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253. Vatican II, 60 Years After and Two Lessons for Evangelicals

Why on earth is a religious event that took place 60 years ago still passionately debated? Most Evangelicals are puzzled when observing the theological and emotional involvement many Roman Catholics show when thinking about the Second Vatican Council (or Vatican II). Evangelicals may hold the 1974 Lausanne Congress on World Evangelization in high regard,[1] but their investment in discussing the texts and the spirit of the Lausanne Movement is only remotely comparable to the heat generated by the legacy of Vatican II in Roman Catholic circles.
 
Vatican II: Great Grace or Cause of all Problems?
On the one hand, it was no less than Pope John Paul II who bluntly stated that Vatican II is “the great grace bestowed on the Church in the twentieth century: there we find a sure compass by which to take our bearings in the century now beginning.” (Apostolic Letter Novo Millennio Ineunte, 2001, n. 57). On the other, there are sectors of the Roman Church that are cold toward the Council, if not critical of its outcomes. The issue of what Vatican II means for Roman Catholicism is still at stake.
 
Since the beginning of January, Pope Leo XIV has been focusing on the main texts produced at the Council in his Wednesday morning General Audiences given in St. Peter’s Square. In so doing, he is signaling the permanent relevance of the Council for the Roman Catholic Church and providing his own interpretation of it.

Meanwhile, the theological discussion on Vatican II goes on relentlessly. One of the recent contributions from a group of Italian Roman Catholic theologians is the collection of essays edited by Marco Vergottini, Al cuore del Vaticano II. Una rilettura teologico-fondamentale (Brescia: Queriniana, 2026; English translation: At the heart of Vatican II. A theological-fundamental re-reading).
 
In its four chapters, the book opens some windows on the most important documents, i.e., the four constitutions on divine revelation (Dei Verbum), on liturgy (Sacrosanctum Concilium), on the church (Lumen Gentium), and on the church in the modern world (Gaudium et Spes).
 
More than touching on the details of each chapter, what is interesting is to appreciate how the whole reception of Vatican II is framed, especially as far as the “heart” of the Council and its significance for the present-day Roman Catholic Church is concerned.
 
Beyond the Conflict of Interpretations
Here is the gist of the reflection echoed in the book. The aftermath of Vatican II has been characterized by an ongoing conflict of interpretations. After the first phase, when the texts of the Council were commented on in the context of a very positive attitude towards them and in view of the application of its deliberations, later decades have seen the emergence of a critical reading of the Council, sometimes presented as a “rupture” from the established tradition. Examples of this tendency can be found in the five-volume History of Vatican II edited by G. Alberigo, 1995-2001, and the five-volume Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Zweiten Vatikanischen Konzil edited by P. Hünermann and B.J. Hilberath, 2004-2006.

This reading, which stressed the discontinuity between Vatican II and the pre-Vatican II Church, was opposed by an anti-conciliar sentiment that spread in traditionalist circles. In their eyes, Vatican II was seen in negative terms and as the cause of all problems. Other interpretations wanted to read Vatican II in merely pastoral terms, as if the Council wanted to update the language of the Roman Church and build bridges with the modern world, but not change its doctrinal posture and traditional practices.
 
The tension (at times, the chaos) generated by these discussions led Benedict XVI, in his 2005 Address to the Roman Curia, to move beyond polarization by suggesting a mediation in the “hermeneutics of reform” formula. In pure Roman Catholic style, the two extremes (i.e., discontinuity and continuity) were questioned and replaced with a dynamic category of renewal within the tradition that would account for the developments of the Council while remaining committed to the dogmatic outlook and the self-understanding of the Roman Church inherited from the past.
  
Vatican II as an “Open” Structure
The book wants to highlight the strategic importance of this dynamic principle both in the drafting of the documents and in their subsequent reception, whereby updating and fidelity are not to be pitted one against the other, but combined in a Roman Catholic, organic way.
 
