Debateng Walang Kibuan: When a Church Stops Answering, It Starts Dying

In the once-vibrant halls of the Members Church of God International (MCGI), a troubling silence has taken hold. What was once a lively arena of "member consultation" has now become a stage for monologues—polished, pre-recorded, and uncontested. Kuya's silent policy dubbed Debateng Walang Kibuan, presents itself as a “debate,” but offers no opposing voice, no live exchange, and no opportunity for real inquiry.

The absence of Bro. Eli Soriano, the group’s controversial but intellectually formidable founder, looms large. In his place stands Daniel Razon, a former broadcaster turned religious leader who now presides over a crumbling doctrinal structure with little of the authority or scriptural agility his predecessor once displayed. Under Razon’s leadership, the Exiters say MCGI has pivoted from its signature style of live biblical debate into a tightly controlled presentation model. One that increasingly avoids the very engagement it once championed.

Internal sources and former workers reveal that this shift was never announced as official doctrine. Instead, it was quietly implemented, bypassing congregational discussion or scriptural justification. Long-standing open forums and spontaneous Q&A sessions have all but disappeared, replaced by heavily scripted audiovisual presentations that account for more than half of every worship service. These segments, described by some insiders as “spiritual infotainment,” now serve as the primary vehicle for teaching, leaving little room for unfiltered discussion.

According to former members and workers, the decision to mute dialogue stems not from theological development but from a more personal reality. Daniel Razon simply cannot preach like Bro. Eli. Razon is said to lack Soriano’s encyclopedic command of scripture, his improvisational debating ability, and his capacity to engage hostile audiences. Faced with growing demands for clarity and doctrinal consistency, Razon has instead leaned into a formula of sentimentality promoting themes of love, unity, and charity—while quietly sidestepping controversial teachings or unresolved theological questions.

This doctrinal bankruptcy has been accompanied by a gradual yet firm reorientation of the group’s messaging. New slogans such as “Tapos na ang panahon ng pagtatalo, panahon na ng paggawa” (“The time for debate is over; now is the time for action”) are being promoted in internal meetings and worship segments. Exiters argue this is more than a rhetorical shift, it’s an intentional effort to suppress critical thinking and solidify unquestioning obedience.

Current worship services now spans six to seven hours often without a single opportunity for members to raise questions or clarify teachings. What little remains of the group’s once-celebrated Bible Expositions has been reduced to performances like phony family-feud format game-show SKAP or Serbisyong Kapatiran.

Our satirical take on MCGI Cares' Serbisyong Kapatiran (SKAP)

Financial transparency, too, has withered. Donation drives are now embedded into the AVPs themselves, often cloaked in language about “love offerings” or “global charity.” Over the past year, multiple members have reported an uptick in solicitations during services, but say they are given no access to breakdowns or reports of how funds are used. Attempts to question financial handling have reportedly resulted in disciplinary action, suspension and character assassination.

Doctrinal topics once fiercely defended by Soriano such as the “Three Heavens,” Sabbath observance, or the controversial salvation timeline have vanished from the pulpit. Members who raise these issues are redirected, reprimanded, or met with silence. One ex-minister described the current environment as “spiritual gaslighting,” where questions are treated as threats and silence is upheld as the highest form of faith.

The net effect has been a steady exodus of long-time believers, many of whom joined MCGI during the height of Soriano’s charismatic fervor. They now find themselves disillusioned, not just by the shift in format, but by what they describe as a betrayal of the very principles that drew them in.

“The foundation wasn’t just doctrine,” said a former local worker who asked to remain anonymous. “It was dialogue. That’s what made MCGI different. Now, we’re being told not to think. Just watch.”

For many, Debateng Walang Kibuan has become a symbol of this decline, a reflection not of innovation, but of evasion. Exiters argue it reveals a leadership too fragile to defend its teachings in real time, and too insecure to allow dissent within its ranks.

“Bro. Eli used to say there’s no such thing as a bad question if it comes from the heart,” another ex-member said. “Today, the questions are treated like sin.”

As membership numbers fall and financial pressures rise, MCGI continues to project strength through global charity campaigns and media productions. But behind the curtain, the silence is deafening. And for those who remember the fire of live debate, the transformation feels less like a new chapter and more like a requiem.

This is not reformation. It is retreat. A path of least-resistance.

Not rebirth, but rot.