Theme: Perseverance unto the end — giving everything, even when the timing feels impossible
LECTIO — I Read the Word
Today I hear Jesus noticing what no one else sees:
the poor widow, quietly offering everything she had.
Others gave from abundance.
She gave from poverty,
from the empty place,
from the place that hurts.
And Jesus says:
And linked to this Gospel is His fierce promise:
Saint Andrew Dũng-Lạc and the Vietnamese martyrs lived this truth with their own blood — offering the “two coins” of their very lives, persevering to the finish line.
“There is an inseparable bond between our faith and the poor…
Dilexi te §36
The Church recognizes in those who suffer the likeness of her poor and suffering Founder.”
MEDITATIO — I Take the Word Into My Life
The widow gave her whole livelihood. The martyrs gave their very lives.
And today, in my small corner of the Church, I am asked to give fully of myself — to persevere, to endure to the end, and to remain faithful even when the season feels cold and out of step with the world around me.
Some gave all… may I at least give all I can.
One phrase burns through all the readings:
Give everything… and keep going.
Today I feel this deeply in my own story.
This weekend I found myself planting seedlings in my kitchen garden — gifts from my son-in-law — at a time when everyone else is closing their gardens, shutting things down, thinking about spring catalogues instead.
But something in me said:
“Plant anyway. Plant now.
Timing isn’t yours. Perseverance is.”
And I realized:
This is exactly what I’m doing with Bishop Zurek — asking for the removal of the tribute to Bishop Matthiesen (raised by a priest later convicted of abusing youth), even as he is preparing a year-long centennial celebration that seems to remember glory rather than wounds.
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
My timing doesn’t match his planning.
My plea doesn’t fit his schedule.
But like the widow dropping her last two coins,
like St. Andrew Dũng-Lạc fighting “until the end and finishing the race,”
I’m planting anyway —
not from abundance,
but from the poverty of a survivor’s heart,
and I pray that God sees the gift for what it is.
ORATIO — I Pray
Lord Jesus,
You who notice the small gift,
You who see the heart behind the offering,
You who strengthen martyrs to the finish line —
Take my “two coins”:
my voice, my persistence, my wounds, my desire for truth.
Give me the grace
to endure
when the timing is wrong,
when the process is slow,
when others say, “Not now.”
Let me finish the race you have assigned to me.
CONTEMPLATIO — I Rest
I sit quietly and hold the image of the widow:
small hands, small coins, large courage.
I contemplate the tiny plants in my kitchen garden —
green life in the cold season —
your whisper reminding me:
“Offer what you have, even when the season is wrong.”
I feel the truth settle:
This is the way of the Kingdom.
ACTIO — I Live It
Like the widow, like the martyrs, like your own perseverance in speaking truth, Doss shows that the smallest, most unlikely offering can become the greatest act of love.
“All of us can cooperate as instruments of God for the care of creation, each according to his or her own culture, experience, involvements and talents.”
Laudato Si’ §14
Action:
Today I will take one concrete, small act that seems “out of season”:
– writing a letter
– planting hope
– speaking gently but truthfully
– or tending one small corner of creation
…trusting God to multiply what I offer from my poverty.
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
My Story
“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.“
- 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.