Tell It to SunStar: The ‘Divine’ Dilemma

By Herman M. Lagon

A question many of us ask ourselves when faced with a difficult moral choice is, “What would Jesus do?” It’s a simple yet profound question that makes you think about what you can do, anchored in what is right, just, healthy, and beautiful. But what happens when the self-proclaimed “appointed son of God,” Apollo Quiboloy, faces a legal and moral crisis of his own? Shouldn’t he be asking himself the same question? Or is the divine title enough to exempt him from earthly accountability?

With Quiboloy’s impending arrest looming large over his “Kingdom” in Davao, the question arises: What should a man of such supposed divine stature do? Should he, like Jesus, confront his accusers with steadfastness and transparency, or should he continue to evade the justice system that he claims is above all but, mystically, beneath him? Jesus, when accused—even wrongly—stood trial and braved the wrath of the religious authorities of Jerusalem and the Roman government with a quiet dignity that has inspired billions. Quiboloy, on the other hand, seems to have chosen a different path more befitting a fugitive than a figure of sainthood, at least as far as the recent confrontation at the KOJC (Kingdom of Jesus Christ) compound is concerned.

Let’s look at some pertinent questions that Quiboloy may want to ask himself or has already asked himself in the context of the age-old lifehack: “What would Jesus do?” For example, when Jesus was betrayed and handed over to the authorities, he accepted his fate without resistance, despite having the power to summon legions of angels or escape with his disciples. So why does Quiboloy, innocent as he claims, resist so fiercely? What is he afraid of if he truly walks in the light?

The courts have called and the world watches as Quiboloy’s empire teeters. The U.S. has released arrest warrants, and charges of sexual abuse, child exploitation, and human trafficking weigh heavily on his name. The charges are not just serious; they are horrific. Yet Quiboloy remains stubborn, his flock defending themselves and proclaiming his innocence as if the mere act of pronouncing them would be enough to dispel all charges. But if Jesus himself submitted to earthly authorities, and even the mortal senator Leila de Lima followed his example, shouldn’t Quiboloy, the preacher of the “Word of God,” also walk his talk? What example does it set when a leader evades the justice system under the guise of divine immunity or political inquisition?

Perhaps we all remember that Jesus walked a path of humility, rejecting worldly wealth and power and living as a carpenter with a kingdom that is not of this world. So how does Quiboloy reconcile his lavish lifestyle—his real estate collection, diamond doorknob, and fleet of luxury cars—with the teachings of the man he claims to represent? If he sincerely believes in the divine justice he preaches, shouldn’t he also embrace the humility and accountability that comes with it? Is it godly to amass extravagant wealth while evading the justice his beliefs uphold? Can a man who claims to possess the souls of every person on earth justify such material indulgence while evading the scrutiny that would confirm his innocence? Why, rather than face his accusers, does he choose the comforts of luxury over the transparency that Jesus himself embodied?

And what about his political connections? Jesus avoided political entanglements, declaring that his kingdom was not of this world. Yet Quiboloy’s ties to disparate political figures are well-documented, particularly his close relationship with the former president who became internationally popular for his bloody drug war and his fight against human rights. Does he not see the irony in wielding political influence to protect himself from the law, when the state crucified the very one he claims to emulate—the one who refused to bow to such power?

Quiboloy’s followers might argue that he is being persecuted, just like Jesus. But persecution in the name of justice is very different from evading justice for criminal charges that actually harm others. If Quiboloy is innocent, why wouldn’t he clear his name in court? Why would he hide behind a pulpit or under a bunker when the truth should be his greatest defense if it were on his side? What would Jesus do? He certainly wouldn’t run, let alone hide.

Consider also Quiboloy’s company. His staunch defenders in the Senate include figures who seem more interested in protecting their political alliances than in seeking the truth. Robin Padilla’s objection to the contempt for Quiboloy is a case in point. He argues that the Senate’s actions infringe on religious freedom. But does protecting a friend really justify ignoring accusations of such gravity? Is loyalty to a religious leader more important than loyalty to the law, to the people, to the truth?

Padilla’s objection is not only absurd; it is dangerous. By conflating criminal charges with religious persecution, he risks undermining the principle of fairness and the separation of church and state. How many leaders, religious or otherwise, will hide behind such arguments to avoid the consequences of their actions? If a priest, minister, or imam commits a crime, shouldn’t they be held to the same standards as any other citizen? Would Jesus approve of using religion as a cover for wrongdoing or to display one’s arrogance?

And what about the other senators and personalities who support Quiboloy in this stalemate? Their defense of him raises questions about their integrity and intentions. Are they truly motivated by a concern for religious freedom, or is it a more cynical calculation that revolves around spin, budget cuts, influence, and votes? Are they protecting Quiboloy because they believe in his immaculateness or because they owe him favors or are asking for favors from the past or the future?

Furthermore, if Quiboloy is indeed the “owner of the universe,” as he claims, why would he fear an earthly authority? Shouldn’t a man with divine backing and power be able to deal with mere mortals without hesitation? And yet, to many, Quiboloy’s actions seem like those of a man with something to hide, not the “Second Coming of Christ” with a clear conscience. Some say his self-proclaimed divinity seems more like a shield from accountability than a reflection of true holiness. Whether or not this is true depends on what happens in the next apocalyptic events yet to come.

Ultimately, the question remains: What would Jesus do? Would he avoid the courts or stand firm in the face of false accusations? Would he amass wealth or live a life of simplicity and service? Would he use his influence to manipulate political systems or expose wrongs and injustices wherever he saw them? Quiboloy, who also claims to be “the way, the truth, and the life,” must ask himself these questions, or perhaps he already has, if he truly believes in the path of righteousness.

Imagine how prophetic it would be if the ending story was that Quiboloy was ultimately found innocent by supernatural grace. Isn’t this the kind of justice you would want if they were innocent and godly? Isn’t this the kind of Biblical story you need to confirm his holiness among his flock? Why not go to court and let this sacred saga unfold, and show the world that the “man of God” can stand the test of both heaven and earth? After all, truth and divine justice will surely be on your side if you are who you claim to be.