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.”
Yet we must never forget that religion, especially the Christian religion, cannot be limited to the private sphere, as if believers had no business making their voice heard with regard to problems affecting civil society and issues of concern to its members. [125]
Question to myself (Hope – Centennial Pillar for February):
If my hope as a Church in this Centennial year is meant to be living and public, am I allowing tradition to become a quiet refuge that keeps my faith safely private, or does true Christian tradition compel me to make my voice heard—with charity and courage—for the good of society and the dignity of all, especially those who are poor from our “serious mistake“?
2. Meditatio – Meditation
Let me be honest: I am nearing seventy, and I am heavy with tradition.
Some of it is noble—hard-earned habits, stories shaped by time, skills learned through failure and persistence. Some of it is little more than muscle memory of the soul. And much of it, I suspect, is simply nostalgia dressed up as wisdom.
My stories are now met with polite smiles. My advice is labeled outdated. My skills are quietly archived.
The world, with the efficiency of a modern calendar reminder, informs me that my traditions are no longer required.
And so the real question rises—not whether tradition matters, but which tradition still breathes.
Is my tradition a way of loving, or merely a way of remembering myself when I mattered more? Is it a bridge, or a barricade? Is it purpose—or ego?
When the world hints that I am approaching my expiration date, I discover something bracing: God has no use for expiration dates.
The Word I encounter each morning in these Lectio Divinas does not grow obsolete. It grows sharper. And it asks me—not gently—whether I am clinging to tradition because it serves God, or because it comforts me.
Saint Scholastica understood tradition perfectly—by breaking it.
Her brother Benedict clung faithfully to monastic order, rules, schedules, and cells. All holy. All good. All necessary. But Scholastica dared to remind him of something older than monasticism itself: love.
When Benedict refused to stay, she did not argue theology. She prayed.
And heaven answered—not with a footnote, but with thunder.
What Benedict could not do by discipline, Scholastica accomplished by love. And the irony, worthy of heaven’s laughter, is that Benedict learned more theology that night than in many obedient evenings alone.
Tradition, when it serves love, becomes alive. Tradition, when it refuses love, becomes idolatry.
God is not offended when tradition bends for love. He is offended when tradition refuses to.
Scholastica teaches me that the truest tradition is not the rule that keeps me safe, but the love that keeps me awake.
4. Oratio — Prayer
Lord, purify my traditions. Strip them of vanity and refill them with purpose. Teach me which habits to cherish, which stories to release, and which rules must kneel before love.
If my tradition does not help me love more, let it rain until I stay where You are speaking.
Amen.
5. Actio — Action (Laudato Si’ & Synodality)
I will then consider some principles drawn from the Judaeo-Christian tradition which can render our commitment to the environment more coherent.
Inspired by Laudato si’, I will practice synodality today by listening before correcting, by asking before advising, and by letting the wisdom of another generation—or another poverty—question my assumptions.
I will treat tradition not as a possession to defend, but as a gift to be shared, purified, and sometimes surrendered.
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.
