ON THE EUCHARIST:A DIVINE APPEAL
VOLUME II
All rights reserved. Reproduced from ON THE EUCHARIST: A DIVINE APPEAL, Volume II by www.adivineappeal.com
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 234: "You must atone for souls, you must live moments of desertion like Myself in the praetorium."
In life's quiet times and hardships, it's easy to feel ignored or forgotten. We could experience moments of loneliness, emotional exhaustion, or misunderstanding—when our hearts scream for solace but the solutions appear far away. Feelings of desolation can resemble a barren desert where we are unable to perceive the presence of God. These are the times when our efforts go unseen, our prayers echo without reply, and our hearts feel exiled in a world of noise. But in this inner desert, something sacred begins to stir. What if the silence is not abandonment, but an anointing? What if the hidden ache we carry is where heaven bends low to meet us?
Our Adorable Jesus entered His hour of greatest offering not only on the Cross, but earlier—in the dim, forgotten corridors of judgment and mockery. There, before the eyes of men who saw no worth in Him, He stood silently, bearing rejection, not for Himself, but for us. In those unseen hours, the weight of redemption was already being carried. Likewise, when we suffer without recognition, forgive in secret, or persist in love where none is returned, we are drawn into that same mystery. These unseen sacrifices, too, are part of His saving work.
The soul who learns to suffer silently for others enters a holy sanctuary that the world cannot comprehend. Every overlooked act of faithfulness becomes a brick in an invisible cathedral—one built for the healing of many. It is not glamour that redeems, but grace in hidden obedience. Our trials, when offered in union with Christ, become intercessions beyond words. They may never be acknowledged on earth, but in eternity, they will shine as acts of mercy poured out for countless souls.
To atone is not merely to do, but to be—to be available, surrendered, and attentive in the quiet places where God chooses to dwell. In the silence of misunderstood love, in the fatigue of uncelebrated endurance, in the ache of unanswered prayers—we become living chalices, filled with the sorrow of the world and the mercy of Christ. And in that stillness, Jesus is no longer alone. He finds us there, and through us, others are restored.
Prayer
Our Adorable Jesus, let our quiet suffering become seeds of unseen grace. In each hidden burden, teach us to carry the weight of another's need. Let silence speak love, and abandonment bear fruit. May we be formed in Your shadowed places, where the world does not see, but heaven kneels close.
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 233: "I have seen My Eternal Father with a CLUB in hand and looking very severe, glance at the Earth and repeat these words: 'In few minutes I will destroy this Earth of mire, insults, hideous blasphemy, scandal, infamy, infanticide and sacrilege. How much Evil! I will soon destroy everything if the world is not converted.'"
How often do we rush through our day—scrolling, arguing, buying, ignoring—without once lifting our hearts to God? In a world where sacrilege and infamy blend into daily headlines, Divine Appeal 233 interrupts the noise with a sobering vision: the Eternal Father, club in hand, grieved to the core, threatening to destroy the Earth if it does not convert. This is not abstract prophecy—it is a mirror to our times. When we justify gossip in the office, normalize profanity on our screens, and pass by the homeless without a glance, we participate, often unknowingly, in the very mire God warns about. Divine justice may feel distant until we realize it touches our lives in the very choices we make, moment by moment.
The vision is disturbing because of its uncompromising reality rather than its harshness. Every sin that taints the soul, every betrayal that goes unspoken, and every instance in which His Holy Presence is denied or ridiculed are all visible to God, the very embodiment of love. His eyes reach deep into our hearts, exposing the deeds we assumed were hidden and the cries of rejection we assumed went unheard. However, He does not turn away out of divine mercy. He witnesses not to condemn, but to heal—His sorrow is not for the punishment of sin, but for the lost souls He yearns to save. Every time we turn away from Him, He bears the pain, the grief, and the desire for our return. Even though this vision is sobering and humble, it is a call to repentance and a reminder to return to His kindness and grace. For in His gaze, there is always room for forgiveness, always a place for us to find refuge, no matter how deep our fall..These are not just "big sins" happening somewhere else—they are echoed in our indifference, our silence, our refusal to defend truth in daily conversations. As the Catechism teaches, sin is a failure in genuine love for God and neighbor caused by a perverse attachment to certain goods (cf. CCC 1849). Our Adorable Jesus, who bore the weight of all sin, watches us live as though His Passion were just a story, not a reality still unfolding in the soul of every sinner.
