I prayed this morning, as I do every morning. God did not mention that men in robes would be lecturing us on the budget.
What finally convinced me to stop going was not the lecturing. It was the silence.
More than half a trillion pesos was allocated for flood-control projects, and serious allegations have emerged that many of these projects either existed only on paper or failed to deliver what they promised while communities continued to flood. Government officials themselves have spoken of enormous economic losses and the possibility of criminal charges arising from these expenditures. From the same voices that lecture the rest of us on right and wrong, there was not a word.
The silence brought back a memory.
I used to go to Mass every Sunday, and I can tell you exactly when the doubt began. A man in robes stood at the altar and began talking about the national budget. Not the Gospel—the budget. He spoke about which departments deserved funding, what he considered proper utilization of public money, and how confidential funds had supposedly been spent. Around me, people nodded in agreement. I could not.
I hold a doctorate in fiscal management. I have prepared budgets, defended expenditures, monitored projects, and answered Commission on Audit findings. I have received notices of disallowance, responded to auditors, and closed those issues properly. I know how government spending works because I have lived it.
The man at the altar was speaking about something he had never done. Ordination made him a priest; it did not make him an accountant, an auditor, or a budget officer. Budget utilization is not a sermon. It is procurement law, documentation, and accountability. It is receipts, bidding rules, and explanations demanded line by line by auditors.
Yet there he stood, speaking with absolute certainty, as though God Himself had approved his interpretation of public finance.
Over the years, I noticed something else. In many churches and public statements, the same political messages seemed to be repeated with remarkable consistency. Certain public officials were portrayed as villains while others received understanding, prayers, and blessings. Even more troubling, some of the people now facing allegations of wrongdoing were welcomed to the front, prayed over, and publicly blessed.
The issue was never disagreement. It was consistency. A church that speaks loudly about one issue but whispers about another inevitably invites questions about whether it is applying the same moral standards to everyone.
“The faith never failed me. The men in robes did.”
I have watched priests bless candidates during election season and then quietly move on when those candidates lost. I was there. I saw it happen. It left me with the uncomfortable feeling that faith was being used not to bring people closer to God but to move them toward a preferred political outcome.
That is what emptied the seat I once kept every Sunday.
It was not God who did it, and it was not the faith I was raised in. The millions of Filipinos who kneel and pray for an honest and better country did nothing wrong. Neither did the many quiet priests who bury the dead, comfort the grieving, feed the hungry, and never seek a microphone or a television camera.
I still count priests and pastors among my friends, and none has ever imposed politics on my faith.
The problem, at least for me, was with those who turned the altar into a political stage. I went to Mass to stand before God and instead often felt that I was being handed a political statement wrapped in incense.
So I stopped going.
People hear that and assume I lost my faith. I did not.
I remain a man of faith. I grew up praying to the Lord, and I believe that whatever blessings I have received in life came from His grace and favor. I still pray several times a day and still speak to Him. But He never once told me to learn budget and fiscal management from a man in robes.
What I lost was not my faith. What I lost was my trust in those who claim to speak for God while borrowing His authority to advance politics and bless their friends.
The faith never failed me. The men in robes did.
And this morning, as on every morning, God still did not mention that men in robes would be lecturing us on the budget.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and are intended to encourage public discussion on governance and national issues. They do not represent any official position of the institutions the author may be affiliated with.
About the Author
Paul Y. Chua, PhD, holds doctoral degrees in Fiscal Management and Peace and Security, and a master’s degree in National Security Administration. He has completed executive programs in several countries, specializing in transport, migration, urban planning, and public policy, with emphasis on governance, innovation, and integrity.
