Jesus withdraws to Tyre, hoping for silence—yet grace cannot hide any more than light can whisper. A woman, foreign and therefore doubly inconvenient, falls at his feet and begs for her daughter’s freedom.
Christ speaks of children and dogs. She speaks of scraps.
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):
As I reflect on hope—the Centennial pillar for February— do I dare to believe that even the smallest scraps of courage I offer in public witness can nourish the Body of Christ, or have I convinced myself that my faith belongs only under my own table, silent and private, when in truth it is meant to speak hope into the wounds of our “serious mistake“?
If hope is our Centennial pillar for February, and if our faith rests on Christ who became poor and drew near to the outcast, then do I allow my indifference, comfort, or subtle superiority to defile that hope by keeping the poor from our “serious mistake” at a distance—when they are meant to be at the very heart of the Church and, therefore, at the very heart of me?
2. Meditatio – Meditation
I am not, by temperament, a man content with scraps. On the farm I feed the pigs what the schoolchildren leave behind—milk cartons, crusts, half-eaten apples, mystery casseroles of indeterminate origin. I call it slop. The pigs call it supper.
On weekends, when there are no cafeteria leftovers and I pour out neat, measured pellets from a sack, the pigs appear almost disappointed. They preferred the wild abundance of scraps to the tidy sufficiency of feed.
Spiritually, however, I am the opposite of a pig. When I approach God, I do not ask for crumbs. I expect a banquet. I want the five-course theological feast: explanations, consolations, resolutions, a clear answer to every perplexity. I want celestial catering.
And yet here is this Syrophoenician woman, who knows she stands outside the respectable dining room, and she dares to ask for scraps. Not because she thinks little of Christ, but because she thinks much of Him. If even His scraps heal demons, what must His fullness be?
The paradox, which delights me as much as it humbles me, is this: I am often blind to the scraps falling daily from God’s table—small mercies, ordinary Masses, a wife recovering in a recliner, the quiet rhythm of chores, the laughter of schoolchildren whose leftovers feed my pigs.
Perhaps the Kingdom is not denied to me because I lack a feast, but because I refuse to stoop for crumbs.
3. Contemplatio – The Theology of Crumbs
Chesterton once delighted in turning the world upside down only to discover it was right side up. So here the world’s insult—“dog”—becomes the doorway to miracle.
The woman’s humility is not humiliation; it is clarity. She knows abundance when she sees it. Only a proud man despises crumbs from a king.
For what are the Eucharistic species themselves but, in appearance, crumbs? A fragment of Host. A drop of wine. And yet in those seeming scraps is the infinite Christ.
The smallest gift from God is never small. The poorest prayer is never poor. The least visible grace may be the most transforming.
The Kingdom grows from mustard seeds, multiplies from five loaves, and heals from crumbs beneath a table.
If I cannot recognize holiness in scraps, I will miss the banquet entirely.
4. Oratio — Prayer
Lord, teach me the humility of the Syrophoenician woman.
When I hunger for spectacle, give me gratitude for crumbs.
When I demand explanations, let me delight in small mercies.
Free me from the pride that calls Your gifts “slop” and from the blindness that overlooks daily grace.
Let even the smallest touch of Your garment heal the demons in my own house.
Amen.
5. Actio — Action (Laudato Si’ & Synodality)
Technoscience, when well directed, can produce important means of improving the quality of human life, from useful domestic appliances to great transportation systems, bridges, buildings and public spaces. It can also produce art and enable men and women immersed in the material world to “leap” into the world of beauty. Who can deny the beauty of an aircraft or a skyscraper?
Laudato Si’ reminds us that nothing in creation is insignificant and that the poor teach us to recognize value where others see waste.
Today I will:
Notice one “scrap” of grace I normally ignore.
Offer thanks for it explicitly.
Share something small—time, attention, patience—without waiting to feel generous first.
If the Kingdom is built from scraps, then no small act is wasted.
6. Song Pairing 🎵
🎶 “Me and You and a Dog Named Boo” – Lobo🎵
Sometimes the Kingdom looks less like a cathedral banquet and more like a roadside simplicity. A woman beneath a table. A crumb of mercy. A journey that doesn’t need much—just enough.
7. Movie Pairing 🎬
🎬Movie:Sounder (1972)
Like the Syrophoenician mother, Sounder reminds us that dignity is not measured by what one is given, but by what one refuses to surrender. Hope survives on scraps—and grows stronger because of them.
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.