Looking at Dei Verbum in particular, here is how it works: Vatican II absorbed some fundamental principles of the two previous Councils (i.e., Trent and Vatican II), yet wanted to overcome their controversial and apologetic thrust (p.60). In the words of Vatican II itself, “sound tradition” must be retained, and yet “the way remain open to legitimate progress” (Sacrosanctum Concilium, n. 23). 

As far as the Church is concerned, the inherited rigid vision of the Church as the hierarchical perfect society is reiterated, yet expanded to include the importance of the laity in the logic of an ecclesiology of communion rather than mere obedience. In this sense, Vatican II adopted an “open structure,” no longer driven by the desire to separate and divide that was prevalent in past Councils, nor by the impulse to compromise between traditional and progressive positions. Rather, it was guided by the power of navigating “between” polarities.  
 
The Roman Catholic move is not an attempt to choose between positions, but to connect them according to the principle of “hospitality” (p. 164) guaranteed by the Roman Catholic conciliar dynamic system.
 
Two Lessons
What can Evangelicals learn from these Roman Catholic debates? At least a couple of points should be mentioned.
 
First, Evangelicals need a better grasp of what happened at Vatican II, what was produced then, and how it has been received in the Roman Catholic Church. In the past, much attention has been given to Trent (and rightly so), but less attention has been paid to Vatican II. Today, many Evangelicals can be confused about what is going on in Roman Catholicism because of a lack of awareness over the last 60 years. Developing an Evangelical analysis of Vatican II is still a work-in-progress, and homework needs to be done. The danger is to have either outdated, static views of Rome or unwarranted, evangelically hopeful perceptions of it. As the book indicates, Rome evolves in history while remaining committed to itself. Becoming acquainted with the different Roman Catholic voices discussing the legacy of Vatican II is a step forward toward a more theologically mature Evangelical interpretation of it.

 
Second, as intuitive as it may sound, the “Traditional vs. Progressive” grid does not fully fit the reality of Roman Catholicism. It probably fitted the “Conservative-Liberal” divide within 20th-century Protestantism, but it does not neatly apply to Rome. Roman Catholicism has its own way of handling its movements through history. Yes, there are traditional voices, yes, there are progressive tendencies, but the overall direction is not driven by the polarization between the two. One needs to come to terms with the dynamics of the Roman Catholic system that is Roman (i.e., faithful to its centered structure) and Catholic (i.e., open to ongoing absorptions) at the same time.
 
Since the biblical Gospel is not the ultimate criterion, the Roman Catholic system is governed by its self-defined Tradition (which swallows the Gospel and does not submit to it) and can oscillate between the Roman and the Catholic poles. Instead of applying the “Traditional vs. Progressive” opposition in a simplistic way, Evangelicals should study the inner dynamics of Rome that allows it to change but not reform itself according to Scripture.

[1] E.g., The Lausanne Movement: A Range of Perspectives, edited by Lars Dahle, Margunn Serigstad Dahle and Knud Jørgensen (Oxford: Regnum Books International, 2014).

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252. Sacred Bones? Why Roman Catholicism Needs Relics

The blood of Saint Januarius in Naples. The tongue of Saint Anthony in Padua. The head of John the Baptist in Rome. The tail of the donkey ridden by Jesus in Genoa… Welcome to the imaginative world of Roman Catholic relics. Many Catholic churches hold relics of various kinds and origins that have been venerated for fifteen centuries.

As material objects, relics are fragments of bones, limbs (arms, legs, fingers), organic tissues and textile fabrics, and various objects that belonged to figures from the Gospel or church history to whom the Roman Catholic Church attributes a role in pointing people to God. Since these objects come from or have been in contact with “saints,” they are considered capable of transmitting a sense of divinity or holiness to those who venerate them (by going on pilgrimage, touching them, or praying in front of them).

