Monday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Gospel (John 8:1–11)

They bring her forward with a kind of terrible triumph:

“…a woman 
who had been caught in adultery… ”

Caught
as though sin were only real
when it is seen.

They stand her in the center,
not to restore her,
but to expose her.

And Christ stoops.

He writes in the dust—
as if to remind them that all accusations
are written on something that can be blown away.

“Let the one among you who is without sin 
be the first to throw a stone at her.”

And suddenly, those who came to catch
are themselves caught.

Not by Christ’s anger—
but by His truth.

And one by one, they leave.

Until only two remain:

the one who was caught,
and the One who catches without condemning.

In outlining these reflections, I thank all those who are working towards the goals delineated above, and I cordially bless all those who work for the common good through the media.

Conclusion

Gluttony, for instance, is far more agreeable
when it is conducted in private.

At table with others, I behave—
almost saintly, one might say.

But alone…
I become remarkably efficient.

Between rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher,
I discover I can consume quite a theology of leftovers.

There is something about solitude
that persuades me I am unseen—
as though secrecy were a kind of innocence.

Even in a car,
or in front of a screen,
I can convince myself
this is not gluttony.

It is merely… convenience.

And yet, the evidence is not subtle.
I carry it with me.

My body bears witness
to what I refuse to let others see.

Which leads me to a curious realization:

I do not mind the consequences of sin
nearly as much as I mind being caught in the act.

But there is One who always sees.

And unlike the crowd,
He does not drag me into the center.

He waits.

He waits until I am alone with Him—
and then He speaks.

“Neither do I condemn you.
Go, and from now on do not sin any more.”

Which is infinitely more difficult to ignore
than condemnation would be.

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A rare photo of me being caught eating.

We build spectacles out of failure—
as though exposure were redemption.

But Christ does something altogether stranger.

He does not deny the sin.
He does not excuse it.

But neither does He define the person by the moment they were caught.

The mob believes the worst thing that can happen to a man
is to be found out.

Christ suggests the worst thing
is to remain unchanged.

To be caught, then,
is not the tragedy.

To be caught and yet refuse mercy—
that is the catastrophe.

For in the end,
we are all caught.

You see me—
not only when I am at my best,
but precisely when I am most hidden.

I confess that I prefer darkness
to disguise my weakness.

I fear being caught
more than I fear being changed.

But You do not expose me to shame—
You invite me to freedom.

Give me the courage
to stand before You without pretense.

When I am tempted to hide,
call me forth.

When I am caught in sin,
do not let me escape Your mercy.

And having received it,
grant me the strength
to sin no more.

Laudato si’ §203

True human dignity is upheld not through exposure or judgment,
but through accompaniment, mercy, and responsibility for one another.

Today, I will resist the urge to “catch” others in their faults.

Instead:

  • I will create space for honesty rather than shame.
  • I will acknowledge my own weaknesses before pointing out another’s.
  • I will walk synodally—recognizing that we are all in need of mercy, not spectacle.

For communion is not built
by catching one another,
but by carrying one another.

A lighthearted ode to indulgence—
and a reminder of how easily pleasure can become excuse.
The danger is not the cheeseburger—
but the story I tell myself while eating it.
A tale of deception and pursuit—
revealing that the deeper longing is not merely to avoid being caught,
but to be known and brought home.
For even the best disguises
cannot satisfy the heart.
If starting a conversation at church feels like a leap of faith…you’re not alone. 🙏 You know the moment — you lock eyes with someone after church, and suddenly you’re spiritually obligated to say something. 👀 Panic sets in, and now you’re deeply invested in the nearest exit sign. “What do I say?” “Is this weird?” “Do I abort mission?” 😬 This week on The Introverted Apostle, we’re diving into the art of starting conversations without overthinking yourself into silence…moving past the awkward and into authentic connection, one small, brave step at a time. And yes…we’re laughing our way through it, because let’s be honest — we’ve all been there. 😅
Just listened to the latest episode of Spiritual Arms: Five Minutes for the Battle.
Christianity begins with a wonderful paradox: the people most ready to approach God are the ones most aware they need mercy. Like the leper who simply said, “Lord, if you will, you can make me clean.”
Josh reminds us that Jesus went to the Cross precisely for moments like that. In Confession, we bring Him our wounds, receive mercy, and then go back into the world carrying the love we did not deserve but were freely given.
Five minutes very well spent.
Move over, celebrity sightings…this is a Sacred Heart sighting! ❤️ Duane and Theresa are popping up in parishes everywhere, helping families put Christ at the heart of their homes and spreading devotion that’s anything but half-hearted. But wherever they go, they’re on fire for the Sacred Heart of Jesus. 🔥 In this episode, Duane and Theresa talk First Fridays, 12 powerful promises, and why enthroning your home might be the best “heart upgrade” you’ll ever make. Warning: Sacred Heart enthusiasm may be contagious. ❤️🔥
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.
A tribute to Bishop Matthiesen—now a complex symbol in our diocesan history, erected by former priest John Salazar, whose later abuse conviction reminds us how painful chapters of the Church’s past must be faced honestly as we seek healing and communion.

While we recognize your thoughtful suggestion for a renewed dialogue on Bishop Matthiesen, the present circumstances do not present an opportunity for it. I think it would foster division not dialogue. We remain confident in God’s providence and hopeful for what the future may bring.

from a letter dated March 5, 2026

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