There is a sorrow in Christ’s Heart that few dare to name.
Not the sorrow of the Cross alone, but the quiet, ongoing ache of being ignored by the very souls He died to save. “They have time for everything,” He told St. Faustina, “but they have no time to come to Me for graces.” This is not a complaint—it is a lament. A love wounded by indifference.
We speak often of mercy, but rarely of the mercy refused. Christ stands in the tabernacle, not as a distant judge, but as a King of Mercy, arms outstretched, Heart exposed, longing to pour out grace. And yet, we turn away. We busy ourselves. We numb the ache in our own hearts, unaware that His is aching too.
“My Heart overflows with great mercy for souls,” He says. “I desire to bestow My graces upon souls, but they do not want to accept them.” What kind of God speaks this way? One who loves without measure. One who bleeds and waits. One who is wounded not by sin alone, but by forgetfulness.
To console Him is not a poetic gesture—it is a real invitation. To come, to receive, to be still. To let grace do what we cannot. To say yes to the love that aches to be welcomed.
Today, let us not add to His sorrow. Let us be the ones who come.
Smitten With Goodness 