Father Bernard Healey says, "There are plenty of politicians who don't see eye to eye with the Church."

But he is likely the only one delivering the sermon.

Father Healey is the pastor at St. Ambrose Catholic Church, in Lincoln, a parish of about 600 families, where he celebrates the daily 7:30 a.m. Mass.

Most afternoons in the legislative season, Healey shifts his focus from the spiritual well-being of his parishioners to the political influence of the Catholic Church in Rhode Island.

He is the diocese’s only registered lobbyist.

Father Healey, 41, is easy to pick out of the pack of State House regulars. He wears a dark suit and blue name badge like the other lobbyists. But the white Roman collar gives him away.

Does his affiliation with the Catholic Church in the most Catholic state in the nation give him an advantage?

“Perhaps,” he says. “It has its advantages and disadvantages. I think just because someone says they’re Catholic, doesn’t mean they actually practice the faith and agree with what the Church has to say. There are plenty of politicians who don’t see eye to eye with the Church.”

He notes that he doesn’t get special treatment from the secretary of state’s office. Healey has to file lobbyist disclosure forms just like everyone else. He earns $975 each month for his lobbying efforts, according to the latest filing.

He says he doesn’t make donations to candidates, but acknowledges that his relationship with some, especially the Catholic members, is “different.”

“I become a friend, some kind of a spiritual contact for them,” he says.

Healey has presided over lawmakers’ weddings and their children’s baptisms. He will baptize the children of two fellow lobbyists this year. He also has tracked 500 bills this session and is among the busier Rhode Island lobbyists.

Like many of his peers, Healey has a background in politics.

He worked as a lobbyist in Washington, D.C., before becoming a priest at age 29. He represented a Korean steel manufacturer. And his father was chief of staff to former Republican Gov. Christopher Del Sesto.

“It’s in the blood, I think,” he says of politics.