Growing up Catholic, you learn a simple picture: the priest is the shepherd, and the shepherd’s job is to keep the wolves from the flock. Watching some of them this year, I no longer recognize the picture. I am angry, and I am ashamed to say so about men I was taught to call Father.
Ahead of a Senate trial that had not yet heard a single witness, one Manila-area monsignor told the House prosecution team they would carry the voice of God into that courtroom. Say that sentence slowly. A man in a collar decided, before a single document was examined, which side heaven had already chosen. That is not moral guidance. That is a man playing God’s spokesman for a case he has not read past the headlines.
Because that is the deeper scandal here. Has this monsignor actually read the confidential-fund liquidation reports? Has he traced the forged signatures the NBI flagged, or the unverifiable names in the disbursement records? He has not. None of them have. They lack the forensic skill, the legal training, and the access to make that judgment—yet they are willing to stake God’s name on a verdict they cannot actually evaluate. That is not faith. That is presumption dressed in vestments.
So I ask plainly: what is the real motivation here? Moral conviction, or proximity to power? The Church has every right to fight corruption. But corruption did not arrive with this administration alone. Where was this same fire when a flood-control scheme worth billions of pesos, tied to a different set of politicians, barely earned a homily? Sin does not change its nature depending on whose name is on the account. Selective outrage is not prophecy. It is hypocrisy wearing a Roman collar.
This is not new, and the Church has disciplined its own for it before. Canon law bars clergy from active political partisanship unless leadership judges it necessary for the common good—a narrow exception, not a blank check. Nearly two decades ago, a Church canon-law official invoked that same provision, and priests who ran for office were actually suspended from their duties. The rule has teeth. It has bitten before.
This time, the silence is total. No bishop, no priest, no canon lawyer has stood up and said the same standard applies now. Scripture warns of false prophets who come wearing the right clothes while serving other masters. I am not accusing any specific man of that title. I am asking why the warning suddenly feels relevant.
If I wanted to file a complaint, where exactly would I send it? Normally, to the priest’s own bishop. But the national bishops’ conference has already issued statements backing one side of this trial. The body meant to judge the complaint is the body that would be the subject of it. The only route left with any independence runs through the Apostolic Nuncio in Manila, who might forward it to Rome—eventually, quietly, with no guarantee anything follows.
Politicians know exactly what a priest’s blessing is worth. It buys legitimacy nothing else can buy. That is precisely why the Church is supposed to guard it so carefully—because political allies today are enemies tomorrow, and long after this trial ends, the Church still has to stand in that same pulpit, trusted by everyone it once stood beside.
As a Catholic, I am offended by what I have watched this year. I have stopped attending Mass. Not because I have lost my faith. Because I no longer trust that the man behind the altar is speaking for God and not for a senator he had breakfast with that morning.
I do not want the men in robes silent. I want them to fight corruption everywhere, consistently, without exception, without a scoreboard of which sinners are politically convenient to condemn. I want them to remain shepherds, not partisans in vestments. Even shepherds can be tempted by the devil. Scripture never said a collar makes a man immune to sin—it only raises what he is accountable for.
Kung ang pastol mismo ang tatalikod sa kawan, sino pa ang aasahan ng nawawala?
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.
Paul Y. Chua, PhD, holds doctoral degrees in Fiscal Management and Peace and Security, and a master’s degree in National Security Administration. He writes on Philippine governance, national security, transportation, and public policy. Full profile at pychua.com.
