1. Lectio

“Christ became obedient…
even to death on a cross.”

And in John’s Gospel,
there is a striking detail:

“Carrying the cross himself…”

Not dragged.
Not forced.
Not overtaken by events.

He carries it.

Which suggests something almost too bold to believe:

That the cross is not merely something done to Him—
but something He does.

2. Meditatio

I must admit—
this Friday does not feel particularly good.

After last night’s Holy Thursday liturgy,
I came home and did not pray.

I ate.
More than I should have.

I watched a familiar movie—
not because it nourished me,
but because it distracted me.

And this morning,
I did not rise eagerly.

I lingered.
Avoided.
Delayed.

And now, as I sit here,
the cross does not appear to me
as something noble or inviting.

It appears heavy.

Unwelcome.

And, if I am honest—
avoidable.

My mind is not quiet.
It is crowded.

Some thoughts reach toward Christ.
Others pull away.
Some whisper faith.
Others mock it.

And I am left in a kind of interior noise
that feels very far
from devotion.

Which is precisely where the Gospel meets me.

For Christ does not wait
until everything is serene
to carry the cross.

He carries it
into chaos,
into betrayal,
into the full weight of human contradiction.

And suddenly, I realize:

The problem is not
that I do not feel like carrying the cross.

The problem is that I thought
I had to feel ready first.

3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)

Chesterton might say that the modern man wishes to admire the cross
without actually carrying it.

We prefer it polished,
symbolic,
hung neatly in the background of our lives.

But the real cross is not decorative.

It interrupts.
It burdens.
It demands.

And yet, here lies the divine paradox:

The cross is not given to the perfect—
it is given to the present.

Not to those who feel holy,
but to those who are human.

As Fr. Patton observes,
the Way of the Cross is not for those living in abstract piety,
but for those willing to incarnate faith
in the mess of real life.

Which means—quite inconveniently—
that my distracted, noisy, imperfect morning
is not an obstacle to the cross.

It is the very place
where I meet it.

For Christ does not ask me
to carry the cross beautifully.

Only faithfully.

4. Oratio

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

One Person of the Trinity entered into the created cosmos, throwing in his lot with it, even to the cross.

Laudato si’ §99

Faith is lived not in abstraction,
but in concrete acts of love, especially in difficult circumstances.

Today, I will:

• Accept one small inconvenience without complaint.
• Enter into one moment of silence, even if it feels restless.
• Walk with others in their burdens, not trying to fix them, but to accompany them.

For communion is not formed
by avoiding the cross,
but by carrying it together.

6. Song Pairing 🎵

🎶 “Hallelujah” – Leonard Cohen🎵

7. Movie Pairing 🎬

🎬Movie: “The Passion of the Christ” (2004)

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

1. Lectio

Jesus knows.

He knows the hour.
He knows the betrayal.
He knows the Cross.

And knowing all this—
He does not conquer,
He does not condemn,
He does not withdraw.

He kneels.

He takes water.
He takes feet—dusty, tired, unworthy feet—
and He washes them.

“Do you realize what I have done for you?”

Which is, perhaps, the most dangerous question
ever asked by God.

2. Meditatio

I remember a year when the world seemed to be unraveling.

War.
Assassinations.
Riots.
A nation divided against itself.

And I, a boy of ten,
had just come out to The Glenn—
thinking, perhaps, that the land itself
could shield me from the chaos beyond it.

But even then,
the world had a way of finding its way in.

And yet—
in the midst of that year,
something happened.

Apollo 8.

Three men orbiting the moon
read the opening words of Genesis.

“In the beginning…”

And somehow—
that moment washed the year.

Not by solving it.
Not by erasing it.

But by reminding us
that there is a beginning beyond our endings.

And now, I find myself in another year
that feels… familiar.

Different names.
Different conflicts.
But the same unrest.

The same anxious awareness
that something is not quite right.

And I find myself asking:

What will wash this year?

