Saturday of the Fifth Week of Lent

The word appears again and again—
as though God were insistent:

“…bring them back to their land.
I will make them one nation upon the land
They shall live on the land
the land where their fathers lived…”

It is not merely territory.
It is belonging,
promise,
identity restored.

And yet, in the Gospel,
the same word trembles with fear:

“…will come and take away both our land…”

What God gives as gift,
man clutches as possession.

What is meant to unite,
becomes the cause of division.

And my story is rooted there
more deeply than I sometimes realize.

My parents helped plant it.
I grew up within it.
I was formed,
fed,
and sent forth from it.

I received sacraments there—
first Communion, confirmation—
moments that marked not just time,
but eternity.

I was married there.
My children were raised there.

And I stood there—
in a parking lot—
when the sanctuary burned.

“We’ve lost the sanctuary,
but the Church is still here.”

Which is a curious thing to say—
unless one understands
that the Church is not the land,
but the people upon it.

And yet, how easily I forget.

How easily I begin to think
that the survival of the Church
depends upon my understanding,
my strategy,
my intervention.

Like the leaders in the Gospel,
I have thought:

“We must act…
or we will lose our land.”

And in acting,
I have sometimes contributed
to the very decline I feared.

There is a strange irony in this—
one that John himself would appreciate.

For the attempt to preserve
what belongs to God
often becomes the means
by which I try to possess it.

But this time,
I sense a different call.

Not to control.
Not to fix.
But to walk.

To walk the way of the Cross
with the Body of Christ
in this land.

To trust that Christ is not absent
from what appears to be decline—
but is present precisely there.

We are given a garden—
and immediately begin building fences.

We are given a Church—
and immediately begin managing it
as though it were ours.

But the land, in Scripture,
is never truly possessed.

It is received.
Lost.
Restored.

Over and over again.

Because the land is not the point.

God is.

The tragedy of the leaders in the Gospel
is not that they feared losing the land
but that they feared it more
than losing the Lord of the land.

And so they secured nothing
and lost everything.

Perhaps the true test of faith
is this:

Can I love the land
without trying to control it?

Can I belong to the Church
without trying to manage Christ?

For the Church does not rest on my efforts—
it rests on Him.

You who walk the land
You have given,

teach me to see it rightly.

Forgive me
for the times I have grasped
what was meant to be received.

Forgive me
for trying to control
what belongs to You.

In this land
in this parish,
in this diocese—

teach me to trust.

To walk with Your Church
even when it suffers.

To believe in Your presence
even when I do not understand.

To follow the Cross
rather than avoid it.

For this land is Yours—
and I am Yours within it.

Amen.

Laudato si’ §8

Land, community, and faith
are all gifts entrusted to us—not possessions to control.

Today, I will live as a steward, not an owner:

Communion is the Diocese of Amarillo’s Centennial pillar for March
  • I will pray for those in authority in the Church, trusting Christ works through them.
  • I will listen before speaking about the future of my parish.
  • I will participate, not as a critic on the outside, but as a member of the Body within.

To walk synodally
is to journey together on the same land
not competing for control,
but seeking communion.

A song that speaks of shared ground and shared belonging—
a reminder that the land is not mine alone,
but given for all.
And in faith, even more so—
it is first His.
A stark reflection on a land that seems to have lost its moral bearings—
yet quietly asks whether the land has changed,
or the hearts within it.
A reminder that renewal begins not in territory,
but in the soul.
Need a clean slate? We’ve got mercy for that. 🙏 In this episode, we unpack Divine Mercy Sunday, the life and mission of Saint Faustina, and why God never stops inviting us back…no matter how far we think we’ve gone. It’s a powerful mix of real stories and practical faith. Whether you’re all in or still figuring things out, this conversation brings clarity, encouragement, and a reminder that grace always has the final word — and that confession isn’t something to fear…it’s a gift. Plot twist: God’s mercy is undefeated. 🏆
Kick off your day with 5 minutes of faith! Revised Standard Version (RSV) translation New Testament: • Luke 6:27-36 • Matthew 18:21 Old Testament: • Proverbs 25:21-22 Catechism of the Catholic Church: • Paragraph 1970 • Paragraph 2263 Takeaways: • Saint Jerome taught that responding to someone’s wrongdoing with kindness can soften their heart, burn away their anger, and lead them to repentance. • When someone annoys you…like cutting you off in traffic…try praying for them instead of reacting in anger. • If people insult or mistreat you because of your faith, stay faithful and hopeful. Jesus promises that your reward in heaven will be great.
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. 😅
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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