This is how Rome explains the reason for relics: “Relics in the Church have always received particular veneration and attention because the body of the Blesseds and of the Saints, destined for the resurrection, has been on earth the living temple of the Holy Spirit and the instrument of their holiness, recognized by the Apostolic See through beatification and canonization.” [1]

A new and fascinating book by historian Federico Canaccini, Sacred Bones: Stories of Relics, Saints and Pilgrims (Italian edition: Sacre ossa. Storie di reliquie, santi e pellegrini, 2025), tells the history of how objects and bones became religious relics.

The question that prompts the book is the following: If the Christian faith starts from the empty tomb of the risen Lord Jesus, why has Roman Catholicism filled its churches with objects to be venerated?
 
If the Christian faith relied on the eyewitness testimony of those who saw the risen Jesus and then wrote the books of the New Testament as “proof,” why did the Christian masses go in search of artifacts to help them believe?
 
If apostolic teaching says that “we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7), why has Roman Catholic imagery filled itself with things to see, touch, and kneel before?
 
The book shows how the “Constantinian shift” of the fourth century changed the face of Christianity by adding the collection and veneration of relics to Christian spiritual practices. After Constantine became emperor, his mother, Helena, organized an expedition to Jerusalem to search for objects and artifacts related to the history of Jesus with which to fill the temples that were being built throughout the empire.

From that expedition, Helena brought back the wood of the cross, the nails of the crucifixion, hairs from the Lord’s beard, etc., effectively “creating” the phenomenon of Christian relics and introducing into Christian life the idea that they were “charged” with holiness that could be transferred to the faithful.

The phenomenon of relics thus arose during that complex and sadly decisive transformation of Christianity from its post-apostolic phase (still largely anchored in biblical teaching) to its “Roman” phase. It was a transition in which Greco-Roman religious beliefs were covered with a Christian veneer, rather than being challenged by the Gospel and reformed accordingly.
 
Instead of following the words of the Lord that “blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed” (John 20:29), the Christianity of relics changed the rules of engagement of faith: From listening to the Word to viewing objects, from the mediation of the risen Lord Jesus to that of saints and other mediators, from the presence of the Holy Spirit to the touch of artifacts.
 
Canaccini’s book is a fascinating journey through the history of relics and documents how, from Helena onwards, Roman Catholicism was swept up in a frantic search for relics, to the point of becoming a factory for them. The author also appropriately reports the devastating criticism of the Protestant Reformation (above all, John Calvin, who wrote a “Treatise on Relics” in 1543), which contested not only the abuses associated with relics but also their biblical legitimacy.
 
Canaccini seems to understand Protestant criticism but remains within the narrative of relics as fulfilling a deep anthropological need—that of contact with the sacred through an object considered close.

Here, there is a fundamental choice. Roman Catholicism chooses to accommodate its religious offer to the quest for tangible objects mediating the sacred. In theological terms, Rome integrates grace into nature, elevating it to a supernatural level. From this perspective, relics are felt as a necessity of nature, and grace responds to the need for contact with the divine through the relics of saints. This happens in analogy to the way Roman Catholicism believes that the Eucharist is the “real” presence of Christ, whereby the bread and the wine are transubstantiated (i.e., the nature is changed into the body and blood of Christ).
 
Roman Catholicism understands grace as being transmitted by means of objects (wine, bread, oil, water, sanctified altars, relics, etc.) that are “sacraments” or “sacramentals”. Relics are among those graced “objects” that can administer grace as part of the sacramental system.  
 
The Evangelical faith is different; based on Scripture, it knows that “faith comes from hearing the Word of God” (Romans 10:17) and that faith is “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). It also believes that “by grace we are saved through faith” (Ephesians 2:8). Jesus Christ is truly present through the Holy Spirit in the signs He left behind (baptism and the Lord’s Supper), but not in objects imbued with the divine.
 
Ultimately, the choice is between religious anthropology filtered through Greek thought and cloaked in Christianity, i.e., the Roman Catholic option, or the biblical Gospel that renews one’s entire life, i.e., the Evangelical option. Relics are the symbol of the former, not the latter.