Will it be another mission?
Another moment?
Another effort of man?

But Holy Thursday interrupts me.

For Christ does not wash the world
from above—
but from below.

He does not orbit the chaos—
He kneels within it.

And He does not wash the year—
He washes feet.

Which is a far more demanding thing.

For I would much prefer
a grand gesture
that restores everything at once.

But Christ offers something smaller,
stranger,
and infinitely more personal:

“Wash one another.”

3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)

Chesterton might say that man is always looking for a way
to clean the world in bulk.

We dream of revolutions,
movements,
great sweeping changes.

We would wash the ocean
if we could.

But Christ, in His divine absurdity,
takes a basin
and begins with a single pair of feet.

The joke, of course,
is that this is how the world is actually changed.

Not by escaping it,
not by rising above it,
but by stooping into it.

Apollo 8 looked down at the earth
and reminded us it was one.

Christ looked up at His disciples
from the ground
and made them one.

The difference is not in the vision—
but in the method.

For the Kingdom of God
does not arrive by spectacle,
but by service.

4. Oratio

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

…replace consumption with sacrifice, greed with generosity, wastefulness with a spirit of sharing, an asceticism which “entails learning to give, and not simply to give up.

Laudato si’ §9

A new world is built not by abstraction,
but by concrete acts of fraternity and care.

Today, I will:

• Perform one humble act of service that goes unnoticed.
• Choose relationship over argument.
• Walk synodally—recognizing that the Church moves forward not by force, but by accompaniment.

For communion is not declared—
it is washed into existence.

6. Song Pairing 🎵

🎶 “Moonshadow” – Cat Stevens🎵

7. Movie Pairing 🎬

🎬Movie: “Apollo 13” (1995)

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

1. Lectio

Judas goes to the chief priests—
not with confusion,
but with calculation:

“What are you willing to give me…?”

And later, at table,
a strange chorus begins:

“Surely it is not I, Lord?”

Each disciple asks it—
with varying degrees of sincerity,
no doubt.

And Judas asks it too—
with chilling precision:

“Surely it is not I, Rabbi?”

And Christ answers him
with a sentence so simple
it almost hides its severity:

“You have said so.”

2. Meditatio

Surely is a curious word.

It sounds like certainty—
but often hides avoidance.

It allows me to say something confidently
without actually examining it too closely.

“Surely, that cannot be me.”
“Surely, I would never…”
“Surely, I am on the right side of things.”

And today—
of all days—
I am tempted to use it freely.

For it is Holy Wednesday—
a day that invites me
to consider betrayal.

But it is also April 1st—
a day that invites me
to consider jokes.

And I suspect I will unconsciously choose the latter.

It is far easier to laugh
than to look.

Far easier to assume
than to examine.

“Surely, I am not the one.”

Surely, I have not betrayed.
Surely, I have not been greedy.
Surely, I have not been disloyal
to the Body of Christ
in the great matters of our time.

War.
Immigration.
Creation itself.

Surely, I stand in the clear.

And yet—
Christ does not argue with Judas.

He does not correct him.
He does not expose him publicly.

He simply returns the words:

“You have said so.”

Which is, perhaps,
the most unsettling response of all.

For it leaves the judgment
not in Christ’s accusation—
but in my own honesty.

It is as though Christ Himself whispers:

“If you are so sure…
why must you say it?”

And suddenly,
“surely” no longer sounds like certainty.

It sounds like a question
I am afraid to answer.

3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)

Chesterton might say that modern man has achieved a remarkable feat:
he has become absolutely certain about everything
except himself.

We doubt tradition,
question authority,
analyze systems—

but rarely interrogate
our own motives.

We say, “Surely,”
as though conviction were proof.

But Judas, too,
was quite sure.

Sure enough to speak.
Sure enough to act.
Sure enough to betray.

The great paradox is this:

The more certain I am of my innocence,
the more necessary it is
to examine it.

For holiness does not begin
with certainty—
but with humility.