Yet even in the face of such justice, our merciful God gives a path forward: conversion. This appeal is not a final verdict, but a final invitation. We are not powerless—we are invited to pray, fast, forgive, and repair. Parents can teach mercy by forgiving their children. Workers can offer silent sacrifices for colleagues. Teens can resist peer pressure and live the Gospel quietly. Daily life is the battleground for holiness, where repentance begins not in grand gestures, but in humble, consistent choices. Scripture calls us to be transformed by the renewing of our minds, that we may discern God’s will—what is good, pleasing, and perfect (cf. Romans 12:2; CCC 1435).
Let us take this warning seriously but not despairingly. The vision shows us how near judgment is—but also how near mercy remains through Our Adorable Jesus. He is not only our Judge but our Advocate, pleading constantly before the throne of grace. The time is short, but the opportunity is now. May we be the ones who respond—not later, but today—with lives that glorify God, repair what has been broken, and help heal the world by the way we live.
Prayer
Our Adorable Jesus, with hearts aware of the world’s deep wounds, we offer You our sorrow and love. Cleanse us from sin, awaken true repentance, and transform our lives into reparation. Use us to draw souls back to You. And in we, may the Father’s justice be softened and His mercy triumph.
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 233: "The Red Lucifer torments you, he is cunning and clever. He is very aggressive to you because when you win just a single soul for Me he loses. He is very aware of the fact that his time is very short. He is preparing a great deception for all My Eternal Father’s creation."
Wake up, soldier of Christ! You are not living in neutral territory. You are on a battlefield, and the enemy—Lucifer himself—has marked you because you belong to the Light. Our Adorable Jesus, pulls back the veil to show us what many prefer to ignore: Satan is not passive. He is cunning, clever, and filled with fury because he knows his time is short. Every moment you draw closer to Christ, every time you help even one soul turn toward Heaven, you inflict a loss on the enemy’s kingdom. That’s why the attacks increase when you’re doing something right. This isn’t a sign to retreat—it’s confirmation that you are dangerous to hell.
This spiritual truth is not theoretical—it plays out in real, gritty ways. You begin fasting, and suddenly you’re overcome with frustration or distractions. You share your faith, and relationships get strained. You lead someone back to confession, and you’re hit with spiritual dryness or unexpected chaos. These are not coincidences. They’re backlash. But take heart—this is the cross that saints embraced. St. Gianna Beretta Molla chose death to give her child life. St. Oscar Romero preached truth until the day a bullet met him at the altar. St. José Sánchez del Río shouted “Viva Cristo Rey!” with shackled feet and bloodied back. They didn't flee spiritual warfare; they stood firm because they knew eternity was at stake—and they trusted the triumph of Christ.
Our Adorable Jesus warns of a great deception—a looming spiritual fog meant to mislead even the faithful. This is not a distant prophecy; it’s unfolding now. We see it in a world that exalts pleasure over purity, feelings over faith, and self over sacrifice. It’s the lie that you can have God without the Gospel, or peace without truth. Yet in this fog, God raises saints to shine like beacons. Blessed Carlo Acutis, immersed in modern technology, used his gifts not for self-glory but to lead others to the Eucharist. He reminds us that even youth, even the digital world, can become battlegrounds for glory. In a time of confusion, clarity is radical—and holiness, revolutionary.
This battle is fierce, but do not be afraid. Saints are not superhumans—they are sinners who chose love over fear, faith over comfort. So can you. When you forgive, when you speak truth, when you kneel before the Eucharist, when you love those who hurt you—you punch holes in hell’s gates. The enemy is loud because he is losing. Our Adorable Jesus has already won the war. All He asks is that you stay in the fight. Cling to the sacraments. Stay close to Our Lady. Read the Word. Be dangerous—for love’s sake. Heaven is watching, and eternity is worth everything.