[1] Instruction “Relics in the Church: Authenticity and Preservation” (2017) issued by the Congregation for the Causes of Saints.

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251. Watch out 2033, the “Omega Point” of the Ecumenical Movement

February 1st, 2026

As expected, the highlight of the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea was the ecumenical prayer on November 28 presided over by Pope Leo XIV at the ruins of the church of St. Neophytus in Nicaea (today the name of the town is Isnik), where the Council meetings were held in 325 AD.

The ceremony was sober, but the language used was solemn. Above all, the symbolic meaning of the event was charged with “historical” significance, not only because of the reference to the important anniversary, but above all in view of further steps in the ecumenical journey.

The point reached in that celebration had been long in preparation: it was a question of using the centenary of Nicaea to enhance the “common faith” expressed in the Nicene Creed and to consolidate the idea that all Christians are united because they recite the words of that ancient text together. From an ecumenical perspective, differences are seen, if anything, as subsequent interpretations of secondary aspects that do not undermine the common basis. The risk is clearly to exploit Nicaea and use it as a pretext for purposes other than a deeper understanding of its contents.

The question that was not asked (but its positive answer only assumed) is: In what sense the Nicene creed is the basis for ecumenism? The reality is that while different poeple can affirm – and even recite – the words of the Nicene Creed together (e.g. remission of sin, Mary, church), they mean different things according to their different theological frameworks and church’s allegiances.[1] Evangelicals want their faith to be not only loosley attached to Scripture, but under God’s Word and always open to be corrected by it.

Of course, on November 28 the Roman pope was symbolically at the center of the scene, the point of connection between everyone, flanked by the Patriarch of Constantinople Bartholomew and other ecclesiastical dignitaries seated behind him in lesser roles. The only notable absentee was the Orthodox Patriarch of Moscow, Kirill, at odds with the “good” ecumenical world for his support of the Russian war against Ukraine.

In any case, it was a theatrical representation of contemporary ecumenism: all united around the successor of Peter, the Roman Pope, the only dressed in white.

That said, what happened in Nicaea is, on the one hand, a point of arrival, but on the other, it is only one step in the ecumenical trajectory. The direction was indicated by Pope Leo himself during the flight to Lebanon, the second stop on his first international trip.
 
Speaking to journalists, Pope Prevost said of the meeting in Nicaea with ecumenical leaders:
 
“Yesterday morning we spoke about possible meetings in the future. One would be in the year 2033, two thousand years after Redemption, the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, which is obviously an event that all Christians would like to celebrate. The idea was well received. We have not yet made the invitation but there is a possibility of celebrating this great event of the Resurrection, for example in Jerusalem in 2033. We still have a few years to prepare for it.”
 
2033, precisely. This is the next strategic step in the journey imagined and planned by the ecumenical movement at large. Nicaea 2025 was only the rehearsal in preparation for Jerusalem 2033. The great evocative power of the celebration of the 2000th anniversary of Christ’s Resurrection and Pentecost will be put at the service of what could be the ecumenical movement’s final coup: having representatives of all Christian bodies gathered by and around the Roman Pontiff all celebrating their “unity” and having spiritually and theologically “reconciled” relationships.
 
The kind of unity that will be promoted in 2033 will also involve some kind of recognition of the global and transversal (albeit differentiated) role of the Roman Pope for all denominations and boides on the basis of a theology that considers the “solas” of the Protestant Reformation to be definitively overcome.
 
For those who participate in the initiatives planned for 2033, it will no longer be “Scripture Alone,” but Scripture elastically understood as to include tradition, even those traditions which run contrary to the biblical message (e.g. the Marian dogmas, the “imperial” papacy). No longer “Faith Alone,” but faith that is not sufficient to receive the gift of salvation and needs to be supplemented by human works and the sacraments administered by the church. No longer “Christ Alone,” but a Christ who is inclusive of the mediations of Mary and the saints and perhaps of other religious figures. All of this will be included in this version of ecumenically pacified but biblically deviant Christianity.