And perhaps the only safe use of the word “surely”
is this:

“Surely, Lord,
I need Your mercy.”

4. Oratio

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

Exposure to atmospheric pollutants produces a broad spectrum of health hazards, especially for the poor, and causes millions of premature deaths.

Laudato si’ §20

Conversion begins with listening—
not only to others, but to the truth within my own life.

Today, I will:

• Replace assumption with examination.
• Listen to perspectives I would normally dismiss.
• Walk synodally—recognizing that I am part of the problem before I can be part of the solution.

For communion grows
not from being “surely right,”
but from being humbly open.

6. Song Pairing 🎵

🎶 “Surely” – Carole King🎵

7. Movie Pairing 🎬

🎬Movie: “Airplane!” (1980)

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

1. Lectio

“It is the one to whom I hand the morsel…”

A small thing—
a piece of bread,
dipped,
given.

And yet,
after the morsel,
everything changes.

“After he took the morsel,
Satan entered him.”

Which is a rather terrifying thought—
that something so small
could become the hinge of eternity.

And even more unsettling:

that the hand which gives the morsel
is the hand of Christ Himself.

2. Meditatio

Today, I have been handed a morsel.

Not of bread alone,
but of circumstance.

I had planned—quite comfortably—
to attend the 7:00 a.m. Mass at St. Mary’s Cathedral.

Routine is a pleasant thing.
It allows one to feel faithful
without too much disturbance.

But yesterday, the schedule changed.

The Holy Tuesday Mass—gone.
The Chrism Mass—needed to be accommodated.

And the posted schedule—
removed, torn, discarded.

It felt, I must admit,
like a small betrayal.

And I was handed the morsel.

Not by accident—
but quite deliberately, it seemed.

And I did what Judas did,
though in a quieter, more respectable way:

I received it…
and resentment entered.

Not dramatic.
Not obvious.

Just enough to sour the soul.

A whisper of complaint.
A subtle accusation:

“They are making this about themselves.”

Which, I must confess,
was a rather ironic charge
given how thoroughly I was making it about myself.

And then—
another morsel.

This one unexpected.

A fellow daily Mass attendee
mentioned that St. Thomas had moved their evening Mass
to the morning.

A way—quiet, unannounced—
to ensure that those who desired
to be fed
could be fed.

And suddenly, I was given a choice.

Not between Masses—
but between responses.

Between the morsel that breeds resentment
and the morsel that invites gratitude.

And I am grateful—profoundly—
that I received the second morsel
before it was night.

3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)

Chesterton might say that the world is not undone by great evils alone,
but by small choices made at the wrong moments.

A morsel is a small thing.

Bread.
Schedule changes.
A passing comment.

And yet, these are the very places
where the drama unfolds.

For the soul is rarely lost in grand gestures—
it is lost in small permissions.

Judas does not begin with betrayal.
He begins with a morsel.

And the Christian life, likewise,
is not built in heroic leaps,
but in humble receptions.

The curious thing is this:

Christ gives the morsel either way.

The same hand offers it.

The difference lies not in the gift,
but in the reception.

For one man receives and hardens.
Another receives and softens.

And the whole of salvation history
may turn on such a thing.

4. Oratio

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

More than fifty years ago, with the world teetering on the brink of nuclear crisis, Pope Saint John XXIII wrote an Encyclical which not only rejected war but offered a proposal for peace.

Laudato si’ §3

Communion is built not in grand agreements,
but in daily choices to walk together, even through inconvenience.

Today, I will:

• Receive disruptions not as obstacles, but as invitations.
• Choose gratitude over quiet complaint.
• Walk synodally—recognizing that the Church’s life is larger than my preferences.

For communion is often formed
in the small morsels
we choose to receive with grace.

6. Song Pairing 🎵

🎶 “Give Me Jesus” – Traditional🎵

7. Movie Pairing 🎬

🎬Movie: “Soul” (2020)

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

1. Lectio

Judas speaks with what appears to be moral clarity:

“Why was this oil not sold… and given to the poor?”