Prayer
Our Adorable Jesus, awaken our hearts to the urgency of this battle. Give us boldness like the saints to fight with love, truth, and perseverance. Let us not fear the enemy, but trust in Your triumph. And in we, may Your Kingdom come and evil be shattered by grace.
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 233: "Abandon yourself in My Will recognizing your nothingness and your honesty, allowing complete freedom and being at the command of My Will and I will guide you."
There is a sacred place within the soul where God longs to dwell completely—where all resistance ends and love begins. Our Adorable Jesus calls us tenderly but firmly: “Abandon yourself in My Will... recognizing your nothingness and your honesty.” This is the invitation that echoed in the heart of every saint—not to do great things, but to let God do everything in them. It is not self-rejection, but self-offering. As the Catechism teaches, holiness is not our achievement, but the fruit of grace received in freedom (cf. CCC 2011). To abandon ourselves is to enter into love.
Saint Bakhita, once enslaved and stripped of dignity, found in Christ a freedom deeper than any chain. As a lay sister in a quiet convent, she abandoned bitterness and embraced God’s Will with childlike trust. Her life teaches the laity today that even in suffering, obscurity, and unfulfilled dreams, we are never lost to God. When parents are overwhelmed, when workers are overlooked, when young people feel uncertain—our Adorable Jesus says, “Let Me lead.” This surrender, honest and small, becomes luminous in the eyes of eternity. True greatness lies not in doing more, but in yielding more to Divine Love.
Saint Damien of Molokai, a priest who gave his life to lepers in Hawaii, embodies this abandonment in the priesthood. He did not seek comfort or recognition, but offered his health, his voice, and eventually his body to serve the forgotten. His surrender was not dramatic, but daily—offering Mass, cleaning wounds, listening to broken hearts. Today’s priests walk the same road when they persevere in hidden faithfulness, celebrate sacraments in empty chapels, or love their people even when unthanked. Like Christ, their fruitfulness flows from obedience, not outcomes (cf. CCC 1547). Our Adorable Jesus guides those who give Him everything.
In cloisters and quiet chapels, Saint Mary of Jesus Crucified, the “Little Arab,” teaches consecrated souls to abandon themselves in mystic simplicity. Her ecstatic love and profound humility flowed from a total emptying of self into God’s Will. She prayed, “Holy Spirit, inspire me, love me, guide me,” and trusted with her whole being. For religious today, surrender means letting go of consolations, trusting in the midst of spiritual darkness, and living every vow with joy. Their nothingness, freely offered, becomes a hymn to Divine Providence (cf. CCC 305). In this, the consecrated heart becomes the hidden furnace of grace for the whole Church.
Prayer
Our Adorable Jesus, draw us into the depths of Your Will, where fear dissolves and love remains. Teach us, in every state of life, to abandon all that we are. May our honesty and our littleness become Your dwelling place. And in we who surrender completely, be glorified forever.
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 233: "Be perfect and humble,..."
The invitation to embrace both perfection and humility finds its foundation in the life of Christ, reverberating through the heart of the Church's enduring wisdom. In a world overflowing with distractions, where the pursuit of status often drowns out deeper truths, this call becomes a quiet yet urgent summons. It calls us to cut through the noise, to cultivate an inner peace that is not shaped by external recognition, but by a steadfast commitment to grace, integrity, and quiet strength.Our Adorable Jesus, who is the fullness of perfection and the model of humility, continues to speak this invitation into the heart of every vocation: the layperson navigating secular demands, the priest ministering amid skepticism and fatigue, and the consecrated soul offering their life in radical witness. In a digital age obsessed with image and self-definition, Christ redefines greatness: not in being admired, but in being poured out (cf. Philippians 2:7–8; cf. CCC 520).
