KUPANG (MALAYSIA)
Herald Malaysia [Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia]
April 6, 2026
By Ryan Dagur
Social media priests attract many while sidestepping abuse, poverty and injustice
It is an increasingly familiar sight on Indonesian social media: Catholic priests in cassocks or wearing crosses looking confidently into the camera and beginning to speak.
They talk about the truth of the Catholic faith, arguments against atheism, Church law on marriage and the Virgin Mary — in short, why these teachings are valid, even superior to others.
Some, like Father Patris Allegro of the Archdiocese of Kupang, who has more than 90,000 Facebook followers, focus heavily on differences between Catholicism and Protestantism. His remarks often question Protestant teachings, sparking backlash from Protestant groups.
The content is meticulously produced, packaged in a smooth narrative, uploaded regularly and enthusiastically received by thousands of followers hungry for spiritual guidance — some with rigid, even fanatical, views. These followers are also quick to attack comments that question or criticize the priests’ narratives.
There is nothing inherently wrong with this — until we ask: Where are these same voices when Catholics are trafficked, when Indigenous land is seized, when children drop out of parish schools because of poverty, or when clerical sexual abuse scandals emerge?
As far as I have observed, rarely — if ever — do they speak on these issues.
What these priests are doing falls under apologetics — the defense and explanation of the faith — a noble intellectual tradition that has spanned centuries of Church history.
Great thinkers such as St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas are among the Church’s most influential apologists, and their work continues to be studied today. But they also grappled seriously with the pressing issues of their time, not just safe theological questions.
What we are seeing on social media is something different: apologetics as an escape — a way to appear relevant, intellectual, and righteous without taking risks.
Defending doctrine rarely costs a priest his office, a bishop’s reprimand, or the hostility of donors — some of whom, through their business interests, may be involved in practices that harm ordinary people, including Catholics.
It is a different matter to speak about corruption within church institutions, injustice in the management of diocesan assets, the tendency of some in the hierarchy to align with wealthy elites, or sexual abuse by fellow clergy.
In other words, many priests active on social media are engaged in image management, not prophetic ministry.
The expectation that they speak on social issues does not arise in a vacuum. It comes from within the Church itself, which has a long and radical tradition of social teaching that emphasizes justice, human dignity, concern for the poor, and care for the environment.
Documents such as Rerum Novarum, Gaudium et Spes, and Laudato Si’ are not merely theological texts; they are clear statements of the Church’s commitment to compassion and justice.
Pope Francis repeatedly warned that a Church preoccupied with itself is a sick Church. He called instead for a “bruised” Church — one that is dirty from being out in the streets rather than clean from staying within its walls. He also urged clergy to be “shepherds with the smell of the sheep,” close to the daily realities of their flock.
In his first address after his election, Pope Leo XIV likewise called for “a synodal Church, a walking Church … close, especially to those who suffer.”
The question, then, is how many of these viral priests have produced content about human trafficking that is tearing apart Catholic families in East Nusa Tenggara — a region often described as a trafficking emergency zone? How many have spoken about migrant workers who return home each year in coffins after dying unprotected on palm oil plantations in Malaysia?
How many speak out when land belonging to Indigenous communities — often their own parishioners — is seized in the name of investment?
In some cases, the Church itself is implicated. In the Diocese of Maumere in Flores, a diocesan company cleared the homes and crops of Indigenous people from disputed land. In Papua, Archbishop Petrus Canisius Mandagi of Merauke has supported a state-backed food project that involves the seizure of Indigenous land.
Yet such issues are rarely addressed.
The Church’s social teaching is taught from minor seminary onward, but it is apparently easier to teach in the classroom than to live out on camera.
Even more troubling is the silence of many of these social media priests on one of the Church’s most serious crises: sexual abuse.
Once widely seen as a problem confined to Europe and the United States — where it was first exposed by the media — the issue is now increasingly discussed in Indonesia. Yet many cases never reach the courts, as internal mechanisms often prioritize protecting the institution’s reputation over justice for victims.
One high-profile case last year involved a priest and lecturer at the Catholic University of St. Paul in Ruteng, Flores. He was dismissed within a day, but remains free because the victim is afraid to file a police report.
Again, there is little response.
Such silence sends a message: that confronting abuse is not a shared responsibility of the faithful.
Where is the critical examination of clericalism — the culture that protects perpetrators and silences victims? Why do those who eloquently explain sin and repentance fall silent when the sin is committed by fellow clergy?
Silence in these circumstances is not wisdom. It is a choice — one that sides with the institution, not the victim.
Of course, not all priests follow this path. Indonesia’s Church history includes figures who rejected comfortable clericalism — priests who lived among the poor, wrote open letters to corrupt officials, joined protests against injustice, and accompanied victims of violence, despite facing pressure from their own hierarchy.
Such priests still exist today. They may not go viral or attract large followings, but they embody something far more valuable than engagement metrics: moral credibility grounded in the consistency between word and action.
In the Gospels, Jesus touches a leper, eats with tax collectors, drives merchants from a temple, and challenges religious leaders who prioritize ritual purity over justice.
If today’s social media priests truly wish to follow him — not merely explain him — they might ask themselves: Is my content defending the faith, or defending the powerless?
A faith that does not stand with the vulnerable is not a living faith. It is a performance — and social media is its perfect stage.
Such performances, unfortunately, sell. But they also risk dulling the conscience of believers, encouraging them to look away from injustices that demand attention and moral clarity.
These voices may strengthen the faith of those who prefer affirmations of doctrinal certainty. But in doing so, they risk abandoning those who suffer — leaving them unseen, unheard, and feeling unimportant.—ucanews.com