No, the Divine Mercy Devotion Is Not Heretical

Lately, I’ve seen more and more Catholics online—a loud minority, to be sure—casting suspicion on the Divine Mercy revelations and devotion—questioning its legitimacy and authenticity, and in some cases, warning others to stay away from it entirely.

What’s especially disheartening is that many of these criticisms come from well-meaning, doctrinally serious Catholics who, unfortunately, have picked up bad information or misunderstood the Church’s actual position. They aren’t trying to cause harm—but by spreading confusion, they often end up discouraging others, even their own friends or parishioners, from embracing a devotion the Church has explicitly judged worthy of belief.

That’s part of why I decided to write this article. The revelations attributed to St. Faustina were carefully documented by her and later formally embraced by St. John Paul II through her canonization and the establishment of Divine Mercy Sunday. And yet, here is the devotion—once again—under attack.

One more thing: In what follow I’ll be mainly responding to the, “the church definitively condemned these so called revelations” objection which, to my mind, seems the most prominent. See here, here and here if you’d like to see how other objections are responded to.

---

The Nature of Private Revelation

So we’re clear: it’s perfectly acceptable if the Divine Mercy devotion—or St. Faustina’s Diary—doesn’t resonate with you. The Church doesn’t require Catholics to believe in any private revelation—even those it has approved—let alone to feel personally inspired by them. These are not part of the deposit of faith, and Catholics are free to accept or set them aside. You can “take it or leave it” and still be a faithful, tradition-loving Catholic. [1]

But there’s a world of difference between quietly choosing not to engage with a devotion, and openly condemning it—especially one the Church has affirmed as spiritually beneficial. To mock or denounce what the Church has approved, or to sneer at Catholics who find genuine hope in its message, is not an act of fidelity. It’s presumption. And to go further—to call it demonic—is not only reckless, but puts one in serious opposition to the Church’s discernment.

BTW, I’ll be covering this in more detail with Fr. Chris Alar on Pints With Aquinas this Wednesday:

The Schismatic-Adjacent Temptation

Okay—back to the kinds of objections I’ve been seeing. Most of them come from what’s often described as a radical traditionalist perspective. But honestly, I think we need a better term. After all, there’s nothing inherently wrong with being radical, and certainly nothing wrong with being a traditionalist. A better label might be quasi-sedevacantist—or maybe schismatic-adjacent. Yes, I like that one best. Schismatic-adjacent. I’ll go with that. In any case, these objections I’m seeing come from a place that rejects much of what the Church has taught and done since Vatican II, including the canonization of saints and the approval of certain devotions by recent popes. And that made me realize afresh just how tragic it is when love for the past curdles into suspicion of the present and rejection of the living Magisterium.

Let me be clear (though I doubt it’ll satisfy my critics): I love the tradition of the Church. I love the Traditional Latin Mass. I wish it weren’t restricted the way that it is. But schismatic-adjacentism (no way that’s ever going to catch on) isn’t truly traditional. It’s selective. And in its suspicion of everything post-1962, it misses the great work of God unfolding in our time, including His mercy. As Pope Benedict XVI reminded us in a 2009 letter, “The Church’s teaching authority cannot be frozen in the year 1962.”[2]

Definitively Condemned?

Take the case of Divine Mercy. Yes, the devotion was temporarily restricted in the 1950s. But contrary to what some critics have claimed, this was not a definitive condemnation of the message itself. The Holy See's initial decision was based on serious misunderstandings, not a formal theological judgment against the revelations of St. Faustina. At the time, the Vatican only had access to a poor Italian translation of her Diary, which misrepresented key elements—especially by rendering some of Faustina’s descriptions in a way that made it seem she was speaking directly as Christ, in an unfiltered and possibly presumptuous way.

Worse, no comprehensive theological analysis of the Diary had yet been done, and the original Polish text was largely inaccessible due to the political situation in Communist-controlled Poland. So it’s no surprise that the Holy Office’s response was cautious and, ultimately, provisional. In fact, the statements made under Pope John XXIII were not definitive or final judgments; they were disciplinary actions issued pending further investigation.

That investigation came thanks to Cardinal Karol Wojtyła, then-archbishop of Kraków, who knew the devotion firsthand. During Vatican II, Wojtyła personally consulted with Cardinal Alfredo Ottaviani, head of the Holy Office, about initiating Faustina’s cause for canonization. Ottaviani—who had signed the earlier disciplinary measures—encouraged him to proceed while witnesses were still alive. That alone suggests the earlier condemnations were not viewed by the Church as irreversible or doctrinally binding.

Once more accurate translations were made available and a thorough theological review was conducted—especially by Fr. Ignacy Różycki, a respected Thomist theologian—the picture changed entirely. The misinformation was cleared up, the concerns were addressed, and in 1978 the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith formally lifted the ban. A few decades later, the same Church that had once paused the devotion would canonize Sr. Faustina and institute Divine Mercy Sunday as a universal feast.

