“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.”
Each day, I read a paragraph from the encyclical Dilexi te and weave a quotation from it into that day’s Lectio Divina.
Memorial in the Grotto of St. Mary’s Cathedral. The inscription says: “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.”
“It is my hope that we will see more and more ‘politicians capable of sincere and effective dialogue aimed at healing the deepest roots — and not simply the appearances — of the evils in our world.’”
As I reflect on Faith—the January pillar of our Diocesan Centennial—do I remain silent when dialogue is needed, or does my faith compel me to seek sincere and healing conversation that addresses the deepest roots of our “serious mistake”, rather than merely their outward appearances?
2. Meditatio – Meditation
On a morning when snow blankets the ground, I notice a single paw print left behind by one of our livestock guardian dogs. It is silent, yet eloquent. It says nothing—and yet it tells me exactly where she has been.
“Bishop Matthiesen — a shepherd whose legacy in our diocese still asks hard questions of us today. May truth, healing, and justice be the final word.” Photo used by permission of Douglas Kirkland/Corbis via Getty Images
So it is with the Tribute to Bishop Matthiesen. It stands quietly, unargued, uncommented upon— a silent reminder of where we as a Diocese have been.
If that tribute had never been erected in 2001, my request for Synodality during our Centennial might sound like an attempt to rain on a parade. But the problem is that the paw print is already there. The snow has preserved it. History has hardened it.
Above: The Tribute to Bishop Matthiesen Below: A Fallen Centennial Banner
And yet, I The New York Times told us in 2002 that few dioceses felt the aftershocks of the clergy abuse crisis more acutely than Amarillo. Silence did not erase that truth. Time did not dissolve it. And a banner celebrating the past cannot smother what still lies frozen beneath our feet.
read today that hunger outranks custom, that mercy outruns law, that need outranks propriety. David ate what was reserved. The disciples plucked what was forbidden. Christ did not scold them; He defended them.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus asks a devastatingly simple question. The Pharisees do not answer. They remain silent.
And Jesus is angry.
Not because they speak wrongly— but because they refuse to speak at all.
Silence, when it protects power, becomes cruelty. Silence, when it avoids truth, becomes violence by omission. Silence, when it refuses healing, becomes complicity.
Saint Agnes understood this without footnotes or committees. She did not negotiate with injustice. She did not soften truth to survive it. She simply refused to compromise—and paid with her life.
We modern Catholics are fond of heroic hypotheticals: “Yes, I would die for my faith… but not today… not now… not if it complicates things.”
Agnes reminds me that there are moments when silence is not prudence but betrayal— and that fidelity sometimes requires not shouting, but refusing to be quiet.
If I remain silent during this Centennial— if I avert my eyes from what the tribute silently proclaims— then my anger will only grow, and my faith will shrink.
Jesus heals the withered hand because he refuses silence. I must decide whether my own silence leaves wounds untouched.
3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)
A tribute, built for Bishop Matthiesen, while John Salazar—a convicted pedophile priest whom Matthiesen kept in ministry against the counsel of cardinal archbishops, giving Salazar a “second chance.” That second chance resulted in the sexual assault of youth in our own diocese. And just before he was defrocked and sent to prison, he raised this monument in Bishop Matthiesen’s honor. Its presence remains a painful reminder of “serious mistakes” that harmed the very flock Bishop Matthiesen was meant to protect.
The paradox of silence is this: God is often silent in order to speak more clearly, while man is often silent in order to hear nothing at all.
Christ’s silence before Pilate redeemed the world. The Pharisees’ silence in the synagogue tried to preserve it as it was.
Saint Agnes did not shout— but neither did she retreat into a respectable quiet.
True holiness does not fear silence; it fears silent injustice.
4. Oratio — Prayer
Lord Jesus, you looked with grief upon those who chose silence over mercy.
Break my habit of quiet convenience. Teach me when silence is prayer and when silence is refusal.
Give me the courage of Saint Agnes— not loudness, but clarity; not anger, but truth; not compromise, but fidelity.
May our Centennial not merely remember but repent, not merely celebrate but heal, not merely speak of faith but refuse to remain silent where love demands a voice.
Amen.
