Today the Scriptures knock politely, but persistently, at the door.
David looks around his cedar house and feels embarrassed.
God, after all, is still living in a tent.
But God laughs gently at the idea and says,
You misunderstand. I am not waiting for a house from you.
I am building a house for you.
The Psalm sings of a promise sturdier than stone—
a covenant not framed in cedar or gold,
but in faithfulness that survives generations.
Zechariah, once struck mute, finally finds his voice,
and when he speaks, it is not of buildings,
but of mercy moving in,
of light entering dark rooms,
of a dawn that breaks inside a people.
And Advent whispers its dangerous truth:
God does not move into palaces.
God moves into households.
God builds with flesh, not marble.
God prefers wombs, not walls.
Every reading today asks the same unsettling question:
What kind of house are you trying to build—
and who asked you to build it?
“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
“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.”
“He wanted to proclaim the Gospel with the authority that comes from a life of poverty, convinced that the Truth needs witnesses of integrity.”
Dilexi te, §66
During this Centennial, can I proclaim the Gospel with the authority that comes from a life of clergy abuse caused by Bishop Matthiesen’s so-called “serious mistake” ?
Meditatio — Letting the Question Enter
Pardon the bad dad joke, but this morning the word that refuses to leave me ALONE is “house“—not HOME.
What kind of house am I building
as I ask—again and again—for Synodality
regarding the Diocese of Amarillo’s Tribute to Bishop Matthiesen?
It feels righteous.
But so did David’s cedar palace.
Photo used by permission of Douglas Kirkland/Corbis via Getty Images
I think of houses built to impress—
thick with gold, mirrors, portraits, and silence.
Houses that glitter loudly so no one hears what they are hiding.
Houses where doors close inward and windows look only out.
I have walked through such houses.
I have been told, politely, that I do not belong in them.
And then I hear God’s answer to David echo again:
You are not the one who builds Me a house.
I build My house where I will.
Am I constructing something solid—or merely defensive?
Am I asking for truth—or trying to furnish my own righteousness?
The Scriptures do not condemn my asking.
But they strip it of grandeur.
They remind me that God’s house is built slowly,
with mercy as mortar,
with listening as load-bearing beams,
with humility strong enough to hold memory without collapsing.
If I am to ask for Synodality,
let it not be a palace of grievance
or a monument to being right.
Let it be a tent—
open on all sides,
capable of being taken down,
ready for God to move again.
Contemplatio — Chestertonian Synthesis
The modern man builds houses to prove he is important;
God builds houses to prove He is present.
We erect structures to protect our legacy;
God erects none at all—He becomes a child instead.
The Church gets into trouble whenever she forgets
that she is not a museum of victories
but a dwelling for the wounded.
A house built on silence will always look impressive
until the roof collapses under the weight of what it refuses to name.
But a house built on truth—
even if it is small, drafty, and inconvenient—
will survive because God has already moved in.
And the miracle of Advent is this:
God does not ask whether the house is finished.
He only asks whether the door is open.
Oratio — Prayer (Day 15)
Let us pray.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus,
and do not delay.
Teach us the difference
between houses we decorate
and dwellings You inhabit.
Where we have built to impress,
strip us down to honesty.
Where we have hidden behind silence,
teach us how to listen.
During this Centennial year,
make Your Church less concerned with monuments
and more concerned with mercy.
Build Your house among us—
not of gold or slogans,
but of truth, repentance, and peace.
You who live and reign with the Father
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
God, forever and ever.
Amen.
Actio — Living the Reading
“On the other hand, the forms of corruption which conceal the actual environmental impact of a given project, in exchange for favours, usually produce specious agreements which fail to inform adequately and to allow for full debate.”
Laudato si’ §182
Today, I will examine one “room” I have built—
a conversation avoided,
a memory dismissed,
a question silenced.
I will not renovate it myself.
I will simply unlock it
and invite the Lord inside.
Synodality begins
not with meetings,
but with doors.
🎵 “O Come, O Come Emmanuel”
who are tired of decorating houses
and ready for God to actually arrive.
🎬Movie: Jingle All the Way (1996)
Everyone is scrambling to build something impressive—status, success, a perfect gift—while forgetting to be present where it actually matters.
Advent keeps asking me the same question: Am I constructing a monument, or preparing a home?
The Kingdom does not arrive wrapped in gold or urgency, but quietly—when we stop grasping and let God dwell among us.
I believe Jingle All the Way (Arnold Schwarzenegger) fits this Lectio Divina better than Home Alone (Macaulay Culkin) because not every Christmas story is about protecting a house; some are about learning what it’s for.
Email to Bishop Zurek
Subject: Request for Dialogue Regarding the Tribute
Your Excellency,
I am writing to apologize if any of my previous communications about the tribute to Bishop Matthiesen came across as threatening or coercive. That was not my intention, and I regret any words that suggested pressure rather than prayerful discernment.
Silence has been painful, but I remain committed to walking with the Church, not against her. I respectfully ask for conversation, not conflict, so that this matter may be addressed in the light of truth, charity, and healing.
Thank you for your time and pastoral care.
Respectfully in Christ,
Darrell Glenn
Diocese of Amarillo
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 such as John Salazar—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.