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.”
The challenge, therefore, is not technological, but anthropological. Safeguarding faces and voices ultimately means safeguarding ourselves. Embracing the opportunities offered by digital technology and artificial intelligence with courage, determination and discernment does not mean turning a blind eye to critical issues, complexities and risks.
As I reflect on hope — the Centennial pillar for February, when I grow angry at change or at those guiding it, do I remember that the real challenge is not technological but anthropological — that safeguarding the human face and voice begins with safeguarding my own heart, choosing discernment over indignation, and communion over reaction in regards to our “serious mistake“?
Not always dramatically angry. Not always shouting. Sometimes I have been quite polite about it. But anger has been my private companion, my invisible walking stick, my favorite lens through which to interpret the world.
As a teenager, my anger was directed at my father. Fathers, after all, have the irritating habit of being both right and immovable. Later, it migrated—to teachers, to priests, to authority figures who did not consult me before exercising their authority.
And for a decade, it found a comfortable residence in my relationship with Bishop Zurek. Now that he has retired, I discover that anger is like a renter who never intended to leave. It has simply moved down the street and taken up residence with Bishop Daniel.
The man has been here scarcely two weeks, and already I am tempted to hold him accountable for the pace of my preferred reforms. I behave as though his apostolic mission were tailored to my personal grievances. Even if he were to respond exactly as I wish regarding the Tribute to Bishop Matthiesen, I suspect I would soon discover another injustice in need of my indignation.
There is something almost comforting about being angry. It gives one the illusion of righteousness. It feels like moral energy. It tastes like courage. But Christ says something appalling: anger itself stands in the dock.
Not merely murder. Not merely public scandal. But the interior tightening of the jaw. The whispered “Raqa.” The internal monologue that declares, “You fool.”
I have rarely killed anyone. I have, however, assassinated many in my imagination.
And here is the true humiliation: Christ does not permit me to bring my offering to the altar while I nurse this resentment. He does not say, “Offer your gift and then, if convenient, consider reconciliation.” He says: Leave it there. Go. Be reconciled.
The altar can wait. Pride cannot.
My anger has often disguised itself as zeal for truth, as defense of orthodoxy, as passion for justice. But if my righteousness does not surpass that of the scribes and Pharisees, then I am merely performing a morality play in which I always cast myself as the hero.
Perhaps the more frightening thought is this: if my current grievance were resolved, I might feel strangely empty. Who would I be without my outrage? Who would I become if I surrendered my right to be perpetually aggrieved?
3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)
The paradox of anger is that it pretends to defend life while quietly strangling it.
Christ does not abolish the law; He intensifies it. He moves it from the courtroom to the heart. The Pharisee asks, “Have I killed?” Christ asks, “Have you loved?”
Anger is a peculiar form of self-importance. It assumes that I sit at the center of the universe, injured by its failures. It forgets that I, too, am a failure forgiven.
To be reconciled is not to surrender truth; it is to surrender the intoxication of being right.
If I truly believe that Christ governs His Church, then my anger at its imperfections must give way to patience. If I truly believe that the Spirit works through flawed bishops and flawed laymen alike, then my role is not prosecutor but penitent.
There is something magnificently absurd about clinging to anger while praying, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive…”
Christ offers me a way out of prison before the sentence is passed. The prison is not a diocesan policy or a tribute plaque. The prison is my refusal to release the last penny of resentment.
Righteousness that surpasses the Pharisees is not louder condemnation. It is quieter humility.
4. Oratio
Lord Jesus, You who forbid even anger, have mercy on my restless heart.
I confess that I have preferred indignation to intimacy, argument to reconciliation, being right to being reconciled.
Teach me to leave my gift at the altar and to seek my brother first.
Remove from me the pleasure of resentment and replace it with the courage of charity.
Let me receive this Lent without bitterness. Let me hear the shepherd’s voice without bristling at the staff.
Create in me a clean heart, O God, and free me from the prison of my own anger.
Amen.
5. Actio — In Light of Laudato Si’ and Synodality
In some coastal areas the disappearance of ecosystems sustained by mangrove swamps is a source of serious concern.
Inspired by Laudato Si’, which reminds us that “everything is connected,” I will examine how my anger fractures communion. This week I will refrain from one public expression of irritation and instead initiate one act of listening—especially toward someone whose decisions I have criticized.
Synodality begins not with winning, but with walking together without clenched fists.
6. Song Pairing 🎵
🎶 “Fooling Yourself (The Angry Young Man)” – Styx🎵
Fifty years later, the question still echoes: “Why must you be such an angry young man?” Perhaps the answer lies not in the world’s failures—but in my unwillingness to forgive.
7. Movie Pairing 🎬
🎬Movie:“Marty Supreme” (2025)
Great champions are not those who defeat every opponent, but those who conquer the temper that would make them tyrants. The fiercest battles are interior.
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. 🌱
On behalf of many of the faithful in the Diocese of Amarillo, I wish to extend to you a heartfelt welcome as our Apostolic Administrator. Please know of my prayers for you as you shepherd us during this significant moment in our diocesan history.
As we continue celebrating our Centennial year, we give thanks for the many blessings God has bestowed upon this local Church over the past one hundred years. At the same time, anniversaries naturally invite both gratitude and honest reflection.
It is in that spirit of reflection — and in the spirit of synodality so frequently emphasized in the life of the Church today — that I respectfully ask whether there might be an opportunity for renewed dialogue regarding the Tribute to Bishop Matthiesen and what former Bishop Zurek referred to as the “serious mistake” that brought about its existence.
My desire is not to reopen wounds or foster division, but rather to seek clarity, healing, and communion. I believe many of us long to celebrate our Centennial with consciences fully at peace, confident that we have honestly acknowledged our history while entrusting it to the mercy of Christ.
Synodality, as I understand it, calls us to walk together — clergy and laity alike — in truth and charity. If there is a path forward that allows for thoughtful listening, careful discernment, and pastoral guidance on this matter, I would be deeply grateful.
Thank you for your willingness to serve us during this transitional season. Please be assured of my continued prayers for your ministry and for the unity of our diocesan family.
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.