5. Actio — Action (Laudato Si’ & Synodality)
We can be silent witnesses to terrible injustices if we think that we can obtain significant benefits by making the rest of humanity, present and future, pay the extremely high costs of environmental deterioration.
Inspired by Laudato si’, I will practice active listening this week— especially toward voices usually met with silence. I will ask: Who is not being heard in our Church? And I will resist the temptation to confuse peace with quiet.
Synodality begins when silence stops being an excuse.
6. Song Pairing
🎶 “The Sound of Silence” – Simon & Garfunkel
Not all silence is sacred. Some silence speaks volumes—and some speaks only fear. Christ heals by breaking the silence that protects suffering.
7. Movie Pairing
🎬Movie:Silence (2016, dir. Martin Scorsese)
A story that asks the hardest question of faith: when God seems silent, will we still speak the truth with our lives?
Here is one of those modern miracles that does not involve thunder, but does involve truth. In the latest CAPN: The WTC – The Podcast, you’ll hear the very personal story that set Karlynn Hochstein on the unlikely (and very Catholic) road to becoming our Diocese of Amarillo’s Director of Family Life. It is the sort of story that reminds us that vocations are rarely born in comfort, but almost always in conviction. And it also explains why I’ll be at St. Mary’s Cathedral next Saturday at 10:00 a.m. for the Respect Life Mass—because when faith becomes flesh in real lives, the only reasonable response is to show up. Give it a listen. Truth, like grace, works best when it’s personal.
Subject: A Request to Be Heard in the Spirit of Synodality During Our Centennial
Your Excellency Bishop Zurek,
I write to you with respect and with a sincere desire to remain in communion with the Church during this Centennial year of the Diocese of Amarillo.
As we approach the Centennial celebrations and the Respect Life Mass, I find myself holding an interior conflict that I cannot ignore in conscience. In prayer, particularly through Lectio Divina on the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, I was struck by the single word spoken by Christ to John the Baptist: “Allow it.” Those words have stayed with me.
They raise a question in my heart: what does the Church allow herself to hear, and whom does she allow herself to accompany?
I desire to celebrate our Centennial and to stand in solidarity with the Church’s witness to the dignity of life. At the same time, I struggle to do so without any space for synodality regarding the Diocese of Amarillo’s Tribute to Bishop Matthiesen, especially in light of what has been acknowledged as a “serious mistake” during that period of our history. The continued silence around this tribute weighs heavily on me, not as an accusation, but as a pastoral wound.
Recently, Pope Leo reminded the Church that “abuse itself causes a deep wound, which may last a lifetime; but often the greater scandal is that the door was closed and victims were not welcomed or accompanied with the closeness of authentic pastors.” He shared the testimony of a victim who said that the most painful part was that no bishop wanted to listen. The Holy Father emphasized that listening is profoundly important and asked the Church to deepen dialogue and implement synodality.
It is in this spirit that I write. I am not asking for condemnation, nor am I asking for erasure of history. I am asking whether there can be listening—whether synodality can be allowed—so that the Centennial truly reflects the four pillars we have named: faith, hope, communion, and mission.
I want to be present at the Respect Life Mass and to celebrate our Centennial in good conscience. But I also want to know that the Church I love is willing to listen to those for whom this tribute remains a source of pain, confusion, and exclusion.
Your Excellency, I remain obedient to your pastoral authority, but I also remain compelled by conscience and prayer to ask that this conversation be allowed to take place. I believe that such listening would not diminish our celebration, but purify it.
Thank you for taking the time to read this letter. Please know of my prayers for you and for our Diocese during this significant year.
Respectfully in Christ,
Darrell
My Story
Photo used by permission of Douglas Kirkland/Corbis via Getty Images
Memorial in the Grotto of St. Mary’s Cathedral. The inscription says: “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.“
I was one of “the few” Bishop Zurek spoke of in this letter. He first posted it in August of 2019, and in response to my, “calling out all the more“, he kept reposting it atop the diocesan news page until December 11, 2019. There it remains to this day.
Fr. Ed Graff, brought here from Philadelphia by Bishop Matthiesen, was arrested in 2002 for sexually assaulting a minor and died later that year in jail. Despite the harm linked to his ministry, he was buried in an honored section of Llano Cemetery among our pioneering clergy — a decision that continues to wound survivors and raise hard questions for our diocese.
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 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.
