“If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.”
It is an overlooked word in the sentence, and therefore the heaviest.
Christ does not say, “Take up your cross heroically,” nor “Take up your cross once in a blaze of glory.” He says, daily.
The cross is not an event. It is a habit.
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.”
Remaining in the realm of ideas and theories, while failing to give them expression through frequent and practical acts of charity, will eventually cause even our most cherished hopes and aspirations to weaken and fade away. For this very reason, we Christians must not abandon almsgiving.
As I reflect on hope — the Centennial pillar for February, do I allow my hope to remain safely in ideas and theories, or will I let it take flesh in daily acts of charity for the poor from our “serious mistake” — so that my aspirations do not quietly fade, but are strengthened each day by concrete almsgiving and mercy?
The line of trees my parents planted along the south and west sides of our house at The Glenn shields us from the fiercest winds. They are faithful sentinels, standing between us and the storm.
And yet I have discovered that I sometimes use other “trees” — economic systems, legal frameworks, even religious liberty — as shelter not from wind but from responsibility.
I tell myself I am defending faith when I may in fact be defending comfort. I claim liberty when I may be avoiding sacrifice.
The danger is not that I will suffer too much; it is that I will build windbreaks against the very demands meant to sanctify me.
When I hear talk of speculation and financial gain overriding human dignity and environmental care, I nod gravely — but then retreat to my own insulated existence. I lament global injustice while benefiting from it. I speak of religious freedom as though it were a fortress wall, forgetting that the Gospel is not a bunker but a road.
And perhaps whatever is fragile in me — humility, empathy, conversion — is defenseless before my own deified comfort.
The word daily removes all grand illusions. It strips martyrdom of spectacle and replaces it with repetition.
The cross is not primarily the one that kills me once. It is the one that contradicts me every morning.
3. Contemplatio — Chestertonian Synthesis
There is something profoundly comic — and profoundly holy — about daily heroism.
We imagine the saints as men who died once magnificently. But most of them died a thousand times quietly: forgiving daily, serving daily, repenting daily, loving daily.
The paradox of Christianity is that the most extraordinary life is built out of ordinary obediences.
The cross is not an interruption of life; it is its pattern.
To take up my cross daily means that my discipleship is not proven by one dramatic act but by how I treat my neighbor on an inconvenient afternoon, how I speak when irritated, how I purchase, how I vote, how I consume, how I pray — repeatedly.
And perhaps the most subversive thing Christ ever did was insert that one word into the command. He took martyrdom off the pedestal and placed it on the calendar.
4. Oratio – Prayer
Lord Jesus,
Save me from heroic fantasies and teach me daily faithfulness.
Expose the shelters I build to avoid Your wind.
Let me not hide behind liberty while neglecting love.
Give me courage not only for crises, but for Thursdays.
Teach me to carry the cross before breakfast, before opinion, before comfort.
Amen.
5. Actio — In Light of Laudato Si’ and Synodality
Some forms of pollution are part of people’s daily experience.
The Gospel is not about occasional inspiration but daily incarnation. The cross is not seasonal — it is scheduled.
7. Movie Pairing 🎬
🎬Movie:Groundhog Day (1993)
Holiness is not escaping repetition — it is being transformed by it. The same day, lived rightly, becomes salvation.
Introvert + Apostle = Christian paradox unlocked. 🔓 Father Taylor Elzner explains how silence fuels mission, why labels aren’t boxes, and how to stop “communion to escape” and start living grace outward. Grace doesn’t delete your introversion — it perfects it! Introverts aren’t anti-social — we just need better WiFi with Heaven before mingling. This episode is introverted…but we make sure it is apostolic. 🌱
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.
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.
