Today the Scriptures place before me a strange architecture of power.
Isaiah speaks of a servant shaped in secret, hidden in the shadow of God’s hand, effective not because he is seen, but because he is sent. The Psalm crowns humanity not with dominion for domination, but with stewardship for wonder. Paul kneels—he does not stand—to pray for power, a power that stretches inward before it ever reaches outward.
And then Mary sings.
She does not whisper politely around the powerful. She sings of thrones overturned. Not adjusted. Not reupholstered. Overturned.
The mighty are not corrected from their seats; they are removed from them. And the lowly—those who never had chairs at all—are lifted.
“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.”
“Nevertheless, the dignity of every human person must be respected today, not tomorrow, and the extreme poverty of all those to whom this dignity is denied should constantly weigh upon our consciences.”
Do I live the pillar for January of faith with enough courage to let it topple false thrones in my own heart—so that the dignity of every human person is defended today, not postponed to tomorrow, and the crushing weight of our “serious mistake” is allowed to trouble my conscience rather than be ignored?
2. Meditatio – Meditation
Today I deliberately step into the Day of Prayer for the Legal Protection of Unborn Children, a day when the Church in the United States kneels together—not to perform, but to repent; not to accuse, but to protect.
“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
And yet I find myself troubled by thrones.
I have watched how easily a cause becomes a platform, how swiftly a prayer becomes a procession, how readily a Mass becomes a moment for elevation—not of the unborn, but of the celebrant.
Above: The Tribute to Bishop Matthiesen Below: A Fallen Centennial Banner
I ask myself: When we defend life, whose life are we defending first—our own righteousness, or the voiceless child?
Mary’s Magnificat does not flatter power; it unseats it. She does not climb a throne to protect life; she carries Life quietly in her womb.
The unborn do not need pageantry. They need humility. They do not need raised fingers. They need bent knees.
Because thrones are not always marble chairs. Sometimes they are schedules. Sometimes they are control. Sometimes they are silence about our own wounds while shouting about others’.
If God interrupts our plans—even with weather, even with inconvenience—perhaps it is not punishment, but mercy. Perhaps it is not cancellation, but correction.
Perhaps God is saying: Protect life not from above, but from within.
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.
Here is the paradox: The Church defends life most convincingly when she refuses to enthrone herself.
A Church standing tall on a platform may look strong. A Church kneeling beside a crib looks true.
The unborn recognize no bishop, no banner, no ceremony. They recognize only whether someone stands between them and death.
Mary did not ask permission to carry Christ. She did not seek approval to protect Him. She simply said yes—and then ran to serve another woman.
That is how thrones fall: not with revolutions, but with obedience.
4. Oratio — Prayer
Lord of life, who chose a womb over a throne and a cross over a crown,
Dislodge me from every seat of self-righteousness. Topple the small thrones I defend in Your name. Teach me to protect life not by standing above others, but by kneeling beside them.
Lift the lowly— especially those whose lives are threatened before they can speak.
And if You must overturn something in me so that life may live, do not spare the furniture.
Amen.
5. Actio — Action (Laudato Si’ & Synodality)
As examples, I will point to the intimate relationship between the poor and the fragility of the planet, the conviction that everything in the world is connected, the critique of new paradigms and forms of power derived from technology, the call to seek other ways of understanding the economy and progress, the value proper to each creature, the human meaning of ecology, the need for forthright and honest debate, the serious responsibility of international and local policy, the throwaway culture and the proposal of a new lifestyle.
Today I will practice synodality without spectacle: listening before speaking, kneeling before judging, and ensuring that my defense of life begins with the most vulnerable closest to me, not the easiest targets far away.
6. Song Pairing
🎶 “Magnificat”
Mary does not ask who sits on the throne—she sings as God turns it upside down.
7. Movie Pairing
🎬Movie: Unplanned (2019)
The defense of life is not loud. It is faithful—and often very lonely.
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.
