LECTIO — I Read the Word
Theme: Awake to the Living God… and Awake to the Living Wounds of the Church
Jesus silences the Sadducees by revealing the truth they refused to see:
The parable of the ten virgins echoes the same truth:
“Stay awake… for you know neither the day nor the hour.”
Gospel 2 — Matthew 25:1–13
The common word that burns through both Gospels is alive — not just biological life, but alertness, readiness, awareness, communion, the kind of life that does not sleep through God’s visitation.
Saint Cecilia lived this word. A martyr whose song never died, she stayed awake to God even in the darkness of persecution.
The early Christians handed on living charity — seeds that keep producing harvests in every generation.
Dilexi te §33
MEDITATIO — I Let the Word Enter Me
The word that echoeToday’s Word presses into me one question:
Am I awake to the God of the living… or brought no oil like the foolish virgins?s in me today: FAMILY.
That question hit me unexpectedly this morning when I stepped outside and saw our cat’s pawprints pressed gently into moist soil. She hasn’t been seen in days — yet the prints reveal she is alive, present, moving in the hidden hours.
“In memory of the death of innocence of the victims of clergy sexual abuse. When innocence dies…a life stops. It is essential that we never forget.“
And suddenly I thought:
That is the Diocese of Amarillo.
We don’t always see the lost or the wounded — but their prints remain everywhere.
They never disappeared.
They were simply unseen.
My morning.
If Boston is the fault line of the child sexual-abuse scandal that has convulsed the Roman Catholic Church, then few places have felt the aftershocks more deeply than the Diocese of Amarillo.
New York Times
And then came the harder recognition:
I, too, am one of those pawprints.
Victim of clergy abuse in my youth.
Survivor who kept returning to the Church’s doorstep.
And now, at this sunset hour of life, a man still trying to bring a flask of oil for my lamp— trying not to let the Church forget those who were scattered.
So many times, our shepherds brought no oil.
So many times, they were not ready for the Bridegroom.
And yet God kept whispering:
“Stay ready. For to Me, you are alive.”
MEDITATIO — The Pawprints of Past Shepherds
I cannot pray today without remembering how the last several bishops walked across the soil of my life — each leaving pawprints of their own:
- Bishop Matthiesen, who rode the white horse of public activism even as he brought abusive priests into our diocese—wounds that still mark us today. I spoke with him often, pleading with him to reconsider his “no regrets” about bringing those priests here…
- Bishop Yanta, who sought to enforce the Dallas Charter even when Bishop Matthiesen resisted him, and who bore the personal and pastoral cost of doing so. I met with Bishop Yanta about Bishop Matthiessen’s “no regrets” stance. He listened. He believed me. He acted where he could. And when he retired, he urged me—quietly but firmly—to keep speaking out.
- Bishop Zurek, who told the Diocese of Amarillo he had “no facts” about the Philadelphia report even as Amarillo’s connection to that tragedy was headline news. When I continued to speak out, as Bishop Yanta had once urged me to do, he later wrote that I was not among the faithful and loyal disciples whom the Lord Jesus desires.
- And now Bishop Strickland, whose own fall from leadership echoes the pattern — a man whose zeal burned like a torch but often without the oil of communion, misused by others, yet still a wounded shepherd who, like me, carries pawprints of injury and longing.
Dear Bishop Zurek,
Peace in Christ. As we prepare to celebrate the Centennial of our Diocese of Amarillo, I find myself reflecting — in prayer, in Scripture, and through these daily Lectio Divinas — on what it truly means to honor the past while remaining faithful to the Gospel in the present.
In today’s prayer, Jesus’ words to the Sadducees and his parable of the wise and foolish virgins struck me deeply. The lamp that burns bright is the lamp filled with truth, vigilance, and courage. The lamp that burns dim is the one that avoids the very things that must be acknowledged and healed.
As you know, the Diocese continues to carry painful paw prints from an era when innocent children were harmed and the flock was scattered. Even now, the dedication to Bishop Matthiesen — installed in Kress by a priest later imprisoned for abusing our youth — stands as a silent monument to a period of deep wounds and unhealed history.
Your predecessors rode many “horses,” as it were — nuclear disarmament, pro-life advocacy, social justice — but in the midst of those efforts, victims of clergy abuse were left unfed, unheard, or unseen. And when I attempted to call attention to this history so that we could move from victims to survivors, I received your letter stating that I was “not among the faithful and loyal disciples whom the Lord Jesus desires.”
Bishop, I am writing now not to reopen old battles nor to seek vindication. I am writing because our Centennial gives us a once-in-a-century opportunity for authentic renewal — an opportunity to replace silence with truth, and to let the light of Christ shine where shadows still remain.
I humbly ask you to prayerfully consider removing the Matthiesen dedication as part of our Centennial celebration.
Not out of vengeance.
Not out of bitterness.
But as an act of truth, healing, and shepherding.
To leave this monument standing is to say, in effect, “We have no regrets.”
To remove it is to say,
“We have learned. We have repented. We will shepherd differently.”
This single act would:
• honor the victims and survivors of our diocese;
• show our people that truth is not our enemy, but our path to freedom;
• and ensure that our Centennial is not merely a festive recollection, but a true beginning of a more honest and Christ-centered century of evangelization.
I believe this action could help transform our wounds into witness — both for those harmed in the past and for those who will call this diocese home in the next hundred years.
Please receive this request in the spirit in which it is offered:
with respect, with hope, and with a sincere desire to see our diocese healed, renewed, and firmly rooted in the truth that sets us free.
With prayers for you and for our entire diocesan family,
Darrell Glenn
These pawprints — past bishops, past wounds, past silence — have never vanished. They appear in the soil just like my cat’s tracks:
signs that what was wounded is still alive… still seeking shelter… still waiting to be gathered.
Today’s Gospel whispers:
“He is God of the living.”
Even the wounds are alive.
Even the lost sheep are alive.
Even those cast aside by letters or accusations are alive before Him.
ORATIO — I Respond in Prayer
Lord Jesus,
Son of the Living God,
like the wise virgins, keep my lamp burning.
Keep me awake to Your presence,
awake to Your people,
awake to the scattered and the silenced,
awake to the pawprints I’ve followed for decades.
Awaken me—
so that this centennial does not become
a celebration from which we are shut out.
Awaken Bishop Zurek.
Awaken Bishop Strickland.
Awaken all who lead and all who wander.
May the scattered sheep be gathered
not into silence,
but into healing.
CONTEMPLATIO — I Rest in the Word
I rest in this truth today:
God is always ready for my suffering.
Even when people are not.
And the Bridegroom comes whether I’m are ready or not.
The question is not whether He arrives — He always does.
The question is whether I’m ready enough to respond.
ACTIO — I Live It
Love, overflowing with small gestures of care, is also civic and political.”
— Laudato Si’ §231
I will perform one small, concrete act of care for someone who has been overlooked — a call, a message, an invitation, a prayer spoken aloud.
Not grand, not sweeping — but real.
A wise-virgin kind of act.
A gesture of staying awake.
Because healing begins
not with lamps full of oil,
but with hearts full of courage
to remain ready
in the hour before dawn.
