Theme: “Only say the word…” — Faith that Acts Before the Answer Comes
SCRIPTURE — Matthew 8:5–11
A centurion approaches Jesus:
“Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof;
only say the word and my servant will be healed.”
A pagan soldier — not a disciple, not a Jew — becomes the model of Advent faith: the kind that trusts before it sees, obeys before it understands, and walks forward before the path is illuminated.
St. Ambrose reminds us that mercy is not optional or decorative; it is the very substance of justice.
“What you give to the poor is not your property, but theirs.”
Dilexi te §43
“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.“
To withhold what we owe to truth, healing, and justice is not neutrality—it is robbery.
Advent begins by stripping away illusions and revealing what fidelity really looks like.
MEDITATIO — Where Faith Meets Responsibility
🎵 Song Pairing: “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel & Come Thou Long Expected Jesus” – The Petersens (LIVE)
The centurion recognizes two truths:
Painted by Paolo Veronese (1528-1588),
Painted circa 1571,
Oil on canvas,
© Museo del Prado, Madrid
- He is unworthy.
- Jesus’ word is still enough.
This is the Advent paradox: humility and confidence operating together.
My snapdragon blooming in the frost says the same thing. It has no business flowering in this cold — yet it offers beauty anyway. It leans into its nature instead of the temperature.
This morning, I felt the opposite — sluggish, heavy, melancholic.
I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to go to Mass.
I didn’t want to keep pushing for the removal of John Salazar’s tribute to Bishop Matthiesen when Bishop Zurek has remained silent.
And yet, like that snapdragon, Advent asks me to bloom anyway.
Not because I’m successful.
But because I’m faithful.
CONTEMPLATIO — The Long Obedience of Advent
Last night’s frustration with a robovac stuck in endless error messages mirrors my frustration with ecclesial leadership:
everything looks fine, everything should work, and yet something is not right in the programing.
My request is simple:
If we are going to celebrate 100 years of the Diocese of Amarillo,
then we cannot do so honestly while allowing a tribute — built by a convicted pedophile priest whom Bishop Matthiesen gave a “second chance” — to remain untouched.
“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
To ignore the wound is to lie to our children and grandchildren.
To address it is to step under the centurion’s words:
— and let the healing begin.
Faith is not sentiment.
Faith is action rooted in truth.
And Advent faith always begins with uncomfortable honesty.
ORATIO — My Advent Prayer
Lord Jesus,
I am not worthy—
and yet You come.
Speak Your word over my fatigue,
my frustration,
my wounded memories,
and the broken places in my diocese where darkness was allowed to stand.
Heal even the wound of a building dedicated by a convicted pedophile priest to Bishop Matthiesen—
a tribute born of the ‘serious mistake’ Bishop Matthiesen later defended with “no regrets“—
a legacy that stole the innocence of others just as my own was taken.
Only say the word, Lord…
and let what is broken in me, and in us, be healed.
ACTIO — I Live It
🎬 Movie: The Muppet Christmas Carol (1992)
“There is a nobility in the duty to care for creation through little daily actions…”
Laudato Si’ §211
👉 Action:
Today I will practice synodality with one small act of “Advent clarity”:
I will name one truth — to myself, or to someone who needs to hear it —
instead of remaining silent.
Truth spoken in humility is a seed planted in winter.
It is faith lived before success arrives.
Email to Bishop Zurek
Subject: A Request for Vigilance and Hope on This Last Day of the Liturgical Year
Your Excellency,
It was good to see you home at the Cathedral for Thanksgiving Mass. As we reach the end of the liturgical year and prepare for the Centennial, I write with a simple concern that continues to weigh heavily on my conscience.
In prayer, especially through the Gospel’s call to stay vigilant and strengthen what remains, I keep returning to the tribute erected by John Salazar in honor of Bishop Matthiesen. Because it was built by a priest who used his “second chance” to harm children in our diocese, its continued presence risks sending a message that wounds survivors and obscures our call to truth.
As we prepare to celebrate 100 years of the Diocese of Amarillo, I humbly ask that we consider removing this tribute as an act of healing and justice—so that our Centennial begins in truth, not silence.
Thank you for hearing my heart. Be assured of my prayers for you and for our diocese.
In Christ,
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.