We’re told this is a good thing. A modern thing. A necessary thing. “Meeting people where they are,” they say. And where are people? On X. On Instagram. On TikTok. Online. But this isn’t a celebrity we’re discussing. This isn’t a tech CEO in California. This is the Pope. The Bishop of Rome. The spiritual leader of over a billion Catholics. The Vicar of Christ.

The Pope is not a pundit. He’s not Piers Morgan. He’s not a therapist. He’s not a content creator.
And if the Pope knows what’s good for the papacy, for faith, and for the fragile souls of this disoriented age — he’ll log off. Permanently. Because when the Pope tweets, something sacred dies. We’ve been conditioned to believe that everything — every institution, every leader, every value — must adapt to “the digital age” or risk extinction. If the Church doesn’t engage on social media, it’s “out of touch.” If it doesn’t have a handle and a content strategy, it’s “irrelevant.”
But relevance isn’t holiness. And X is not the Areopagus. It’s not the sermon on the mount. It’s a dopamine farm built for distraction, outrage, and ego. The Pope doesn’t belong there. Not because he’s aloof, but because he’s supposed to be above it. Not in arrogance, but in elevation. His words are meant to carry the weight of centuries, not chase metrics by the hour.
Some will say, “But what about President Trump? He uses social media to speak directly to the people.” Sure. But the Pope isn’t Trump. He’s not supposed to be. Trump is a political animal. His job is to win. To persuade. To brawl. The internet suits him because he is the internet. A man of appetites, insults, and theater.
The Pope’s job isn’t to win. It’s to serve. To point upward. To protect the mysteries, not meme them. To offer a quiet kind of clarity, not hot takes packaged in 280 characters. When the Pope logs on, he doesn’t bring the Church to the internet. He brings the internet into the Church. And the internet devours sacred things.
The Church is in a sorry state. M...