Theme: Kingship, Fear of God, and Ordering the House to the Kingdom
LECTIO — I Hear the Word
Today the Scriptures proclaim the kingship of Christ —
David anointed,
Jerusalem rejoicing,
Christ reigning from the Cross,
and the good thief whispering the line that pierces me:
Pope Leo recalls Pope Francis’s desire:
“How I would like a Church which is poor and for the poor!”
Dilexi te §35
A kingship unlike the world’s —
a kingship of self-emptying love,
of justice for the forgotten,
of ordering everything to God.
MEDITATIO — I Let the Word Read Me
The song exposes how easily human power can distort what is holy, while Christ the King restores the sacred by laying everything bare.
It mirrors my own call today: to fear God more than human judgment, to speak truth in the Diocese of Amarillo’s centennial moment, and to order even painful history back toward the Kingdom where justice, mercy, and the poor are lifted up as kings.
This morning I stood in the backyard before the burning bush.
Its leaves blazing red, not from Moses’ miracle,
but from November’s quiet obedience.
It has no choice but to be ordered to God.
But I do.
And suddenly the question from the Gospel is aimed straight at me:
Because in the Kingdom of God,
the hierarchy is flipped.
Those the world calls “great” become least,
and those who suffered become the ones Christ exalts.
“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.“
If that is true — and it is —
then by the strange mathematics of grace,
I, as one who has strove to be a survivor of clergy abuse,
have been “king” over my parish and my diocese
longer than any bishop has held a crozier.
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
I have outlived bishops Matthiesen, Yanta,
and now serve under Bishop Zurek…
and perhaps one day under Bishop Strickland.
Not because I have earthly authority — I don’t —
but because Christ’s Kingdom crowns the wounded first,
the ones who cling to Him on their crosses
like the good thief who said:
“Remember me…”
Luke 23:42
- 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.
And so I must choose, as a baptized king,
whether I will order everything entrusted to me
—including our centennial celebration—
toward God’s Kingdom.
Which means asking again, with trembling clarity:
Can we celebrate 100 years while a dedication built by a convicted pedophile priest still stands in honor of Bishop Matthiesen — the bishop who gave him the “second chance” that became the second assault on our children?
Years ago Bishop Zurek said Matthiesen made “a serious mistake.”
Today I must decide whether I will make one
by remaining silent.
The burning bush blazes because it must.
But I must choose.
ORATIO — I Respond in Prayer
Lord Jesus, King of the Universe,
give me the holy fear that orders my life to Yours.
Make Your kingship real in me.
Let me not turn away from the hard things
out of politeness, or fatigue, or fear of rejection.
You reconciled all things by Your blood —
reconcile my diocese
by the truth that sets captives free.
Let me act not out of bitterness,
but out of the royal courage of baptism —
the courage of the good thief
who had nothing left but the boldness to ask:
“Remember me…”
Luke 23:42
Remember Amarillo.
Remember our wounded.
Remember the children whose cries You heard
even when the Church did not.
Rule us with Your justice,
and heal us with Your mercy.
CONTEMPLATIO — I Rest in the Mystery
Christ’s kingship is not distant.
It is now,
in my yard,
in my parish,
in my diocese.
The burning bush glows because God is near.
And I sit before it knowing
I must order my life —
and my diocese’s truth —
to the King who reigns from a Cross.
This is not about anger.
It is about allegiance.
ACTIO — I Live the Word
Today I take one concrete step.
As Laudato Si’ urges:
“Along with the importance of little everyday gestures, social love moves us to devise larger strategies to halt environmental degradation and to encourage a “culture of care” which permeates all of society.
— Laudato Si’ §231
My action:
I will write respectfully and truthfully to Bishop Zurek
asking that, as we prepare to celebrate our centennial,
we remove the remaining public honor
built by a priest who devastated our community
and whose legacy continues to wound survivors.
Not to shame,
but to set the house in order
for Christ the King.
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
