In a land where churches are filled every Sunday and prayers open every public meeting, the irony is painful—corruption runs deeper than most rivers in Nagaland. While the pulpit preaches integrity, state coffers leak like rusted pipes. And yet, amid this disillusionment, there remains one institution that continues to function with a sense of sacred responsibility: the Church.
The Catholic Church, in particular, with its global presence and disciplined financial structure, has shown how money—when seen not just as currency but as moral trust—can transform lives.
Every offering, every tithe, every Mass stipend is accounted for. No altar is built without a receipt; no donation disappears into a ghost account. Transparency is not just policy—it is spiritual duty.
This sense of transparency and integrity in financial matters is now officially reaffirmed by Pope Francis, who approved a Decree on Mass Intentions and Collective Offerings, effective from Easter Sunday 2025. The decree emphasizes that Mass stipends and offerings should be handled without the taint of commercial exchange, encouraging faithful participation while safeguarding the dignity of the Eucharist.
Contrast this with the system of governance that claims to serve the people. Money flows into the coffers of the state from various sources—central government grants, taxes, funds for specific schemes, loans from national and international institutions, and development aid.
Nagaland, being a special state under Article 371A of the Indian Constitution, receives special financial support for its development. This provision is meant to safeguard the culture, tradition, and interests of the Naga people by granting the state funds for specific welfare purposes. However, what follows is often a different story. Much of this money doesn’t reach its intended purpose.
Instead, it’s choked by bureaucratic red tape, misappropriated by contractors, and disappears into the pockets of those who treat public funds as personal property.
Take, for instance, the multi-crore projects intended for infrastructure development—roads, bridges, schools, hospitals. Though funds are allocated under various schemes, the results are often subpar. Roads get washed away with the first rain, schools remain in shambles, and hospitals are void of equipment.
The beneficiaries—the common man—are left without the services they were promised. And while this happens, the money intended for the people is often redirected through fake billing, overcharging, and other corrupt practices.
And let’s not forget election time—a season when crores are wasted to woo voters. Money rains down in the form of cash, liquor, blankets, and fake promises. Once elected, many leaders view the exchequer not as a public trust but as a personal recovery zone.
The same money that was used to buy votes returns through inflated bills, backdoor contracts, and manipulated tenders. The people are left poorer, while the powerful grow richer.
Yet, there are stories that shine like candles in the dark.
Take for instance a story from a remote village in one of Nagaland’s hill districts. A few years ago, the government had sanctioned over Rs 30 lakhs for the construction of a multipurpose community hall. Official records showed it as “completed,” yet on the ground, only a few walls stood—unplastered, roofless, abandoned. The villagers waited, filed complaints, and even sent delegations to the district office—but nothing moved beyond the paperwork.
Eventually, the village church stepped in. A community meeting was called, and it was decided: “Let us not depend on them anymore—let us finish this together, in God’s name.”
Funds were gathered through Sunday collections, donations from church members working outside, and modest contributions from elders. Materials were purchased transparently, and every expense was displayed on the church bulletin board. Labour came free—young people took turns hauling sand, women cooked for workers, and elders kept accounts.
Within four months, the hall was completed—not luxurious, but upright and honest. When asked how they achieved it, an elder said, “Because this money came from the people, for the people—we dared not misuse it.”
It’s more than just a village story. It’s a quiet contrast to the corruption that plagues our public institutions. Where government funds falter, community faith builds. Where conscience leads, progress follows.
If we were to reimagine governance with the Church’s discipline—transparent accounting, community oversight, and moral responsibility—we would not just fix roads or build schools. We would restore trust.
The Bible speaks of tithes—the sacred ten percent offered not out of compulsion, but reverence. Imagine if our leaders treated public funds with the same spirit—not as a pool to dip into, but as a tithe entrusted to them for righteous use.
It’s time for Nagaland to rise—not just in prayers and revivals—but in action and accountability. Because in the end, what we build with clean hands stands longer than what we grab with greedy ones.
~ Mathew Rongmei