To suggest that Catholics today are being "led astray" by accepting what the Church has now officially embraced is to imply that the Magisterium cannot clarify or correct its own disciplinary decisions—something the Church has always claimed it can do. In fact, it’s a sign of the Church’s integrity that, once it had access to the facts, it acted accordingly.

What About Padre Pio?

What’s most ironic to me is that these schismatic-adjacent types often reject Sr. Faustina because her writings were placed on the Index and her devotion temporarily suppressed in the 1950s—yet they completely overlook the nearly identical (and arguably more severe) treatment of St. Padre Pio by the pre-conciliar Church. Between 1923 and 1964, the Holy Office issued a series of decrees against Padre Pio. They declared that his stigmata could not be confirmed, forbade the faithful from contacting him—even by letter—and ultimately stripped him of all ministerial functions apart from celebrating private Mass. For years he lived in isolation. His name reportedly remained on the list of persons condemned by the Holy Office up until his death in 1968. Even some of the early books written about him were banned—books that were later used in his canonization cause. To my knowledge, the Church never formally rescinded those early decrees, yet no serious Catholic today doubts Padre Pio’s sanctity. Nor should they. [3]

The same Church that once restricted Padre Pio also beatified and canonized him. Likewise, the Church that once suppressed the Divine Mercy devotion later lifted the ban, canonized Faustina, and established Divine Mercy Sunday on the liturgical calendar. If you cast doubt on Faustina’s canonization and the legitimacy of the Divine Mercy devotion because of earlier restrictions, then you’re logically bound to question Padre Pio’s canonization as well. But no one does that—because deep down, we all understand that disciplinary and pastoral judgments are not infallible, and that the Church has the authority to re-evaluate them.

In Summary

At its heart, the Divine Mercy devotion isn’t about theological turf wars, liturgical debates, or internet tribalism—it’s about Jesus Christ. It’s about the infinite love of God poured out for sinners—not once they’ve cleaned themselves up, but precisely while they are still in need. It’s about the sacred wound in His Heart, from which blood and water flow for the world. This is the core of the Gospel, refracted through the life of a humble Polish nun who knew suffering, obscurity, and grace. And yet, some critics still view all this with suspicion. But this, I think, tells us more about their ideology than about the devotion itself. Their deep distrust of the post-conciliar Church blinds them to the beauty, and the joy, of Divine Mercy.

Some claim it promotes “cheap grace,” a mercy without repentance or reparation. But that’s simply not true. Just read the Diary. St. Faustina repeatedly speaks of making reparation for sin (see entries 323, 607, 1209). She offers herself as a living sacrifice. Her spirituality is steeped in the reality of sin and the urgent call to conversion—but always through the lens of God’s initiating love and mercy.

The Diary of St. Faustina is not always easy reading. It’s mystical, repetitive, and, yes, sometimes strange. But at its core is a cry to trust: Jesus, I trust in You. That trust isn’t sentimentalism or presumption—it’s the kind of trust that recognizes the depth of our wretchedness and yet dares to trust that Christ’s mercy goes deeper still. In a time when so many feel overwhelmed by guilt, shame, despair, or indifference, Divine Mercy is not a distraction. It’s the invitation to return to the very heart of the Gospel.

So yes—defend the tradition. Love the Latin Mass. Read the Fathers. Study the Councils. But don’t overlook what God is doing now. Don’t scoff at the healing He’s offering through the saints of our own age.

I’ll end with Faustina’s words: “Let all souls draw life from it. Let them approach this sea of mercy with great trust.”(Diary, 1520)

---

[1] Real quick: Public revelation refers to the revelation given by God once and for all in Scripture and Sacred Tradition. It ended with the death of the last apostle and is binding on all Christians. Private revelation, on the other hand, refers to supernatural messages or visions given to individuals after the time of the apostles. These may be approved by the Church as worthy of belief, but they are not binding on the faithful and do not add to the deposit of faith. The Catechism of the Catholic Church says this about private revelations: “Throughout the ages, there have been so-called "private" revelations, some of which have been recognized by the authority of the Church. They do not belong, however, to the deposit of faith. It is not their role to improve or complete Christ's definitive Revelation, but to help live more fully by it in a certain period of history. Guided by the Magisterium of the Church, the sensus fidelium knows how to discern and welcome in these revelations whatever constitutes an authentic call of Christ or his saints to the Church” (67).

[2] Pope Benedict XVI, Letter concerning the remission of the excommunication of the four Bishops consecrated by Archbishop Lefebvre, March 10, 2009.

[3] Answering Radical Traditionalist Critiques of the Divine Mercy Message and Devotion, TheDivineMercy.org.