Theme: Perseverance as Testimony
LECTIO — What the Word Says
Jesus warns His disciples that fidelity to Him will cost them:
They will seize you, persecute you,
drag you before synagogues, prisons,
kings, governors,
even betray you through your own family.
But this persecution, He says,
“will lead to your giving testimony.”
In the very moment you fear losing everything,
Christ Himself will give you the words—
the wisdom—
no adversary can refute.
And then comes the promise:
MEDITATIO — What the Word Says to Me
Persecution isn’t always the sword.
Sometimes it’s silence.
Sometimes it’s being dismissed.
Sometimes it’s being told you are not
“among the faithful and loyal disciples whom the Lord Jesus desires”…
simply because you spoke aloud the truth of wounds the Church preferred to keep buried.
The Gospel names something I know intimately:
testimony is born in the place you’d rather escape.
“A little less than two centuries later, another deacon, Saint Lawrence, will demonstrate his fidelity to Jesus Christ in a similar way by uniting martyrdom and service to the poor. [23] From Saint Ambrose’s account, we learn that Lawrence, a deacon in Rome during the pontificate of Pope Sixtus II, was forced by the Roman authorities to turn over the treasures of the Church. ” “The following day he brought the poor with him. Questioned about where the promised treasures might be, he pointed to the poor saying, ‘These are the treasures of the Church’.” [24]”
Dilexi te §38
Dilexi te §38 reminds me of St. Lawrence,
who showed Rome the “treasures of the Church”
not as gold
but as the poor—
the wounded—
the ones long ignored.
It was that act of truth
that sealed his martyrdom.
And so I hear Jesus’ words as both warning and reassurance:
When they put you before governors, bishops,
and those who wield power over you,
do not prepare your defense.
Your job is to stand.
Christ’s job is to speak.
My Contemplation
Last night an owl perched high in one of our trees,
hooting into the cold dark—
a mournful, prophetic call
that felt almost like Scripture itself.
Uninvited.
Unavoidable.
Uncomfortable.
True.
Its cry pressed into my conscience:
If I do not persevere—
if I do not speak—
if I let this tribute to Bishop Matthiesen remain
as though the suffering of the abused were only “past problems”…
then I fail not only my own story
but the flock still scattered across this diocese.
“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
August 24, 2002
Years ago Bishop Zurek said
that the Church’s pain over clergy abuse
was “persecution.”
But I sensed—deeply—
that what we were facing was not persecution,
but consequence.
And what are we facing now
if, during our Centennial Celebration,
we let that monument stand untouched?
Is it not the handwriting on the wall,
a modern echo of Daniel’s warning:
“…you have been weighed on the scales
Daniel 5:27
and found wanting”?
ORATIO — What I Say to God
Lord Jesus,
You promised wisdom in the moment of witness.
Give me that wisdom now.
Give me the courage of Lawrence,
the endurance of the martyrs,
the clarity of those who refuse deception
even when deception would be easier.
Let my words be Yours.
Let my perseverance become prayer.
ACTIO — How I Will Live This Word Today
“A healthy relationship with creation is one dimension of overall personal conversion.”
Laudato Si’ §218
Today I will make one concrete act of restoration—
removing something harmful,
repairing something broken,
or speaking one needed truth—
as a sign of my commitment to heal my Church,
my land,
and my own soul.
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.