Wednesday in the Octave of Easter

“With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him…”

And before that—

“Were not our hearts burning within us
while he spoke to us on the way
and opened the Scriptures to us?”

It is a curious order:

First, the Scriptures are opened.
Then, the bread is broken.
Then, the eyes are opened.

And all along—
He is already there.

Unrecognized.
Unmistakably present.

A close-up of a vibrant pink peony flower with a partially opened bud, surrounded by green leaves.

It begins as something unimpressive—
a tight, waxy ball,
no larger than a marble.

Nothing about it suggests
what it will become.

And yet, within a matter of days—
with warmth, light,
and a little unseen help—

it bursts open
into something extravagant.

Petals upon petals.
Color upon color.
A kind of unnecessary beauty
that feels entirely necessary.

And I have learned—
perhaps more than I needed to know—
that there is an art
to helping them open.

Warm water.
Proper cutting.
Removing sap.
Providing light.

All these conditions,
all these adjustments,
to coax the bloom into being.

And standing there,
watching these peonies unfold,
I cannot help but wonder:

How much have I complicated
what Christ is trying to do in me?

For He walks with me—
as He did with them on the road.

He speaks.
He explains.
He breaks bread.

And yet, my eyes remain…
selectively closed.

As though I were a bud
insisting on remaining a bud.

Perhaps I am too tightly wound.
Too early cut.
Too shaded from light.

Or perhaps—
and this is more likely—

We do not fail to see Christ
because He is hidden—
but because He is ordinary.

He walks beside us
as a stranger.
He speaks
in words we think we already understand.

And so we miss Him—
not because He is absent,
but because we are closed.

The peony does not argue its way into bloom.
It does not analyze the sun.

It simply responds.

And here lies the paradox:

The more we try to force the opening,
the less it occurs.

But the more we receive
light, warmth, and presence—
the more naturally it happens.

So too with the soul.

Christ does not pry open the heart.
He warms it.
Speaks to it.
Breaks bread before it.

And then—
at the appointed moment—

You who walk beside me
even when I do not recognize You,

open me.

Open my eyes
to see You in the ordinary.

Open my mind
to understand Your Word.

Open my heart
to receive what You are giving.

Remove what binds me—
fear, pride, distraction—
like the sap that holds the petals closed.

Give me light.
Give me warmth.
Give me patience.

And when the moment comes,
let me not resist—
but open fully
to You.

Logo of the Laudato Si' Action Platform, featuring a stylized tree design with a gradient of colors, and the text 'LAUDATO SI' Action Platform' in a modern font.
Logo of Pope Francis' encyclical 'Laudato Si' featuring a globe surrounded by smiling children and green leaves.
Laudato si’ §1

Growth—personal and communal—
requires openness: to God, to others, and to creation.

Today, I will:

Four vertical banners displaying the words 'Faith', 'Hope', 'Communion', and 'Mission' in white text on colorful backgrounds, alongside a sign that reads 'RESERVED FOR THE BISHOP' with a coat of arms symbol.
Communion is the Diocese of Amarillo’s Centennial pillar for April
  • Remain attentive to moments where God may be present in the ordinary.
  • Listen more deeply rather than assuming I already understand.
  • Walk synodally—allowing others to help “open” my perspective.

For communion begins
when the heart opens.

A song about stepping into something new—
a reminder that every open door
requires the courage to walk through it.
A story of a hardened heart slowly being opened
revealing that transformation often comes
not through force,
but through relationship.
I want to share the latest episode of The Introverted Apostle — a podcast that has helped me revisit my own journey and see things in a different light.
This episode features Deacon Tino Frausto and it hits close to home for anyone who has ever thought:
“This isn’t my ministry… or my personality.” 😅
Deacon Tino’s story is a powerful reminder that God doesn’t wait for us to feel ready — He simply invites us to say yes. From wanting to stay behind the scenes to proclaiming the Gospel, his journey shows how grace often begins just outside our comfort zone.
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.
My Story
A man in a suit riding a white horse along a dirt road in an open field.
Photo used by permission of Douglas Kirkland/Corbis via Getty Images
A stone memorial inscribed with a message honoring the victims of clergy sexual abuse, emphasizing the importance of remembering the lost innocence.
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.
Portrait of a bishop in ecclesiastical attire, featuring a red vestment and a gold cross, against a soft blue background.
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.
Gravestone of Father Edward Graff, with his birth date January 30, 1929, death date November 25, 2002, and ordination date May 19, 1955, featuring a cross and floral design.
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.
Sign for Bishop Matthiesen Religious Education Center, established in 2001, in front of a stone building covered in snow.
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.
A smiling bishop wearing a pink ceremonial robe and a cross necklace, posed against a neutral background.

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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