All these departures from the biblical “solas” of the Protestant Reformation mean that the unity that is going to be promoted in the ecumenical initiatives in 2033, as humanly attractive as they are, will be turns to “a different gospel” (Galatians 1:6-9) that was given “once for all delivered to the saints” (Jude 3).

For sure, for Evangelical Christians the year 2033 will be an opportunity to celebrate the gospel truths of Christ’s passion, death, resurrection and ascension, plus the pouring of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. Amen.
 
However, ecumenical celebrations of the same events will not be neutral and at no cost for evangelical fidelity. More than how 2025 has been, 2033 will be the “Omega Point”, i.e the goal of the Ecumenical Movement: all Christians (Roman Catholic, Orthodox, Liberal Protestants, Evangelicals, …) will be finally united and seen by the world as “One”. Will it be the unity the Lord Jesus prayed for in John 17? Hardly so. Rather, it will be a decisive point scored for the absorption project that Roman Catholicism has been pursuing for centuries, i.e. integrating different bodies, leaders and beliefs under its umbrella.
 
2033 will be a test for Evangelicals, and the fundamental question will be: can the Evangelical faith be rethought and assimilated within the ecumenical embrace intentionally and primarily prepared by Roman Catholicism?

[1] As it is argued in Mark Gilbert – Leonardo De Chirico (edd.), The Nicene Creed. The Nature of Christian Unity and the Meaning of Gospel Words (Sydney: Matthias Press, 2025).

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250. The Blurred View of “Grace” of Cardinal Fernández

When the Cardinal Prefect of the Vatican Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith (Victor Manuel Fernández, number 3 in the Vatican) writes a book, it is worth paying attention. Cardinal Fernández is also the one who signed “Fiducia supplicans,” allowing the blessing of same-sex unions, and “Mater populi fidelis,” on the use of the Marian title of “co-redemptrix.” In reality, although the book Grazia. Concetti fondamentali per pensare la vita nuova (Grace. Basic Concepts to Think About the New Life) has only just been published in Italian, it dates back to 2003 and was updated in 2010. It was therefore written before he took up his current position as the “guardian” of Roman Catholic doctrine. The theme of grace makes it appealing to the evangelical reader, given the doctrine’s central position in Roman Catholic and Protestant theology.
 
The author’s intention is not to cover the entire doctrine on grace, but to touch on some fundamental concepts, as the subtitle indicates. The three main interlocutors considered in the discussion are Scripture, the medieval pair of Thomas Aquinas and Bonaventure, and the German Jesuit theologian Karl Rahner.
 
Grace as Interpersonal Relationship
The author begins by arguing that grace, biblically speaking, can manifest itself “only in an interpersonal relationship” (14). In the encounter between people, it is the triune God himself who communicates with our lives (uncreated grace) and brings about effects and consequences (created grace: regeneration, liberation, transformation).
 
To this understanding of grace, the Roman Church has preferred other contents, making it more of a “thing” to be dispensed, deserved, and administered. Within the relational conception of grace, the author emphasizes grace as friendship with God, rather than sonship (33). Here, the sacramental categories typical of Roman Catholicism immediately come into play: at baptism, grace is received in order to be “children of God,” but friendship with God depends on sanctifying grace, which is incremental (38-39).
 
Within the realm of relationships, even a “non-Christian” can live in a state of grace (44): when one lives in friendship with others, one experiences grace. It is immediately clear that this relational-sacramental understanding of grace lacks the covenantal and juridical categories proper to Scripture. On the one hand, the sacramental framework of Tridentine Catholicism is reiterated, while on the other hand, the relational emphasis of the contemporary Catholic embracement is affirmed. This Roman Catholic expansion lacks the covenantal criteria of grace, i.e., we receive grace by the imputation of Christ’s righteousness.
 