It is a reasonable question—
and a dishonest one.

For the Gospel unmasks him:

“He said this not because he cared…
but because he was a thief.”

And in the shadows,
the chief priests begin their own calculations—
not of devotion,
but of preservation.

Here, in a single scene,
are two kinds of betrayal:

One from within the circle of disciples.
One from within the structure of authority.

And Christ,
receiving the costly perfume,
remains unmoved by both.

2. Meditatio

I must confess that I, too,
have played Judas.

Not in silver, perhaps—
but in something subtler.

And if I follow the thread of my betrayals,
it often leads me to one word:

priests.

There is a peculiar temptation
to become a disciple of a priest
rather than a disciple of Christ.

To attach oneself—
not to the Body,
but to a personality within it.

And once attached,
to begin imagining
that I belong to an inner circle.

It is a flattering illusion.

One that slowly turns faith
into something else entirely.

For I begin to measure myself
not by my closeness to Christ,
but by my proximity to the priest.

And from there,
it is but a short and predictable fall:

A sense of superiority.
A quiet detachment from the rest of the Church.
A subtle belief
that I see more clearly than others.

What begins as devotion
becomes possession.

And then—
when the priest falters,
or changes,
or simply turns his attention elsewhere—

I find myself asking:

“Why?”

But not, if I am honest,
because I care about the Church.

Rather, because something
I had taken for myself
is being taken away.

It is not zeal.
It is theft.

And suddenly, Judas’ question
no longer feels distant.

3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)

Chesterton might say that the danger is not that we love priests too much,
but that we love them wrongly.

We mistake the sign
for the thing signified.

The priest points to Christ—
and we, being human,
begin pointing to the priest.

It is a curious inversion.

For the priest is most himself
when he is least the center.

And the faithful are most faithful
when they do not cling to the instrument,
but to the One who uses it.

The tragedy of Judas
is not merely that he betrayed Christ—

but that he remained close enough
to mistake familiarity for fidelity.

And the tragedy of the chief priests
is not merely their authority—

but their use of it
without surrender.

Thus, both betray—
in different ways—
the same truth:

That all priesthood,
like all discipleship,
exists only
to lead beyond itself.

4. Oratio

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

“…from a reflection on the primary source of all things, filled with even more abundant piety,…call creatures, no matter how small, by the name of ‘brother’ or ‘sister’”.[20] Such a conviction cannot be written off as naive romanticism, for it affects the choices which determine our behaviour.

Laudato si’ §11

The Church is a people journeying together—
not a collection of personalities to be elevated or defended.

Today, I will:

• Pray for priests—not as extensions of myself, but as servants of Christ.
• Resist forming exclusive attachments that divide rather than unite.
• Walk synodally—recognizing that all of us, clergy and laity alike, are called to conversion.

For communion is not built
around individuals,
but around Christ.

6. Song Pairing 🎵

🎶 “Going My Way” – Bing Crosby🎵

7. Movie Pairing 🎬

🎬Movie: “Father Stu” (2022)

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

1. Lectio

“When he entered Jerusalem,
the whole city was shaken.”

Not stirred.
Not mildly intrigued.

Shaken—
as by an earthquake beneath the ordinary.

And later, in the shadow of betrayal,
Christ says something even more unsettling:

“This night all of you will have your faith in me shaken.”

Peter, with admirable confidence and predictable error, replies:

“Mine will never be.”

And by morning,
his certainty has crumbled
at the sound of a rooster.

2. Meditatio

There have been moments in my life
when the ground did not merely tremble—
it gave way.

I have been shaken.

Shaken by scandal,
by betrayal cloaked in vestments.

Shaken by words that refused repentance,
even when repentance was the only thing left to say.

Shaken by the death of my son—
Daniel—
a husband, a father,
taken at thirty-four,
leaving behind a silence
that still echoes.

