Lectio — Obliged

“We have done what we were obliged to do.” — Luke 17:10

On this Memorial of Saint Leo the Great, Pope and Doctor of the Church, I hear Jesus asking whether I serve because I love my Master or because I expect Him to congratulate me. The wise servant does not mistake faithfulness for a favor bestowed upon God. He simply does what he is obliged to do.

Meditatio — The Quiet Duty of a Guardian

Yesterday I left my Lectio Divina obliged to wait for sunrise before discovering what the night’s fierce chorus of coyotes and livestock guardian dogs had meant for The Glenn. In my imagination, the darkness had already composed a tragedy. I expected the morning to show me the damage.

Instead, I encountered something wonderfully anticlimactic. The sheep were behaving like sheep, the dogs like dogs, and all of them stopped their ordinary business to stare at me as though asking, “What’s up with you? You usually don’t come out here at this time!”

My guardians had no speeches to deliver, no victory to announce, and certainly no expectation of a medal. Their working heritage reaches back thousands of years into the beginnings of pastoral agriculture. Shaped by selection, migration, predators, and the patient partnership between humans and animals, livestock guardian dogs have been valued for their capacity to protect rather than merely to please. The night had apparently demanded their vigilance. The morning demanded nothing more remarkable than returning to their ordinary duties.

They had done what they were obliged to do.

And I? I have spent years struggling to learn the same lesson.

When I first raised concerns about the Bishop Matthiesen Religious Education Center in the Diocese of Amarillo, I imagined that pointing out what I regarded as a scandal would be received with gratitude. Perhaps someone would pat me on the back and thank me for speaking. Instead, I experienced exclusion from ministry and what felt like rejection by the very Church I was trying to serve.

Somewhere along the way, my obligation to speak according to conscience became entangled with my desire to vindicate myself. I began wanting not only a response to the concern, but proof that I had been right all along. My bitterness became a second burden, one that no bishop could remove simply by agreeing with me.

On this memorial I turn to Pope Saint Leo the Great. He defended the faith amid doctrinal controversy and political danger, yet his example calls me beyond the mere satisfaction of prevailing in an argument. His courage was ordered toward the Church’s unity and the truth of Christ.

Now white-headed myself, I hear Saint Paul’s instruction that older men should be temperate, dignified, self-controlled, and sound in faith, love, and endurance. Age does not automatically confer wisdom. Sometimes it merely gives foolishness more years in which to become stubborn.

The psalm tells me to trust in the Lord and do good, that I may dwell in the land and be fed in security. Here at The Glenn, I know something of what security means. My sheep rest because their guardians remain faithful. Can I likewise rest in the providence of God, even when the Church does not respond as I wish?

Jesus promises that whoever loves Him will keep His word, and that He and the Father will make their dwelling with that person. What a remarkable exchange: I am obliged to keep His word, yet He offers not applause but His very presence.

Laudato Si’ reminds me that the Church, society, and the state are obliged to defend and promote the common good. That obligation does not disappear because I have become bitter, nor does it give me permission to let bitterness govern how I fulfill it.

Perhaps the wisest thing I can learn from my livestock guardian dogs is that fidelity does not require an audience. I am obliged to do good, not to be congratulated for doing it.

Oratio — Prayer with Saint Leo the Great

Lord Jesus Christ, Good Shepherd of Your Church, through the intercession of Pope Saint Leo the Great, teach me the difference between defending Your truth and defending my pride.

Saint Leo, courageous shepherd and Doctor of the Church, pray that I may possess your steadfastness without confusing steadfastness with stubbornness, your courage without cultivating resentment, and your devotion to unity without surrendering conscience.

Forgive me for the occasions when I have wanted recognition more than reconciliation, vindication more than conversion, and victory more than charity.

As my guardian dogs keep watch over the flock through the darkness, help me remain watchful over the flock of my own thoughts. When bitterness approaches like a predator, give me the wisdom to recognize it before it enters.

Make me temperate, dignified, self-controlled, sound in faith, love, and endurance. Let me do what I am obliged to do, and leave the judgment of my faithfulness to You. Amen.

Contemplatio — Justice Begins Before the Reward

In paragraph 162 of Magnifica humanitas, I encounter a principle that reaches far beyond economics: justice cannot be an afterthought. It must enter every stage of human activity, because every choice has moral consequences.

