by Don Albert from Negombo
Ah, nearly a week has passed, and dude Jude remains silent—no statement, no apology, not even a whispered confession (and no, not even in the confessional). Father Jude Fernando, the Director of Public Communications for the Archdiocese of Colombo, is a man who seems to interpret “public” as spectacle and “communications” as moral grandstanding from a velvet-draped pulpit. In the name of justice, he called not for mercy, nor for healing, nor even redemption—but for a noose.
Yes, in full cassock and collar, dude Jude has declared that prison is simply not enough for Nilantha Jayawardena, the former intelligence chief. No, our man of God calls for death. Execution. The kind with gallows and rope. Public theatre in the highest theological tradition, of course. Because nothing says “love thy enemy” quite like state-sponsored hanging.
And yet, with remarkable agility, this same church that thundered such judgment from the mountaintop sends another priest within 24 hours—one with his own legal entanglements—to clarify that Jude was merely offering his “personal opinion.” How very personal, indeed. Like telling the executioner where to place the knot before stepping aside with a pious smile.
Father Cyril Gamini, whose upcoming October appointment with defamation law might not afford him much moral high ground, now scrambles to separate Jude’s fire and brimstone from official Church doctrine. One wonders: is it official only when convenient? Or when the cameras aren’t rolling?
You see, this is no longer just about dude Jude’s reckless foray into bloodlust. This is about what the Church in Colombo has become since Easter Sunday 2019—a hollow echo chamber where spiritual leadership has been replaced by press conferences, foreign tours, cinematic YouTubers, and allegations of vanishing billions. One must ask: how did we go from shepherds of the flock to shadowy scriptwriters of political dramas?
Indeed, if the rumours are true—₨1.311 billion in funds have come and gone since that tragic day—should we not, as stewards of transparency and truth, know what was done in the light and not just what was whispered in the sacristy?
But alas, when once asked about this financial opacity, our dude Jude quoted Matthew 6:3: “But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.” Ah, yes! A beautiful verse—meant to encourage humility in charity. Not concealment in accountability. But when one’s left hand is holding the donation box and the right is booking flights to Rome or producing yet another Netflix-grade exposé on spiritual suffering, perhaps it’s convenient to claim both hands are blindfolded.
We must remember, Christ did not die for the sins of the judiciary, nor did He demand the death penalty for corrupt tax collectors. Zacchaeus, you may recall, was not hung but called down from his tree. The woman caught in adultery was not stoned, but released. But in our modern revisionist gospel—edited somewhere between the chancery and the next press meet—apparently “Father forgive them” now reads “Father, hang them.”
How did we reach such theological disrepair, where mercy is scarce, and gallows are fashionable?
And where is the Cardinal in all this? His Eminence, the Archbishop of Colombo—elevated, extended, and ever-so-curiously quiet. This, after being the first to cry foul and point a sanctified finger at the Americans, claiming the Easter Sunday attacks were the handiwork of powerful Western nations. A bold thesis, floated long before he waded deeper into a soup of conspiracies—some spun to sidestep justice, others to cloak extremist sympathies in incense and ecclesiastical robes.
These days, His Eminence appears less concerned with truth than with tailoring—donning his finest cassock for the next camera, rehearsing his pious expressions, and perhaps lobbying Rome over tea, sympathy, and subtle whispers of a red hat. Silence, it seems, has become his preferred sermon. One must note: the Archdiocese of Colombo is not a Netflix production studio. It is not a political action committee. And it is most certainly not the Inquisition. It is supposed to be the Body of Christ in Sri Lanka. But what is a body without a spine?
Dude Jude’s comments betray not only the Church’s fragility, but its dangerous flirtation with political vengeance. His words do not arise from prayerful discernment but from the pulpit of populism, draped in ecclesiastical robes. Vengeance belongs to the Lord (Romans 12:19), not to communications directors with media contacts.
And yet, we are told this is all our dude Jude’s “personal view.” Oh, how delightfully convenient! So when things go awry, we simply retreat behind a veil of subjectivity. “It wasn’t the Church speaking, just the mouthpiece.” How charmingly circular.
But let us not forget: the Church has always been judged not by its words, but by its silence.
Where was this fire and brimstone when survivors asked for financial transparency? Where was the call for justice when victims demanded healing and answers, not press kits? Why is it only now—when scapegoats are lined up—that our moral outrage reaches a fever pitch?
As for the billion-rupee question—₨1.311 billion and counting—perhaps we might see a line item under “evangelical cinematography” or “diplomatic brunches.” Or perhaps, as dude Jude says, we shouldn’t let the left hand know. How profoundly scriptural.
The truth is, Colombo doesn’t need more priests who moonlight as political analysts. It needs men of the cloth—not men of the mic. Men who offer confession, not condemnation. Men who, when speaking to power, do so with courage, clarity, and above all—Christ-like compassion.
Dude Jude may fancy himself a prophet of justice, but he’s begun to resemble more of a high priest of spectacle. And spectacle, while it sells papers and draws YouTube clicks, does not feed souls. Nor does it honour the memory of 279 lives lost on that black Easter morning.
So, Jude, dude—where is your public apology?
Not for your opinion. You’re welcome to it.
But for hijacking the suffering of a nation for ecclesiastical theatre. For wielding death in the name of Christ. For forgetting that the Church was not founded on a gallows, but on a cross. A cross where the only hanging body chose forgiveness over wrath, and silence over sensationalism.
He said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
One wonders, dear dude Jude—do you?