Lay people today face intense cultural pressures—comparison on social media, pressure to "have it all," and a growing hostility toward public expressions of faith. And yet, Christ calls them to perfection not by withdrawing from the world, but by transforming it. A young professional in a competitive office who chooses honesty over career advancement lives a powerful witness. A couple who remains faithful in a difficult marriage, showing forgiveness rather than walking away, models the enduring love of God. A teenager who resists peer pressure and clings to the sacraments amidst a secular school culture is living heroic virtue. Humility in these situations often means choosing to be misunderstood rather than compromising the Gospel (cf. Matthew 5:10–12; cf. CCC 2013).
Priests in the contemporary world are called to shepherd flocks that are often distracted, disengaged, or disillusioned. They carry not only the sacraments, but the weight of broken families, suffering youth, and the wounds of scandal in the Church. Our Adorable Jesus shows them that perfection is not in flawless execution, but in the crucified love that stays faithful amid rejection. A priest livestreaming Mass to just a few online viewers, ministering in post-pandemic parishes, or spending hours helping the addicted or depressed, reflects Christ’s pastoral heart. Humility for him may mean embracing administrative burdens, walking with those who no longer believe, or remaining in difficult assignments without recognition—trusting God sees all (cf. CCC 1551, 1564).
Consecrated souls in today’s world are often surrounded by noise that mocks silence and a culture that questions the value of celibacy, poverty, or obedience. Yet their lives are a silent contradiction to the world’s hunger for more. A cloistered nun praying while the world sleeps, or a missionary sister serving in violent slums without Instagram applause, offers a holy resistance. In a time when everyone is expected to brand their identity, they empty themselves to be fully Christ’s. Their perfection lies in deep interior union, and their humility in their hiddenness. As St. Thérèse showed, the “little way” of love is a path to sainthood even in a time that overlooks the unseen (cf. CCC 925, 933).
Prayer
O our Adorable Jesus, teach us to embrace our fragility and let Your grace transform our weaknesses into strength. Through Your boundless love, shape us into vessels of virtue, so that in all we do, Your presence may shine brightly. May our lives become a reflection of Your tenderness, and through us, let the world encounter Your transforming love. Guide our steps, that in our journey, others may see not ourselves, but You.
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 232: "I want humanity."
Our Adorable Jesus' voice echoes through time, inviting souls to deeper faith and holiness. However, how frequently does the human heart reject, clinging to self-sufficiency and transient pleasures? The battle is not new—history is braided with the hesitations of those who, like the Israelites in the desert, saw His works yet lacked faith (cf. Psalm 95:8-9). St. Augustine reminds us that the greatest obstacle to God’s love is not His distance but our own reluctance to surrender. The call is clear: the Lord does not seek partial devotion but a heart willing to be transformed. To delay answering Him is to risk growing indifferent, settling for a faith that neither deepens nor bears fruit (cf. Revelation 3:16).
In an age where people feel unseen and unloved, His message remains the same: "I want humanity." The world offers many illusions of belonging, yet loneliness persists, even in crowds. Some seek recognition in digital spaces, others in achievements, yet the deepest hunger remains unmet. The saints understood this longing well. St. Francis de Sales, observing the restless nature of the soul, noted that no amount of human approval can replace the divine gaze that sees and loves unconditionally. Like the woman who reached for Christ’s garment in silent desperation, hearts today cry out to be truly known (cf. Mark 5:25-34). To each, Christ offers not mere acknowledgment but a transforming embrace, calling them into His very life.
He desires each soul as it is but refuses to leave it unchanged. Divine love does not merely comfort; it refines, much like gold purified in fire (cf. Malachi 3:3). St. Catherine of Siena, whose words sparked countless souls, realized that God's call is not to remain as we are, but to be devoured by and recreated in His love. The fear of loss, sacrifice, and stepping away from the familiar often creates resistance to this transformation. Yet, as the saints have shown, a soul that surrenders to Christ does not lose itself but is instead fulfilled—finding true life in the radiance of His light (cf. Matthew 16:25).
