Church leaders always say that they act in the name of the poor because they are the keepers of both body and soul — that the salvation of the spirit must go hand-in-hand with the salvation of the flesh.

They insist that the crucified Christ cannot be served if the people remain crucified by corruption, poverty, or political duplicity, as we are seeing these days.

Purportedly, the Church is mandated by a higher power to lead the flock to heaven, but the people must first be fed, clothed, and “freed” here on earth.

That’s the cover story — and again, it’s all done in the name of the flock, who also happens to be the governed, the country’s citizens. There’s an overlapping mandate, the Church would say.

But we’ve seen this before, and it always ends the same way: with the Catholic Church in the Philippines crossing a line that, by all constitutional and democratic logic, should never be crossed.

Take the rally at the Senate gates on Monday. The presence of the Catholic Bishop’s Conference of the Philippines (CBCP), of Caritas Philippines, of the clergy — it was not merely symbolic. It was political, an unmistakable act of pressure — of meddling.

As expected, the language was the usual nauseating honeyed balm: truth, compassion, justice and accountability. Who can argue against that? But the framing is telling.

The CBCP mouthpiece, in enticing people to join the three-day protest rally at the Senate, did not merely “pray for justice.” He demanded it — and he defined what it should look like.

The Senate must act, he warned, with “urgency.” The Senate must proceed “forthwith.” And until it does, the priests will wait at its doorstep — literally — torch and sermon in hand.

Here we go again. The Church, using the bully pulpit, ceases to be shepherd and becomes overlord. This is not, by any stretch, about defending Sara Duterte. This is not about the Vice President being in the crosshairs.

In the past, the targets were Marcos Sr., Joseph Estrada, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo — and now the Dutertes. Tomorrow, it could be anyone who displeases the mitered kings of moral absolutism. Marcos Jr.?

This is about who is loading the gun and who is pulling the trigger. The Church claims it does not seek political power — but it certainly seeks political outcomes, and that’s not new.

The Church opposed the Reproductive Health Law, warning of “divine punishment” for legislators who supported access to contraception. It sought to control public health policy, not with evidence, but with encyclicals.

It has meddled in electoral politics, endorsing candidates or quietly blacklisting them in pastoral letters veiled as moral reminders. It has thrown its weight behind anti-poverty drives not through development but through moral condemnation. It preaches against corruption but turns a blind eye to clerical abuse and financial opacity within its own walls.

Again, always in the name of the poor. And yet, despite this divine advocacy, the poor remain poor — and the Church remains rich, in both land and leverage.

The Philippine Constitution is clear: the separation of Church and State is inviolable. And while the Church may speak on moral issues, it must never presume to dictate on political proceedings — especially ones like impeachment trials.

To do so is to tread on dangerous ground — where divine right begins to usurp democratic processes, and where faith, once a source of liberation, becomes a tool for control.

Let the Senate try Duterte. Let Congress itself stand trial — not in the court of public theology, but in the court of constitutional duty. And let the Church return to its sanctuaries — not in silence, but in humility.

For the poor, whom they invoke like an amulet, deserve not just passion but precision. Not just prayers but policies. Not just shepherds but statesmen. Justice, after all, is not a sermon. It is a system. The Church is not its judge.