Thursday in the Octave of Easter

“While they were still incredulous for joy…”

A most delightful contradiction.

Not incredulous from doubt—
but incredulous from delight.

So much joy
that belief itself seems almost too small to contain it.

They see Him.
They hear Him.
They touch Him.

And still—
they hesitate.

Not because they do not want to believe,
but because what they are given
is greater than belief has yet learned how to hold.

News update regarding the cancellation of Saturday evening and Sunday Masses in the Diocese of Amarillo on January 22, 2026.

Especially in this Centennial Year
in the Diocese of Amarillo.

For the year did not begin in triumph.

It began, rather, in a way that felt
almost unthinkable:

Masses cancelled.

A silence where there should have been proclamation.
An absence where there should have been Presence.

And I remember thinking—
perhaps even saying—

that this was not merely a logistical failure,
but something deeper.

That one does not cancel liturgy lightly
without entering into a kind of contest
one cannot win.

And yet—
the story did not end there.

For we have come now to Easter—
and what do I find?

A Prince of the Church
seated upon our Cathedra
.

A moment so unexpected,
so improbable,
that it feels almost out of proportion
to what preceded it.

And more than that—
appointments, movements,
signs of stability
where there had been uncertainty.

And I find myself, quite honestly—

incredulous.

Not skeptical.
Not resistant.

But astonished.

As though the Resurrection
has not merely been proclaimed in the Gospel—
but quietly enacted
in the life of the Church before me.

And then I hear the words
of Cardinal DiNardo
echo:

“Let us not allow darkness and fear to distract us…
the Lord is not here, but has risen!”

And I realize—
this is precisely the point.

That resurrection does not remove problems—
it transforms them.

It does not deny darkness—
it illuminates it.

And sometimes,
when that light breaks through
in a place I did not expect—

We are prepared for failure.
We anticipate decline.
We brace ourselves for the worst.

But joy—
true joy—

catches us unprepared.

And so when grace appears—
not in theory,
but in reality—

we hesitate.

We look again.
We question—not out of doubt,
but out of wonder.

For the resurrection is not merely believable—
it is unbelievable
in the best possible sense.

It exceeds expectation.
It overturns probability.
It restores what seemed lost.

And thus, the proper response to Easter
is not a tidy affirmation—

but a kind of holy astonishment.

A willingness to say:

You who bring light
into places I had already written off,

teach me to receive joy.

Not cautiously.
Not skeptically.
But freely.

When You act in ways I did not foresee,
keep me from explaining it away.

When hope rises where I expected decline,
keep me from resisting it.

Give me the grace
to be incredulous

not in doubt,
but in wonder.

For You are always doing more
than I imagine.

And often—
in the very places
I had given up.

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’ §19

Christian hope is not naive optimism,
but a gift that enables us to see beyond present difficulties.

Today, I will:

  • Acknowledge one place where I have seen unexpected grace.
  • Speak hope into a situation that feels uncertain.
  • Walk synodally—trusting that God is at work in the Church even through difficulty.

For communion grows
when we recognize grace together.

A song that captures the sense of something larger than ourselves breaking through—
a reminder that some realities are not just believable,
but beautifully unbelievable.
A story of perseverance through difficulty—
revealing that joy is not the absence of struggle,
but the fruit that can emerge from it.
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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