“He will separate them one from another, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.”
It is an alarming image — not because of the drama, but because of its simplicity. No complicated theological entrance exam. No written test on orthodoxy. Just hunger, thirst, welcome, clothing, visitation.
The final judgment turns not on brilliance, but on bread.
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.”
Our faces and voices are unique, distinctive features of every person; they reveal a person’s own unrepeatable identity and are the defining elements of every encounter with others. The ancients understood this well. To define the human person, the ancient Greeks used the word “face” (prósōpon), because it expresses etymologically what is before one’s gaze, the place of presence and relationship. The Latin term “person” (from per-sonare), on the other hand, evokes the idea of sound: not just any sound, but the unmistakable sound of someone’s voice.
As I reflect on hope — the Centennial pillar for February, when I am tempted to disappear into the anonymity of the crowd or to judge from a distance, do I remember that each member of the flock — every sheep — has a unique face and an unmistakable voice, and that true Christian hope is found not in faceless masses but in recognizing Christ present in the unrepeatable person who suffers from our “serious mistake” standing before my gaze?
2. Meditatio
Here at The Glenn we raise Barbados Blackbellysheep — sleek, hardy, hair sheep, often mistaken for goats. My Uncle Wayne insists on calling them “goat sheep.” I protest. They are not goats.
We chose them because they are low-maintenance, excellent foragers, resistant to parasites, tolerant of heat, and reproductively efficient. But most importantly — they are not goats.
Goats are clever. Independent. Curious. Fence-testers. Escape artists. They do not much care for flocking. Sheep, by contrast, prefer togetherness. Separate one, and it becomes agitated. The flock is its safety.
I must confess: I admire goats.
There is something bracing about independence. Something heroic about defiance. The goat in me wants to test the fence, to prove I can navigate alone. I bristle at correction. I butt heads. (The metaphor grows uncomfortably literal.)
And when I clash with authority, with my bishop, with the structures of the Church, I am tempted to consider myself courageously caprine rather than obediently ovine.
But Christ does not sort by personality preference.
He sorts by charity.
The sheep are not praised for docility alone, nor condemned for curiosity. They are separated according to mercy.
The goats are not damned for intelligence, but for indifference.
The frightening part of Matthew 25 is not that Christ distinguishes; it is that the righteous are unaware they have done anything remarkable. They simply remained near enough to the flock that they encountered Christ in the least.
The goat in me wants distinction. The sheep in me desires communion.
Perhaps the deeper truth is this: hell is not reserved for the spirited. It is reserved for the isolated.
3. Contemplatio — Chestertonian Synthesis
There is something profoundly paradoxical about sheep. They are not individually impressive animals. No sheep has ever led a revolution. No sheep has ever composed a symphony. And yet Christ chooses to identify Himself with them.
The Gospel is not a manifesto for rugged individualism; it is an invitation into communion. The “least of these” are not abstract social categories. They are fellow members of the flock.
The Crosier — that crooked staff — is not a weapon but a retrieval tool.
And perhaps the true humiliation is not to be corrected, but to wander so far that correction no longer reaches.
The Judgment is not theatrical; it is agricultural.
And the question is not, “Was I impressive?” It is, “Did I love?”
4. Oratio – Prayer
Good Shepherd,
Rescue me from my charming independence. Tame the goat in me that delights in distance.
When I butt heads, bend me back toward the flock.
Let my life be marked not by clever rebellion, but by quiet mercy.
Make me a sheep — not timid, but trusting; not passive, but present; not isolated, but gathered.
Amen.
5. Actio — In Light of Laudato Si’ and Synodality
The sheer novelty involved in the emergence of a personal being within a material universe presupposes a direct action of God and a particular call to life and to relationship on the part of a “Thou” who addresses himself to another “thou”.
Strength without communion becomes isolation. The Gospel’s verdict is not about toughness, but tenderness.
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.
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.