In other words, for the author, God grants us grace by wanting us to be his “friends,” but he fails to say that he does so by not imputing our sins to us, since our Substitute, Jesus, has taken them upon himself. God is a covenant God, and this covenant is broken because of sin and can only be reconciled through the vicarious work of Christ. Biblically speaking, adoption, sonship, and fellowship with God are grounded in justification.

Reinterpreting Augustine
In his discussion, the author oscillates between harsh judgments against Protestantism and ecumenical attitudes. Among the former are the accusations of having conceived grace in such a “particularistic” way as to give rise to a “rotten subjectivism” (quoting J.I. Gonzales Faus, 89) and capitalism. Among the latter is the recognition of God’s gratuitous initiative that precedes any moral action on our part (119).
 
The author’s treatment of Augustine is interesting. The thinking of the “Father of grace” requires “revision” because it has reached “unacceptable extremes” and “exaggerations” that have been harmful (131, 137). The author seems to understand the reasons of the “semi-Pelagians” who proposed a “middle way” between Augustine and Pelagius (134ff). In fact, even if the Cardinal does not say so explicitly, Roman Catholic theology is closer to semi-Pelagianism than to Augustine. In line with the Council of Orange, the Council of Trent moves with “caution” and teaches that God inspires us first, but human cooperation is necessary (139). In explaining how, the author reverses the terms and shows how Roman Catholicism, in calling itself moderately Augustinian, is actually closer to semi-Pelagianism: in fact, God always acts with respect for our fragility (144), in a “resistible” way (151), and starting from human freedom (146, 150), with the exception of Mary, who had “impeccable freedom” (144)!
 
It is then understandable how convoluted the Roman Catholic doctrine of grace is: in words, it is Augustinian. In fact, it is far from Augustine, with an addition of Mariological exceptionalism. Within this complex and convoluted vision, baptism is seen as a sacrament that frees us from original sin and disposes us to justification (163). Yet the sacraments are not the only way to grace (162). Traditional sacramentalism is reaffirmed, but open to the universalist demands of contemporary Roman Catholicism.
 
Clumsy Justification
When it comes to justification, the conceptual difficulty that pervades the book emerges even more clearly. Without any biblical support, justification is understood as “the very fact of being a friend of God” (178). Instead of accepting the legal categories of Scripture, friendly categories are preferred, which are not proper to justification. In addition, two modes of God’s action (transforming and impelling) are associated with justification. First, it is said that grace precedes works, but then it is also argued, with Thomas, that one can dispose oneself to justification by giving consent (197). This cooperation is of “variable intensity” (198) or “different intensity” (200). In short, without the forensic framework of Scripture, justification is sometimes thought of as friendship, sometimes as a gift, and sometimes as something to be prepared for through one’s own cooperation.
 
The final theses proposed by the author are a theological potpourri (243-245). In a nutshell, Roman Catholic justification brings together all the complexity of the layered tradition of Catholicism: a little of Augustine but without the gravity of sin, a little of semi-Pelagianism that emphasizes our ability to collaborate, the subtle distinctions of Thomas Aquinas, the sacramentalism of Trent, the catholicity of Vatican II whereby even non-Christians can be justified (223).
 
One of the last chapters deals with the Roman Catholic-Lutheran dialogue on justification. The interpretation offered by the author is in line with the mainstream ecumenical view: the two views (Catholic and Lutheran) are “two aspects of the same truth” (208) that use “different expressions” (209) to refer to the same reality interpreted in the light of different concerns. In light of the 1999 Joint Declaration, anathemas have become “salutary warnings” that no longer apply (211). As for other religions, given the absence of forensic categories, justification can be accessible in various degrees of fullness (224-225): only the Roman Catholic sacraments guarantee the greatest fullness.
 