Shaken, too,
by decisions within the Church
that seem less like shepherding
and more like hesitation.

Moments that made me wonder—
not quietly, but loudly—
whether it would be easier
to walk away.

To deny not Christ Himself,
but Christ as found in His Church.

And yet—
somewhere in the noise of that shaking,
I heard it.

A sound so small
it could be missed:

the cock crowing.

Not a condemnation—
but a summons.

A reminder
that faith is not proven
by never being shaken—

but by what I do
when I am.

And I find myself, strangely,
grateful.

For the shaking did not destroy my faith.

It exposed it.
And, by grace,
resurrected it.

3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)

Chesterton might say that the problem is not that the world is shaken,
but that we expect it not to be.

We build our faith on the illusion of stability—
as though God were most present
when nothing moves.

But Scripture suggests the opposite.

Cities shake.
Temples shake.
Hearts shake.

Even the earth itself trembles
at the death of God.

The great paradox is this:

What is shaken
reveals what cannot be shaken.

Peter’s confidence collapses—
but his love remains.

The Church falters—
but Christ endures.

And faith, like a house tested by storm,
is not proven by calm weather,
but by surviving the storm.

Perhaps the shaking is not the end of faith—
but its beginning.

4. Oratio

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

It follows that “the deterioration of nature is closely connected to the culture which shapes human coexistence”.[11]

Laudato si’ §6

Crises—personal and communal—
are not obstacles to communion,
but invitations into deeper solidarity.

Today, I will:

• Remain present to the Church even when I am troubled by it.
• Listen with humility to others who have been shaken in their faith.
• Walk synodally—recognizing that we journey together, not as the unshaken, but as the sustained.

For communion is not the absence of crisis—
but the decision to remain together through it.

6. Song Pairing 🎵

🎶 “I’m All Shook Up” – Elvis Presley🎵

7. Movie Pairing 🎬

🎬Movie: “Dante’s Peak” (1997)

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

1. Lectio

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.

2. Meditatio

I dwell in a particular land—
the Diocese of Amarillo,
the parish of St. Mary’s Cathedral.

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.

And heard the words that still echo:

“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.

3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)

Chesterton might say that man has an odd habit
of confusing stewardship with ownership.

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.

And He has survived worse
than my mistakes.

4. Oratio

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

“For human beings… to destroy the biological diversity of God’s creation; for human beings to degrade the integrity of the earth by causing changes in its climate, by stripping the earth of its natural forests or destroying its wetlands; for human beings to contaminate the earth’s waters, its land, its air, and its life – these are sins”.[15]

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:

• 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.

6. Song Pairing 🎵

🎶 “This Land is Your Land” – Woody Guthrie🎵

7. Movie Pairing 🎬

🎬Movie: “The Great Escape” (1963)

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

1. Lectio

Jeremiah stands surrounded—
not merely by enemies,
but by misunderstanding,
by hostility,
by a world that would rather silence truth than hear it.

And yet he says, with curious confidence:

“‘But the LORD is with me, like a mighty champion…'”

The Psalm echoes the same defiant hope:

In my distress I called upon the Lord, and he heard my voice.

And the Gospel shows us something even stranger—

Christ Himself,
confronted,
threatened,
nearly stoned—

speaks truth,
and then
escaped.

Not because He is weak,
but because His hour had not yet come.

He passed through their midst,
untouched.

2. Meditatio

For me, the Daily Mass is how I’ve escaped.

Not the cowardly sort—
though I have sometimes suspected it might be—

but the necessary sort.

The world has a way of pressing in,
of crowding the soul
with noise,
with grief,
with questions that do not wait for answers.

And there was a time
when that pressure became almost unbearable.

When my son Daniel—
a young husband, a father of three—
was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

A sentence, really.
One that would be carried out
far too quickly.

I remember the priest stopping me before Mass,
asking gently if there was anything he could do.

