Cardinals Abandon Flocks: Empty Pews as Church Peddles Politics over Faith

Paul Riverbank, 1/20/2026Catholic leaders weigh justice and politics as empty pews reveal parishioners’ longing for community.

Lately, conversations among congregants have turned from potlucks and prayer chains to questions of direction. Three prominent Catholic cardinals — Cupich from Chicago, McElroy from Washington, Tobin of Newark — made headlines with a recent joint statement. They chose not to name names, but their words traced the edges of the Trump administration’s approach to foreign affairs. War, they said, should “never become a routine policy tool,” and cautioned against letting national power outweigh conscience. Their joint letter threaded together concerns ranging from U.S. policy in Ukraine and Venezuela to peculiar talk about Greenland — a medley of headlines that left many parishioners squinting at the world beyond their neighborhoods.

It was a notably public step for men in vestments, but, in the small gatherings after Mass, talk sounded more personal. One elderly woman, arranging hymn books in a nearly deserted front row, told me she didn’t mind leaders speaking out, “But when the sermons start sounding like the evening news, I lose track of what I came in for.” Down the block, a father hurried children into coats, muttering something about the homily drifting too far from the Beatitudes and too close to the Beltway.

These tensions are not new. The Catholic Church, after all, is no stranger to walking the line between prophetic witness and social entanglement. Its mission, older than any present controversy, is to nurture souls — not, as one wisecracking deacon put it, “run the State Department.” Still, the cardinals defended their approach, rooting their concerns in tradition: “Justice, peace, care for the poor.” Yet that doesn’t explain the empty seats or the quiet lull in what was once a community’s weekly touchstone.

Insisting the pulpit isn’t for politics, some note, feels a touch naive. Churches have always been meeting places for the world’s wounds as much as the spirit’s longing. And yet, for many, the gist of Christianity isn’t settled overseas, but in the patching up of leaky roofs, the casseroles delivered to the sick, or the kind of Sunday ritual that makes grandkids squirm but brings comfort to the lonely.

A parish council member in Cleveland shared that the biggest debate lately wasn’t on foreign aid, but on how to pay for repainting the sanctuary and whether the Christmas bazaar was worth the trouble last year. “People say we’ve lost our sense of purpose,” she told me, glancing at the bulletin, “but it’s the little work that keeps us going.”

Perhaps the cardinals worry the world’s noise drowns out what is essential, but some parishioners are simply searching for something closer and steadier — a sense that faith still shelters, comforts, and stitches lives together, far from cable news crawl or foreign affairs.

The enduring question: Can church leaders serve as voices for justice and compassion on the global stage without becoming just another political actor? That remains to be seen. For now, those echoing bells call people — fewer in number, maybe — to a shelter where, despite all, the doors still creak open every Sunday morning. Maybe that’s where true repair begins, one roof and one soul at a time.

Most Sundays, if you listen carefully in a certain city neighborhood, you’ll still catch the clang of bells rolling out from an old church’s tower. Their sound is unchanged, but inside, there’s space to spare — forgotten hymnals scuffed down the aisles, sunlight filtering through arches onto empty pews. Even the pew-polish smells more nostalgic than busy, these days. People notice who isn’t there.Lately, conversations among congregants have turned from potlucks and prayer chains to questions of direction. Three prominent Catholic cardinals — Cupich from Chicago, McElroy from Washington, Tobin of Newark — made headlines with a recent joint statement. They chose not to name names, but their words traced the edges of the Trump administration’s approach to foreign affairs. War, they said, should “never become a routine policy tool,” and cautioned against letting national power outweigh conscience. Their joint letter threaded together concerns ranging from U.S. policy in Ukraine and Venezuela to peculiar talk about Greenland — a medley of headlines that left many parishioners squinting at the world beyond their neighborhoods.It was a notably public step for men in vestments, but, in the small gatherings after Mass, talk sounded more personal. One elderly woman, arranging hymn books in a nearly deserted front row, told me she didn’t mind leaders speaking out, “But when the sermons start sounding like the evening news, I lose track of what I came in for.” Down the block, a father hurried children into coats, muttering something about the homily drifting too far from the Beatitudes and too close to the Beltway.These tensions are not new. The Catholic Church, after all, is no stranger to walking the line between prophetic witness and social entanglement. Its mission, older than any present controversy, is to nurture souls — not, as one wisecracking deacon put it, “run the State Department.” Still, the cardinals defended their approach, rooting their concerns in tradition: “Justice, peace, care for the poor.” Yet that doesn’t explain the empty seats or the quiet lull in what was once a community’s weekly touchstone.Insisting the pulpit isn’t for politics, some note, feels a touch naive. Churches have always been meeting places for the world’s wounds as much as the spirit’s longing. And yet, for many, the gist of Christianity isn’t settled overseas, but in the patching up of leaky roofs, the casseroles delivered to the sick, or the kind of Sunday ritual that makes grandkids squirm but brings comfort to the lonely.A parish council member in Cleveland shared that the biggest debate lately wasn’t on foreign aid, but on how to pay for repainting the sanctuary and whether the Christmas bazaar was worth the trouble last year. “People say we’ve lost our sense of purpose,” she told me, glancing at the bulletin, “but it’s the little work that keeps us going.”Perhaps the cardinals worry the world’s noise drowns out what is essential, but some parishioners are simply searching for something closer and steadier — a sense that faith still shelters, comforts, and stitches lives together, far from cable news crawl or foreign affairs.The enduring question: Can church leaders serve as voices for justice and compassion on the global stage without becoming just another political actor? That remains to be seen. For now, those echoing bells call people — fewer in number, maybe — to a shelter where, despite all, the doors still creak open every Sunday morning. Maybe that’s where true repair begins, one roof and one soul at a time.