In the end, the author’s thinking on the subject is summarized as follows: “God is present in every human being from the moment of conception, not only as Creator, but also as Savior” (235). This is the catholicity of grace in contemporary Roman Catholicism. Without the legal/covenantal understanding, one slips into the universalism of salvation.
 
The book introduces us to the universe of contemporary Roman Catholic theology of grace, in which everything can be found except a firm commitment to respect the biblical teaching that “by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from yourselves; it is the gift of God” (Ephesians 2:8).

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249. Mary as “Co-redemptrix”: fresh clarity or further confusion?

Roma locuta, causa finita est (Rome has spoken, the issue is over). This phrase taken from Augustine (Sermo 131.10) has often been used to highlight the solidity of the Roman Catholic authority structure and the finality of its decision-making process. Well, forget it. After the Note of the Vatican Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith “Mater Populis Fidelis” (4 Nov), Rome has spoken (yes), but contradicting what was authoritativelty said earlier and making the issue an open-ended one.
 
We are talking about Mary being ascribed the title of “Co-redemptrix”, recognizing  the contribution of Mary to the redemption of the world accomplished by the Son. Over the centuries, the acceptance of this title has been brewing in popular piety, in the writings of some mystics, and more recently in official documents by Popes Pius X and Pius XI. Pope John Paul II was also fond of talking about Mary participating in redemption, thus being worthy of being called “Co-redemptrix”. After the 19th century Marian dogma of her Immaculate Conception (1854), and the 20th century dogma of her Bodily Assumption (1950), there has been some expectation in some Catholic circles that Rome would promulgate the fifth Marian dogma, i.e. Mary as “Co-redemptrix”, in the 21st century.
 
While these developments in Marian devotions were at work and growing, there were also pushbacks coming from high ecclesiastical quarters. For example, Cardinal Ratzinger (before becoming Pope Benedict XVI) argued that the title was subject to misunderstandings and not yet sufficiently clarified theologically; Pope Francis expressed similar reservations fearing ambiguities and confusions over the exact nature of Mary “co-redemption”.
 
This sofly critical trend was echoed in the Note of the Vatican Dicastery. The document basically repeats the Ratzinger-Francis cautious comments: Mary as “Co-redemptrix” has not yet been clarified theologically and the title is open to abuses if it is thought as paralleling Chirst’s redemption. The new element is that the reigning Pope, Leo XIV, shares these concerns and has approved the Note. For these reasons, for the time being, the Vatican is not to put in motion the promulgation of the fifth dogma, but will stick to a wait-and-see policy. It is more of a temporary stop of the process, than a definitive halt.

A few observations need to be made. First, Roman Catholic Mariology has always had maximalist and minimalist parties. The pendulum has been swinging in one direction or the other. The Note signals the fact that the latter is now prevalent over the other in the Vatican headquarters. The movement could change in the future, given the fact that Mariology, not being governed by Scripture Alone, is conceptually and practically open-ended.
 
Second, while the Note is cautious about new developments towards Mary’s title as “Co-redemptrix”, it unwaveringly reaffirms the traditional Roman Catholic Mariology made of unbiblical dogmas, practices and devotions. The document reiterates the view of Christ’s mediation as being “inclusive” and participatory, thus making room for Mary’s and the saints’ intercession and mediation of graces. There is no “Christ alone” theology in the Note!
 
Third, the main driver of Mariological development has always been the lex orandi (i.e. liturgy and spirituality) rather than the lex credendi (i.e. doctrine). The Vatican Note underlines a potential problem in the latter but warmly encourages the full expression of the former. In other words, the door for Mary’s co-redemption is not definitively closed, but only left ajar. Inspite of idealized views of Roman Catholicism, Rome is not the stable and coherent entity that pretends to be.
 
There is far truer and better way to honor Mary than that of the Vatican Note: imitate her faith and cherish her legacy according to Scripture while trusting in Jesus Christ alone for our salvation.  
 
 
(A version of this article was posted on Evangelicals Now, 6 November 2025)