“I have not come to call the righteous to repentance but sinners.”
Our Lord has a peculiar habit of attending the wrong dinner parties. He dines with accountants of empire and drinkers of doubtful repute. He seems quite unbothered by proximity to imperfection. In fact, He appears to prefer it.
The Pharisees object to the guest list. Christ objects to their diagnosis.
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.”
A Church that sets no limits to love, that knows no enemies to fight but only men and women to love, is the Church that the world needs today.
As I reflect on hope — the Centennial pillar for February, do I truly believe that hope is found not in winning battles but in widening mercy, especially to those who suffer from our “serious mistake“— and will I live as one of the forgiven sinners who helps build a Church that sets no limits to love, seeing no enemies to fight but only men and women to love?
Levi leaves everything behind — not because he has become righteous, but because he has been recognized.
There is something terribly consoling in that.
I find myself wondering whether I am among the sinners at table or among the critics at the door.
Recently, I have reflected on my use of artificial intelligence in writing these Lectio Divinas. There are warnings — wise ones — about allowing tools to dull imagination or replace responsibility. There is a legitimate fear that convenience may become concealment.
The danger is not the tool itself. The danger is becoming less human while using it.
If I were to let any machine speak for me entirely, hide my own wrestling, outsource my own repentance — then I would indeed risk becoming separated from grace. I would not be a sinner in the noble Gospel sense (the kind who rise and follow), but a sinner in the dull modern sense — one who avoids himself.
Yet I remember my pre-AI days.
My words were sharper then — sometimes too sharp. I ended up removed from ministries I cherished. My zeal outran my charity. I was convinced I was defending righteousness, and in doing so I wounded communion.
Now, using a tool carefully, I have found something paradoxical: it has sometimes forced me to slow down, to revise, to reconsider tone, to examine my own sins before broadcasting others’.
That fruit cannot be ignored.
The question is not whether sinners use tools. The question is whether sinners allow themselves to be healed.
If this instrument helps me see my own pride more clearly and repent more sincerely, then perhaps it is not a crutch but a mirror. But if it ever silences my own wrestling or replaces my own conscience, then it becomes a mask.
The Divine Physician does not forbid instruments. He forbids self-deception.
And I must admit: I am far more comfortable diagnosing others than examining myself.
That, I suspect, is why He sits at Levi’s table instead of mine.
3. Contemplatio — Chestertonian Synthesis
The most astonishing claim in the Gospel is not that sinners exist, but that God prefers them.
Christ does not say, “I tolerate sinners.” He says He has come for them. The Church is not a museum of the righteous but a hospital for the infected.
And here lies the paradox: the only way to be cured is to admit illness.
The Pharisee believes he protects holiness by separation. Christ protects holiness by presence.
Perhaps the real question is not whether I use tools, speak boldly, or write daily reflections. The question is whether I am willing to be known as a sinner — not in public scandal, but in private humility.
If I can say, without theatrical shame and without defensive pride, “I am the sick man,” then I am finally seated at the right table.
Seat me where You sit. Not at the door judging, but at the table repenting.
Protect me from pride disguised as zeal. Protect me from silence disguised as prudence.
Let every tool I use make me more human, more humble, more attentive to my own sin.
Call me not because I am worthy, but because I am willing.
Amen.
5. Actio — In Light of Laudato Si’ and Synodality
The violence present in our hearts, wounded by sin, is also reflected in the symptoms of sickness evident in the soil, in the water, in the air and in all forms of life.
Laudato Si’ reminds us that everything is connected — including our technology, our speech, and our souls.
Today I will:
Ensure my reflection begins with my own meditation before any editing tool.
Seek reconciliation where my past zeal wounded communion.
Speak less about the failures of others and more about my own need for mercy.
Synodality is not unanimity. It is walking together as sinners under treatment.
6. Song Pairing 🎵
🎶 “Doctor My Eyes” — Jackson Browne🎵
Heal my vision, Lord — not so I may see others’ faults more clearly, but so I may see my own blindness.
7. Movie Pairing 🎬
🎬Movie:Sinners (2025)
Every story of sin is really a story about the possibility of return. The drama is not in falling — it is in being found.
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. 🌱
I’m sharing the latest episode of The Introverted Apostle, featuring guest Father Taylor Elzner, and this one struck me deeply. Father Taylor brings not just psychology, but theology to the conversation—looking at introversion through the lens of grace. He speaks about how God doesn’t merely tolerate our temperament; He sanctifies it. That insight alone reframes so much of my own journey. In particular, his reflections helped me understand why I guard my daily morning time of Lectio Divina so fiercely. What I once thought was simply preference may in fact be vocation—a way grace cooperates with silence, reflection, and interiority to bear fruit. If you’ve ever wondered why you are wired the way you are—or how your temperament fits into the life of the Church—this episode is well worth your time.
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.