And I answered, perhaps more bluntly than expected:

“Just keep feeding me the Eucharist.”

At the time, it seemed obvious.

What else could be done?

And yet, I later learned
that my answer had unsettled him.

He wondered if I saw him merely
as a dispenser—
a kind of sacred machine
from which I received what I wanted
at my convenience.

Perhaps he was right.

But he was also wrong.

For I had not escaped from reality—
I had escaped into it.

The Mass did not remove my suffering.
It anchored it.

It did not erase the grief.
It gave it somewhere to stand.

And now, less than a year later,
with a different priest
and more opportunities for daily Mass,
I still go.

I’ve escaped.

Or rather—
entered.

3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)

Chesterton might say that the modern man prides himself on facing reality,
while quietly inventing a thousand ways to avoid it.

We call distraction “rest.”
We call indulgence “relief.”
We call escape “freedom.”

But most of our escapes
lead us further away from truth.

Christ’s escape is of a different kind.

He does not flee into illusion—
He moves with purpose.

He escaped not because He feared death,
but because He knew it was time.

And so the Christian paradox emerges:

The only true escape from the world
is not to run from it,
but to enter more deeply into God.

The Eucharist, then, is not a retreat from life—
it is the only place
where life is properly understood.

And so I must ask:

Have I escaped from the world—
or escaped into Christ?

For one leads to forgetfulness.
The other leads to truth.

4. Oratio

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

 Isolated individuals can lose their ability and freedom to escape the utilitarian mindset, and end up prey to an unethical consumerism bereft of social or ecological awareness.

Laudato si’ §219

We are not meant to escape the world’s suffering,
but to encounter it together—with compassion, responsibility, and hope.

Today, I will:

• Resist the urge to withdraw into isolation.
• Accompany someone in their suffering, even if I cannot fix it.
• Recognize that communion is not an escape from others, but a movement toward them.

For the Church is not an escape route—
it is a meeting place.

6. Song Pairing 🎵

🎶 “Kokomo” – The Beach Boys🎵

7. Movie Pairing 🎬

🎬Movie: “The Great Escape” (1963)

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

1. Lectio

God makes a covenant with Abraham—
not a contract of equals,
but a promise of presence:

“…to be your God…”

The Psalm reminds me that God remembers—
even when I forget.

“Not once, not occasionally—
but forever.”

And then comes the warning:

If today you hear his voice,
harden not your hearts.

For the voice will come—
but the question is whether I am listening
or merely speaking to myself.

And in the Gospel, Christ confronts the deepest illusion:

“Who do you make yourself out to be?”

And answers with divine simplicity:

“If I glorify myself, my glory is worth nothing.“

2. Meditatio

Recently, I heard someone say, quite calmly,

“I don’t think of myself as being religious.”

And I must admit—
I cringed.

For I immediately thought of myself:

Daily Mass.
The Liturgy of the Hours.
The Rosary.
Lectio Divina.

If these are not the marks of a religious man,
then what, I wondered, could possibly qualify?

My instinctive response rose up,
almost with comic force:

“Of course I am religious.”

But then came the quieter voice—
far less flattering,
and far more truthful:

“Why?”

Why do I do these things?

Is it, perhaps, to make something of myself?
To build a certain image?
To reassure myself
that I am, indeed, a man of faith?

For if so, then Christ’s words strike with uncomfortable precision:

“If I glorify myself,
my glory is worth nothing.”

Which is a devastating thought—
that one could spend a lifetime doing holy things
for unholy reasons.

And yet, the same voice offers a strange liberation:

If I do these things not to glorify myself,
but to know Him—
to be known by Him—
to belong to Him—

then perhaps I need not call myself religious at all.

Perhaps I may simply say:

“I am trying, however imperfectly,
to love.”

3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)

Chesterton might say that the greatest confusion of the modern man
is not that he thinks too little of himself—
but that he thinks of himself too often.

We are forever making something out of ourselves—
an identity,
a reputation,
a story.

