties, sufferings, relationships, and sacrifices channels of Your love for wounded souls. Live through us, love through us, and lead through us those whom Your mercy desires to draw closer to Your Heart. Amen.
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
