The Pharisees came forward and began to argue with Jesus, seeking from him a sign from heaven to test him. He sighed from the depth of his spirit and said, “Why does this generation seek a sign? Amen, I say to you, no sign will be given to this generation.” Then he left them, got into the boat again, and went off to the other shore.
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.”
Almsgiving at least offers us a chance to halt before the poor, to look into their eyes, to touch them and to share something of ourselves with them.
Question to myself (Hope – Centennial Pillar for February):
As I stand beneath hope – the Centennial pillar for February, do I recognize that almsgiving is not merely charity but a sign—a sacred pause that halts my stride, turns my face toward the poor from our “serious mistake“, and opens my heart to encounter—so that hope is no longer abstract but shared, seen, and touched?
I have always been rather fond of signs—road signs, weather signs, election signs, and the most holy of horticultural signs: the yellow blaze of forsythia against the dying gray of winter.
When the forsythia blooms at The Glenn, I hear my father’s voice—Master Gardener and prophet of pruning—declaring, “It is time.” Not time for applause, but for work. Rakes, seed, fertilizer, sweat. The blossom is not the garden; it is merely the sign that the garden must begin.
So when I read that the Pharisees demanded a sign from heaven, I find myself embarrassed for them—because I am much the same. I have asked for signs regarding our Diocese, regarding its Centennial, regarding leadership, regarding matters that stirred my indignation and inflamed my righteousness.
And then, quite unexpectedly, comes the appointment of Daniel Cardinal DiNardo as Apostolic Administrator. A small, dainty yellow blossom against a still-bare ecclesial branch. Not the full green canopy of a new bishop, not the finished garden, but a sign that winter is passing and preparation must begin.
Previously, in my impatience, I thought renewal would arrive like summer—sudden, lush, triumphant. But God prefers forsythia to fireworks. He offers hints before harvests.
I was told my posts were a waste of time—like scattering seeds on frost. But perhaps signs are not given to vindicate our arguments; perhaps they are given to invite our participation. The sign is not proof that I was right. It is proof that God is at work.
The Pharisees wanted a sign to test Jesus. I want a sign to reassure myself. Yet Christ sighs deeply and boards the boat. He does not satisfy curiosity; He summons conversion.
The forsythia does not argue with winter; it simply blooms.
3. Contemplatio – Chestertonian Synthesis
A sign, I begin to see, is not a spectacle but a sacrament. It does not shout, “You have won!” It whispers, “Begin.”
Spring is the Church’s favorite metaphor because it is God’s favorite method. Resurrection never looks like revolution at first. It looks like something small and yellow and absurdly hopeful against a landscape that still appears dead.
The Pharisees missed the sign because they demanded something celestial and theatrical. Meanwhile, the Son of God stood in front of them breathing.
How often have I demanded heavenly lightning when the Lord was offering me horticulture?
The Apostolic Administrator is not a trumpet blast; he is a transitional bloom. Lent approaches. Cleanup season begins. Old branches must be trimmed. Soil must be turned.
If this is a sign, it is not a sign of vindication—it is a sign of responsibility.
Christ gives no sign to skeptics, but He gives seasons to servants.
4. Oratio – Prayer
Lord Jesus, Forgive me for demanding signs that confirm my arguments rather than signs that convert my heart.
When You sigh at my impatience, do not leave me on the shore of cynicism.
Let me read Your signs in humility— the blooming branch, the changing season, the quiet transition.
Prepare me this Lent to labor in hope rather than linger in complaint. Amen.
5. Actio — Action (Laudato Si’ & Synodality)
The effects of imposing this model on reality as a whole, human and social, are seen in the deterioration of the environment, but this is just one sign of a reductionism which affects every aspect of human and social life.
Laudato Si’ reminds us that ecological conversion begins with attentiveness to small signs in creation.
This week I will:
Approach the transition in our Diocese not as a spectator but as a cultivator.
Offer one concrete act of prayer and fasting for Cardinal DiNardo and for our future bishop.
Perform one humble “spring cleaning” of my own heart—confession, apology, or reconciliation—so that renewal begins in soil that is ready.
The sign has appeared. Now the work begins.
6. Song Pairing 🎵
🎶 “Edelweiss” – The Sound of Music🎵
Like the forsythia, the edelweiss blooms quietly and faithfully, not to dominate the mountain but to mark its season. A simple flower can be a sign of endurance—and of gentle renewal.
7. Movie Pairing 🎬
🎬Movie:A Rose in Winter (2018)
Holiness often grows in seasons of apparent barrenness. The rose does not bloom because winter ends; winter ends because the rose has bloomed.
Joshua Correa has returned to the field just in time for Lent, and he has done the most scandalous thing imaginable in an age addicted to abstractions: he has begun with the Incarnation. If you are looking for spiritual arms for the battle, you could do worse than to begin where heaven began—with a humble “yes” in Nazareth. Listen in. Reflect. And let this Lent be less about proving your strength and more about trusting His presence. For the battle is real. But so is Emmanuel.
There is something wonderfully Catholic about meeting an old friend again and discovering he has become something new. The latest episode of CAPN – The WTC: The Podcast does just that. Ruben returns — but now as St. Ann’s Canyon youth director — and though he is young in years, his counsel for Lent is bracingly ancient. Fasting, prayer, sacrifice, intention. No gimmicks. No glitter. Just the sturdy timber of tradition. It is a delightful paradox: the young reminding the old how to walk the old road well. He also speaks plainly about why the CAPN Podcast Network matters for our Diocese — because evangelization today must travel where people are listening. If the Gospel once rode Roman roads, today it rides podcasts. Give it a listen. Whether you are young, seasoned (like me), or somewhere between — you may find Lent calling you deeper than you expected.
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.
