Tuesday of the Fifth Week of Lent

1. Lectio

The people of Israel grow weary in the desert:

“We do not belong here.”

They long for Egypt—
for what was familiar,
even if it was slavery.

And Christ, in the Gospel, draws a line so sharp it startles:

“You belong to what is below,
I belong to what is above.”

It is not merely a statement of geography,
but of identity.

For to belong
is not simply to occupy a place,
but to be shaped by a source.

2. Meditatio

This morning, I find myself wondering
if I belong out here in The Glenn.

For years, I was quite certain that I did not.

I knew what it took to live this life—
the work, the constancy, the stubbornness of land and livestock.

I had seen it growing up.
Chickens, milk cows, pigs, gardens—
a life that shaped my parents
and brushed up against me.

I belonged then, in a boyish sort of way.

But adulthood had other ideas.

College, marriage, family—
I became, quite comfortably, a city man.

And I assumed that was where I belonged.

Then came my father’s question—
simple, direct, and impossible to answer lightly:

“Do you want to live out here?”

I said yes, though I was not certain.
Or perhaps I was certain—and said yes anyway.

After he died, I thought the question had died with him.

But it had not.

Circumstances—
and my mother’s failing health—
drew Kim and me back.

And what was meant to be temporary
began to take root.

Slowly, almost without permission,
a life formed.

Different from my father’s—
less garden, more livestock—
but still undeniably ours.

And now, I can say something I never expected:

I belong here.

And yet—this week has unsettled that certainty.

Mistakes with the Livestock Guardian Dogs.
Missteps that make me question
whether I truly know what I am doing.

And beneath the practical concern
lurks a deeper doubt:

Do I really belong here after all?

But this morning, the Gospel interrupts my anxiety.

For Christ does not say,
“Belong to the right place.”

He says,
“Belong to what is above.”

And I begin to suspect
that perhaps The Glenn
is not the answer to where I belong—

but the classroom
in which I learn it.

3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)

Chesterton might say that modern man is forever asking where he belongs,
while quietly forgetting to ask to whom he belongs.

We imagine belonging as a matter of comfort—
the right place,
the right fit,
the right circumstances.

But the Israelites longed for Egypt—
not because it was good,
but because it was familiar.

And familiarity is a poor substitute for truth.

Christ, with divine boldness, declares that belonging
is not determined by environment,
but by origin.

“You belong to what is below…
I belong to what is above.”

The great joke, Chesterton might say,
is that we spend our lives trying to find a place that fits us,
when in fact we were made to fit Heaven.

And so every place on earth—
city or countryside,
Amarillo or The Glenn—
becomes either a distraction
or a preparation.

The question is not:

“Do I belong here?”

But:

“Am I learning to belong to Him?”

4. Oratio

5. Actio — In Light of Laudato Si’ and Synodality

The climate is a common good, belonging to all and meant for all. 

Laudato si’ §23

we are not isolated individuals,
but part of an interconnected creation,
called to live in relationship—with God, with others, and with the land.

Today, I will live belonging as communion:

• I will care for the land and animals entrusted to me, not as possessions, but as relationships.
• I will seek guidance rather than retreat into self-doubt.
• I will walk synodally—recognizing that I do not learn to belong alone.

For belonging is not achieved in isolation,
but discovered in communion.

6. Song Pairing 🎵

🎶 “You Belong With Me” – Taylor Swift🎵

7. Movie Pairing 🎬

🎬Movie: “Belong” (2017)

My Story

• 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 Yanta, who sought to enforce the Dallas Charter even when Bishop Matthiesen resisted him, and who bore the personal and pastoral cost of doing so. I met with Bishop Yanta about Bishop Matthiessen’s “no regrets” stance. He listened. He believed me. He acted where he could. And when he retired, he urged me—quietly but firmly—to keep speaking out.
• 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.
• Bishop Daniel Cardinal DiNardo…

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