Even our virtues become props
in the theater of self-importance.

But Christ does something extraordinary:

He refuses to glorify Himself.

Which is, paradoxically,
why He is glorious.

For the man who seeks to make something of himself
ends with very little—
while the man who forgets himself
finds that God remembers him entirely.

The covenant is not built on what I make of myself,
but on what God makes of me.

And that is a far more reliable arrangement.

4. Oratio

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

Paying attention to this manifestation, we learn to see ourselves in relation to all other creatures: “I express myself in expressing the world; in my effort to decipher the sacredness of the world, I explore my own”.[59]

Laudato si’ §85

authentic human flourishing is not self-centered,
but rooted in relationship—with God, with others, and with creation.

Today, I will step outside of myself:

• I will listen more than I speak.
• I will serve without announcing it.
• I will recognize Christ in others rather than reflecting on my own virtue.

To walk synodally
is to walk together—
not as individuals performing for one another,
but as persons accompanying one another.

For communion begins
when I stop making much of myself
and start making room for others.

6. Song Pairing 🎵

🎶 “All by Myself” – Eric Carmen🎵

7. Movie Pairing 🎬

🎬Movie: “Me, Myself and Irene” (2000)

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

1. Lectio

Ahaz wishes to get things done—
but he prefers the machinery of Assyria
to the mystery of God.

The Psalm corrects him gently, but firmly:

“Sacrifice or offering you wished not,
but ears open to obedience.”

And then comes the great reversal:

“A body you prepared for me.”

God does not merely command—
He enters.

And finally, in Nazareth,
a young woman speaks the most dangerous word in history:

“May it be done to me according to your word.”

She does not say,
“May it be done once I understand.”
Or,
“May it be done once I am prepared.”

Simply—done.

2. Meditatio

My father had a saying:

“Anything worth doing is worth doing right.”

Which, in practice, meant
I often did very little.

For I would wait—
wait until I had gathered enough confidence,
enough preparation,
enough inner certainty
to justify beginning.

And so many things remained…
undone.

Or worse,
done poorly at the last possible moment.

Then, somewhere along the way,
I encountered a far more liberating heresy:

“Anything worth doing is worth doing badly.”

It sounded almost sinful—
until I tried it.

And suddenly, things began to happen.

Not perfectly.
Not impressively.
But truly.

I began to act
before I was ready.
To pray
without waiting for the perfect mood.
To begin
without the perfect plan.

And something curious occurred:

What was once undone
became done—
and, in time,
done better.

I begin to suspect
that my greatest obstacle
is not weakness,
but hesitation.

3. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)

Chesterton might say that the modern man is perpetually preparing to live,
while the saints are busy living.

We imagine that holiness requires
the perfect conditions,
the perfect clarity,
the perfect offering.

But God, in His infinite humor,
chooses a different method:

He waits for a yes.

Not a polished yes.
Not a fully informed yes.

Just a yes.

Mary’s greatness is not that she understood everything—
but that she allowed something to be done.

And once that is done,
everything changes.

For Christianity is not the story of man
getting things done for God—

but of God
getting things done in man.

4. Oratio

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

It needs to be said that, generally speaking, there is little in the way of clear awareness of problems which especially affect the excluded…Indeed, when all is said and done, they frequently remain at the bottom of the pile.

Laudato si’ §49

Transformation begins not with grand gestures,
but with small, faithful acts of responsibility.

Today, I will choose obedience over perfection:

• I will do one thing I have been delaying—simply and imperfectly.
• I will listen to others rather than waiting to have the “right” answer.
• I will walk synodally—trusting that God works through the imperfect steps of a community.

For communion is not built
by waiting until everything is perfect,
but by allowing something good
to be done.

6. Song Pairing 🎵

🎶 “Done” – Chris Janson (2019)🎵

7. Movie Pairing 🎬

🎬Movie: “Are We Done Yet?” (2007)

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