The Apostles gathered together with Jesus and reported all they had done and taught.
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.”
Not infrequently, our prosperity can make us blind to the needs of others, and even make us think that our happiness and fulfillment depend on ourselves alone, apart from others.
Question to myself (Hope – Centennial Pillar for February):
As I reflect on Hope, the Centennial pillar for February, am I truly gathered with others in a way that frees me from the blindness of prosperity—remembering that my hope, happiness, and fulfillment are not built on myself alone, but are found in communion with those whose needs from our “serious mistake” call me beyond myself?
2. Meditatio – Meditation
This morning, I was gathered—not alone, not distracted, but deliberately present—with more souls than usually attend a weekday Mass at St. Mary’s Cathedral. Something subtle yet unmistakable had occurred: the return of Saturday morning Mass had quietly stitched together a scattered flock.
Here is one of the great paradoxes I adore: though Bishop Zurek and I remain at odds regarding Synodality and the unresolved “serious mistake” symbolized by the Tribute to Bishop Matthiesen, the restoration of this Saturday morning Mass has been an act of Synodality more eloquent than many words. It gathered us—not around grievance, but around grace.
I found myself moved enough to make a private vow: I would never again park in the bishop’s reserved space. A small renunciation, perhaps—but paradox taught me that the smallest gestures often signal the deepest conversions.
After Mass, several lingered. Rosaries emerged. Silence settled. First Saturday devotion prayers unfolded naturally, like a remembered language. We were not rushed. We were not efficient. We were simply gathered.
And in that gathering, hope whispered: perhaps confessions will return on Saturday mornings. Perhaps Synodality does not always arrive by decree but sometimes by devotion. Perhaps the Church heals not first by argument, but by people staying after Mass together.
3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)
Saturday belongs to the Virgin not because she speaks loudly, but because she waited faithfully. On that great Saturday—when the tomb was sealed and the world appeared finished—Mary alone remained gathered in hope. She held vigil when others scattered. She believed when belief seemed unreasonable.
This is why Saturday matters.
It stands between the Cross and the Resurrection, between despair and delight. It is the day when faith does not yet see but refuses to flee. Mary gathered what the others dropped: trust.
And so every Saturday morning Mass, every rosary prayed by those who linger, every quiet act of communion is a Marian echo—a reminder that the Church is most herself when she stays gathered, even when answers are delayed.
4. Oratio — Prayer
Lord Jesus, You gather your apostles not because they are successful, but because they are tired. Gather me when I am weary of speaking, weary of hoping, weary of waiting.
Through the intercession of your Mother, teach me the holiness of staying— staying in prayer, staying in communion, staying in love— until resurrection dawns. Amen.
5. Actio — Action (Laudato Si’ & Synodality)
Jesus would invite them to recognize the paternal relationship God has with all his creatures. With moving tenderness he would remind them that each one of them is important in God’s eyes: …“Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them”(Mt 6:26).
Inspired by Laudato si’, I choose to practice Synodality not merely by speaking, but by remaining present—especially with those whose faith grows quietly. I will continue to gather with others in prayer, trust that small devotions cultivate large conversions, and believe that communion precedes consensus.
6. Song Pairing 🎵
🎶 “Let It Be” — The Beatles🎵
When the Church feels scattered by tension and history, Mary still whispers, Let it be. This Lectio reminds me that hope often arrives not with answers, but with presence—gathered, waiting, faithful.
7. Movie Pairing 🎬
🎬Movie:The Miracle of Our Lady of Fatima (1952)
Like the children of Fatima and the faithful who gathered despite ridicule, this Lectio reflects the quiet power of those who remain together in prayer—trusting that heaven acts even when the world doubts.
I’ve been happily—and rather unexpectedly—surprised by how much Episode 3 of The Introverted Apostle is helping me make sense of my own faith journey. John Reeves (yes, the same John I’ve exchanged the sign of peace with more than once at St. Mary’s Cathedral) adds another layer to understanding introversion—not as a flaw to overcome, but as something God actually works through. Even the idea of “putting on a mask” socially can, in the right spirit, be an act of charity rather than phoniness. That one hit home. It’s thoughtful, human, and quietly freeing. Worth your time.
I’m sharing the newest episode of CAPN: The West Texas Catholic—and it turns out the future has gears, wires, and a Catholic high school uniform. The robotics team at Holy Cross Catholic Academy is building machines, yes—but more importantly, they’re building minds that know technology is a tool, not a master. Chesterton would remind us that the devil does not invent things—he only misuses them. Fire can warm a home or burn it down; the answer is not to outlaw fire but to teach children how to tend it. The same goes for robotics and AI. To call every circuit “satanic” is to forget that human creativity itself reflects the Creator. These students aren’t bowing to machines—they’re learning to rule them rightly, to harness what is good, true, and useful in service of something higher. And that, my friends, sounds suspiciously like evangelization in the modern world. Give the episode a listen. Then decide: fear the tool… or form the soul that uses it.
Email to Bishop Zurek
Dear Bishop Zurek,
Peace in Christ.
As our Diocese continues its Centennial celebration, I have been praying daily with the Scriptures and reflecting deeply on the four pillars: Faith, Hope, Communion, and Mission. In that spirit of prayer, I am writing once more not in protest, but in hope — hope for true synodality, which the Church continues to call us toward: listening, walking together, and discerning in the light of the Holy Spirit.
In recent prayer with the Gospel where the apostles are sent out and told to “shake the dust from their feet” where they are not received, I was struck not by the gesture of rejection, but by its meaning: testimony. Testimony that something unfinished remains. Testimony that repentance and healing are still invitations, not accusations.
For me, the Tribute to Bishop Matthiesen remains such a testimony. You yourself once referred to that period of our diocesan history as involving a “serious mistake.” Yet the tribute stands publicly, while conversation about the wound it represents feels absent. This creates, at least in my conscience, a tension between remembrance and healing, between honoring history and honestly confronting it.
I am not asking for condemnation of the past, nor for erasing history. I am asking for synodality — a visible, pastoral process of listening and discernment regarding what this tribute means today, especially for those who carry pain connected to that era. Pope Leo has reminded the Church that one of the deepest scandals is when doors are closed and people are not listened to. My hope is simply that, as your son in the Church, my voice might be received in that spirit of listening.
Our Centennial banners proclaim Faith, Hope, Communion, and Mission. I believe engaging this issue synodally would embody all four: • Faith, by trusting truth has nothing to fear • Hope, by believing healing is possible • Communion, by listening even when it is difficult • Mission, by witnessing that the Church confronts wounds with light, not silence
I remain in communion with you as my bishop and pray for you daily. I also continue to seek purification of my own heart, that my words be guided not by frustration but by charity and truth.
If you would ever be willing to allow a listening conversation — formal or informal — I would receive that as a great grace.
Respectfully in Christ,
Darrell Glenn
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.
