I hear the Word insist, almost impatiently, that light is not optional.
The prophet Isaiah does not speak of light as something mystical or decorative, but as something terribly practical: bread broken, wounds healed, backs not turned, hunger satisfied. Light, it turns out, leaks out of mercy.
The psalmist agrees. Light is not cleverness. It is steadiness. A man who trusts God does not flicker; he glows.
Paul then refuses fireworks entirely. He comes trembling, armed with nothing but a crucified Christ. And yet—there is power.
Finally, Jesus refuses all abstraction. Light is not an idea to be admired; it is a lamp that must be placed where people trip in the dark. Hidden light is not holy light. It is wasted light.
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.”
The poor, too, remind us how baseless is the attitude of aggressive arrogance with which we frequently confront life’s difficulties.
Question to myself (Hope – Centennial Pillar for February):
As I live the Centennial pillar of hope, do I allow the light that the poor from our “serious mistake” shine on my life to unsettle my aggressive self-reliance and teach me a more humble, trusting way of facing difficulty—one rooted not in arrogance, but in Gospel hope?
2. Meditatio – Meditation
I was told this week—gravely, solemnly—that the Super Bowl is the greatest secular celebration in the nation. Being an obese introvert, and therefore trained by necessity in metaphysics, I immediately suspected a contradiction.
For secular, I was told, means free of religious light.
But how can that be?
The blue religion insists there must be no religious light. at the Super Bowl— and then proceeds to flood the entire affair with a very intense blue glow.
The red religion insists that if religious light is excluded, it wants no part of the event— and then laments bitterly when there is not enough red glow shining on it.
Both sides claim the absence of religious light, while furiously adjusting the color temperature.
And yet, somehow, I can still see that the football is brown, the field is green, the goalposts are gold, the flags are yellow, the referees are black and white, and the jerseys remain stubbornly themselves.
Red light alone would not allow this. Blue light alone would not allow this. Even red and blue together would not.
To see everything, one requires a full-spectrum light— a light that does not erase difference but reveals it.
By definition, that light would have to be catholic— small c, meaning all-embracing.
Christ does not ask me to shine red light or blue light. He asks me to shine His light— a light that makes the hungry visible, the wounded visible, and even my own contradictions visible.
And that, I suspect, is why He warns me not to hide it.
3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)
The modern world does not suffer from darkness so much as colored darkness— rooms lit so dramatically that no one can tell what anything actually is.
Christ offers something infinitely more dangerous: a light so honest it exposes both my virtues and my excuses.
To live in that light is uncomfortable. But to live without it is absurd.
4. Oratio — Prayer
Lord of unfiltered light, save me from lamps that flatter my opinions and from shadows that protect my laziness.
Make me luminous in deeds, quiet in words, and courageous enough to be seen.
In light of this reflection, I will advance some broader proposals for dialogue and action which would involve each of us as individuals, and also affect international policy.
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.