The reflection speaks of just laws, redistribution, and the responsibility to protect those with fewer resources. It challenges the notion that wealth may first be accumulated without sufficient regard for justice and only afterward be distributed fairly.

At The Glenn, I recognize a similar truth. I cannot neglect the conditions that make my sheep vulnerable and then imagine that purchasing another guardian dog will automatically correct the injustice of my management. Wise stewardship begins with the design of the paddock, the placement of the fence, and the conditions under which the animals live.

So too with my relationship to the Church. If I seek justice only at the end of an argument, after I have already allowed resentment to govern my words, I have failed to place justice at the beginning of my work.

Justice must inform how I raise a concern, how I describe those with whom I disagree, how I listen to their response, and how I conduct myself when no response comes at all.

There is a Chestertonian paradox here: the servant who demands payment for every good deed may eventually discover that he has sold the very freedom that made the deed good. The guardian who watches only for applause has already abandoned the sheep.

Saint Leo’s example and the Church’s social teaching oblige me to defend human dignity throughout the process, including the dignity of those whose decisions I question. I cannot repair one perceived injustice by introducing another into my own heart.

Wisdom is not simply knowing what justice requires. It is allowing justice to shape the manner in which I pursue it.

Actio — Synodality Without Applause

Today I will practice synodality not as a strategy for winning a dispute, but as a discipline of listening, discernment, and walking together.

I have withdrawn my request for written confirmation of my ministry status and suspended my dialogue concerning the Bishop Matthiesen Religious Education Center until a more appropriate time. That decision does not oblige me to abandon conscience. It invites me to examine how conscience can be exercised with patience, humility, and charity.

I will pray for Cardinal DiNardo, for the Diocese of Amarillo, for its priests and faithful, and for those with whom I have disagreed. I will resist the temptation to turn every silence into an accusation or every disagreement into a contest.

When the time for dialogue returns, I want to approach it with a willingness not only to speak but to hear, not only to question but to be questioned, and not only to seek institutional accountability but to accept personal accountability.

Meanwhile, I will tend the sheep, check the electric netting, care for the dogs, and practice the ordinary works of mercy. Synodality begins wherever I am obliged to recognize another creature or person as worthy of care.

I need not wait for an invitation to practice charity. Nor must I demand applause for doing what I am obliged to do.

Song Pairing — “Jugband Blues” by Pink Floyd

I pair today’s reflection with “Jugband Blues” by Pink Floyd, a song that carries a haunting sense of estrangement, disorientation, and uncertainty about one’s place among others.

Its uneasy irony reminds me of my own experience of feeling separated from a community to which I still believe I belong. I hear in its bewilderment a warning against allowing alienation to become my identity.

Unlike the song’s unresolved disquiet, today’s Gospel invites me toward a different conclusion. I need not establish my worth through recognition by others. My calling is to remain faithful to Christ, even when I feel misunderstood.

Movie Pairing — The Remains of the Day (1993)

In The Remains of the Day, I encounter a man who has made duty the organizing principle of his existence. Stevens, the butler, understands service with extraordinary precision, yet his devotion to duty raises troubling questions about moral judgment, loyalty, and the cost of suppressing personal truth.

I recognize something of myself in him. I have sometimes confused loyalty to the Church with loyalty to particular people, and at other times confused opposition to particular decisions with fidelity to Christ.

The film reminds me that being obliged to serve does not relieve me of the obligation to discern whether my service is truly good. Wise obedience is not blind obedience, and a clear conscience must remain open to correction.

Like Stevens, I must consider what remains of my days. I would rather spend them learning to love wisely than rehearsing all the occasions when I believe I was wronged.

Poetic Reflection — What I Am Obliged to Do

The coyotes cried against the night,
The guardians answered, strong and wise;
And when the dawn restored the light,
No triumph shone within their eyes.

The sheep returned to grass and dew,
The dogs resumed their silent care;
No praise was sought for what they knew,
No crown was needed for their prayer.

Yet I, who claim to guard the right,
Have counted wounds and treasured blame;
And sometimes in my zeal to fight,
Have sought my own instead of His name.

Saint Leo, teach my heart to see
That truth and charity are one;
The wise are not from duty free,
But rest when faithful work is done.

So let me guard, and let me trust,
Let pride surrender what it must;
For love is proved not when I win,
But when Christ's peace takes root within.