There are no shortcuts to evangelical fruitfulness; it is born of hidden sacrifice united to the Lord’s and celebrated on the altar, not of public applause.
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By Fr Benjamín Clariond, LC
I have lived long enough on earth as a priest to know that I write this more as a warning to myself than as a lesson for anyone. The temptation I want to talk about today is not new, but it has a face that our generation is just beginning to recognize.
A few days ago, I read about Fr Alberto Ravagnani, a young Italian priest—ordained in 2018—who built up an impressive social media presence: hundreds of thousands of followers on Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube. He spoke ardently about the faith, prayer, and the deep questions that young people dwell on. And he was doing it well, very well—until he decided to leave the ministry. The reasons are complex, and it is not up to us to judge them, but his story has made me think a lot recently. We pray for him with the hope that God may lead him to the fullness he is seeking.
What can this case teach us? Is social media evil? I don’t think so. The Church has always made use of the means of each era to proclaim the Gospel, and today cannot be the exception. The problem isn’t in the tool, but in something deeper that is sometimes hard for me to admit: the ease with which we can confuse service with protagonism, turning the digital world into the habitat in which we lead our lives, while neglecting the close relationships forged by pastoral charity and, above all, the personal relationship with Christ, which is the soul of all apostolate.
The Danger of Using the Wrong Measurements
Digital platforms have their own logic: likes, views, followers, engagement. Everything can be measured and compared. This logic is addictive because it gives us something we all yearn for: an immediate affirmation that what we do matters, that we are valued and accepted.
But the priesthood lives by a radically different logic. In an original reflection on this case, Father Jude Ofuani expressed it very clearly:
“Popularity demands constant growth; the priesthood demands a gradual disappearance behind the mystery that is celebrated.” This sentence struck me.
When John the Baptist said, “He must increase; I must decrease” (Jn 3:30), he was indicating the very heart of our vocation and ministry. We are not the message; at the very most, we are signs that point toward the Other. But what happens when our followers start following us and not Christ? Or when style becomes more important than content? Or when we begin to worry more about whether our digital activity “is working” than whether we are being faithful?
An Old Temptation With a New Screen
In the desert, Jesus heard, “If you are the Son of God, show yourself” (cf. Mt 4:6). This is the same voice that whispers today, “If you really have something important to say, prove it. Make it go viral. You need more outreach, more impact.”
I’m not saying that whoever uses social media to evangelize is falling into temptation. It would be absurd and arrogant to think like that; rather, we need to acknowledge the zeal and good intentions that are usually behind it. My point is that I continue to be vulnerable to that voice myself. We all are, and to some degree, we all develop a certain addiction to the dose of dopamine that social media gives us. Perhaps my younger brothers—and older ones, too—need to hear something that is not in any way intended as a reprimand, but an honest recognition of that vulnerability we share.
I have seen priests—and I have seen myself—track statistics compulsively, feel a tinge of satisfaction when something “sticks” and goes viral, or a cloud of frustration when it doesn’t. Then I wonder, “When was the moment I stopped asking myself whether I was faithful in today’s prayer and started asking myself first whether my post reached enough people?”
What Can’t Be Captured in a Photo
A good part of the priestly ministry happens in places that don’t produce content: patient listening in the confessional or in spiritual direction, visiting the sick who can’t post anything online, the hours of prayer that no one sees, periods of study to help souls better, the fatigue of repeating the same thing over and over without receiving applause. Somewhere I read that the Gospel doesn’t “work,” but “saves.” It usually exercises its transformative power in secret, in the solitude that can’t be captured in a reel or photo.
If we build our priestly identity around what is visible or measurable, or what causes reactions, what sustains us when all that disappears—which it eventually will? Algorithms change, tendencies shift, and followers leave, but the altar remains. The Eucharist remains. The cross remains. The call remains.
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever”
St. Paul reminds us that “the love of Christ impels us” (2 Cor 5:14). This is not an urgency of an algorithm that demands constant content, but of experiencing the love of Christ’s heart for humanity that impels us to give of ourselves without expecting anything in return, without seeking recognition, while making use of one’s social and digital media presence. It is the urgency of one who knows that their life does not belong to them. Christ is our life, which our public image cannot be; he is the center, not us.
Words From Someone Who Needs to Hear Them, Too
I do not write this from a position of superiority. To my younger brothers, those who are in formation or are at the beginning of their priestly ministry, I can only say what I repeat to myself often:
The internet can amplify our voice, but it should not be the place where we seek to discover who we are, where our identity is defined, where we receive the affirmation we dearly need. That place is the tabernacle, the community, our superiors, the faithful we serve, the brothers who truly know us.
We may indeed use these tools, but I think we need to take care that our interior life is always stronger than our public presence. We should have clear rules and well-defined boundaries that we embrace by inner conviction, not imposed from without. We should have people around us who love us enough to tell us the truth, even when it hurts.
Authentic apostolic communication is born of an encounter with Christ, is ordered to communion, and invites us to participate in building up the Kingdom. When communication is separated from ecclesial communion and from the mission, when it becomes self-referential, then it loses its evangelizing soul. It’s not about how many people listen to us, but about whether what we communicate truly arises from our intimacy with the Lord and guides others towards him.
Above all, it is always helpful to remember that the priesthood is an offering of one’s life with Christ as Christ did, not an acting role or a realty show. When that is reversed, we lose something essential. Our self-giving should be like that of a grain of wheat that falls to the ground and dies in order to bear fruit. There are no shortcuts to evangelical fruitfulness; it is born of hidden sacrifice united to the Lord’s and celebrated on the altar, not of public applause.
One Last Thing
The case of Fr Alberto is not to condemn him or to turn him into a negative example. In a certain way, it is a sign that the whole Church needs to read with caution, care, and compassion. It reminds us that being in the digital world is not enough; we must dwell in it with our feet firmly planted in prayer, obedience, and belonging to a community.
Fragility does not decrease over time; on the contrary, every passing year confirms that without grace, we all run the same risks. Therefore, I write this as someone who also needs to be vigilant, turn to silence, and remember every morning why I kneel down and for whom I live.
May the Lord help us all—young and old—to be faithful to Christ, who has called us not to be served, but to serve (cf. Mt 20:28). At the end of the day, that is all that matters.