If a soul yields to this divine appeal, it will bear fruit and radiate His light in a world clouded by doubt (cf. John 15:5). Christ’s call is not a mere invitation to personal holiness but a commission to be His presence to others. St. Bernard of Clairvaux described the soul filled with divine love as a fountain that overflows naturally rather than through force. The world today longs for such souls—souls who, having been transformed, provide healing where there is divide, kindness where there is judgment, and hope where there is hopelessness. To respond to Christ’s longing is not only to be gathered into His love but to become a vessel of it, carrying His presence into the world.
Prayer
Our Adorable Jesus, You seek us even when we resist, calling us beyond what is comfortable into the fire of Your love. May our hearts not grow hardened, nor our spirits hesitant before Your grace. Form us into souls that reflect Your light, and in Your love, may we become instruments of Your divine will.
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
Today, consider in Divine Appeal 231: "The revolution has already begun a long time ago and it cannot be stopped by human hands! There is Red Lucifer’s power which walks in their midst. They are commanded by his Legion and they destroy everything that falls in their hands."
Our Adorable Jesus warns us that the battle we face is not new—it has been unfolding for centuries, creeping into every part of life. Today, we see its effects in ways we never imagined: a grandmother afraid to speak about her faith because she might be labeled intolerant, a teenager pressured to fit into a world that mocks purity, a father struggling to lead his family in prayer when distractions pull everyone apart. The Catechism reminds us that sin is not just a personal failing; it spreads like wildfire, shaping cultures and institutions in ways that pull us further from God (cf. CCC 408-409). And yet, despite how overwhelming it seems, we must remember that Christ has already won. No darkness, no deception, no rebellion can ever undo His victory (cf. John 16:33).
The mention of "Red Lucifer’s power" brings to mind the way evil subtly weaves itself into daily life. It’s not always obvious—sometimes, it’s in the slow erosion of truth rather than a sudden attack. We see it when companies silence voices of faith but celebrate everything that contradicts God’s law. We feel it when schools push ideologies that confuse young minds about identity and purpose. A mother looks on helplessly as her child, who was formerly excited to attend church, start to question everything after hearing stories in class or seeing images on a screen. The Bible warns us that the enemy is like a roaring lion, looking to devour (cf. 1 Pet 5:8), but Our Adorable Jesus instructs us to fight—not with rage, but with truth, prayer, and love (cf. Eph 6:11–12).
The Legion that follows Lucifer does not always come with weapons and threats; sometimes, it comes wrapped in promises of a better world. We see it when people are shamed for defending life, when virtue is painted as outdated, when a person loses their job simply for refusing to compromise their faith. A young woman turning down a lucrative career opportunity because it goes against her morals. A teacher refusing to conform to an agenda that confuses rather than enlightens. A small parish community standing together despite ridicule, choosing to keep Christ at the center of their lives. The Catechism reveals that the Christian journey is no broad and easy road but a narrow, demanding ascent (cf. CCC 2015). Yet, every act of faith—no matter how quiet, no matter how hidden—becomes a hammer against the gates of darkness. A single whispered prayer, a moment of unseen perseverance, even the smallest "yes" to God sends tremors through eternity. For in the economy of grace, no trust is wasted, no sacrifice unnoticed; each step toward Him becomes a torch that scatters the night.
We are not alone, even though it sometimes feels easy to feel helpless. Instead of calling us to face this struggle alone, our Adorable Jesus walks with us.The world may grow louder in its defiance, but it is temporary. Every whispered prayer, every act of kindness, every refusal to bow to falsehood is a seed of light that evil cannot uproot. The victory belongs to Christ, and those who endure will see the fullness of His kingdom (cf. Rev 21:5). So, we keep going. We hold onto hope. We trust that even when the world seems to crumble, He is making all things new.
Prayer
Our Adorable Jesus, in a world that twists truth and silences faith, be our steady light. When fear grips us, make us bold. When doubt creeps in, fill us with trust. When love grows cold, set our hearts aflame. Let our lives speak of You louder than words ever could.
Sr. Anna Ali of the Most Holy Eucharist, intercede for us.
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