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241. The clever move of Leo XIV. Five factors of attraction

Not a castling move, and not a simple sidestep—but a knight’s move. In chess terms, that’s how we might describe Operation Leo XIV: unexpected, strategic, and game-changing.
 
Those who expected a castling move—the defensive, conservative strategy that retreats under pressure—have been caught off guard by the conclave’s decision. Prevost is not the embodiment of the traditionalist and restorative Catholicism that certain sectors of the Church of Rome were hoping for. Appointed cardinal by Pope Francis and entrusted with selecting bishops from around the world, Prevost is very much a product of the Bergoglian papacy and aligned with its vision. No rollback or U-turn reversal of the major reforms initiated by the Argentine pope is anticipated.
 
Those anticipating a lateral, diplomatic, wait-and-see approach were also surprised. Among the likely candidates, Cardinal Parolin personified that option: a seasoned diplomat and former Vatican Secretary of State, seen as the favorite to ease tensions, stabilize factions, and buy time for future decisions. His election would have signaled a pause—an effort to cool tempers and calm the chaos stirred by the Francis era.

But the choice of Leo XIV signals something else entirely. Prevost, still under 70, is a “young” pope with the possibility of a long pontificate. This was not a caretaker decision. The conclave didn’t choose a bridge—it chose direction.
 
In chess terms, the election of Leo XIV was a knight’s move: surprising, indirect, coming from the rear, and disrupting the board in ways that force everyone to rethink their position. The game has changed.
 
In the meantime, he is American. Until now, there seemed to be an unwritten rule: the Church of Rome would not elect a pope from a global economic superpower. But with this conclave, that unwritten rule has been broken. The election of Leo XIV shows a mindset liberated from 20th-century geopolitical categories. The majority of cardinals who voted for him came from the Global South—Asia and Africa—demonstrating that the College of Cardinals no longer sees the world through a strictly Western lens.
 
His American identity serves at least two strategic purposes:

  • First, it may seek to undermine the cultural leadership of Trump-style conservative Christianity, particularly in the battle against “woke” ideologies, by reasserting the Catholic Church as the guardian of civilization and moral order.
  • Second, it could serve as a magnet for disillusioned American evangelicals—those growing weary of consumeristic religious options—who see in Catholicism a more stable and historic alternative. In the fluid and competitive religious marketplace of the United States, an American pope could attract significant interest and credibility.

Then, he is an Augustinian. After Francis—a Jesuit marked by intellectual eclecticism and theological creativity—Leo XIV comes from a more grounded, millennia-old order. This background suggests a pope who is more theologically stable, more predictable, and, in a sense, more “traditional.” While not a scholar in the academic sense (though he has taught in Peru), Prevost thinks within a well-defined theological tradition. His approach lacks the originality of Francis, but offers reassurance to those in the Church seeking clarity. His Augustinian identity may be perceived as an olive branch to conservative Catholics, especially those disillusioned by the Francis era.
 
Then, he is an administrator. A canon law expert with a doctorate from the Angelicum, Prevost has served as prior general of the Augustinian Order, bishop in Peru, and more recently as prefect of the Vatican dicastery that selects bishops globally. In short, he’s not primarily a theologian, but a man of governance. After a pontificate marked by institutional confusion, the conclave appears to have chosen someone capable—at least on paper—of managing the complex machinery of the Roman Catholic Church.
 
That’s not all. Prevost is also a cosmopolitan figure. Fluent in five languages (English, Spanish, Italian, French, and Portuguese), he has wide-ranging pastoral and missionary experience across Latin America and within the Vatican bureaucracy. He is North American and Latin American. He bridges worlds—culturally, linguistically, and ecclesially. In many ways, he is a truly global leader.
 
Then there’s the name: Leo XIV. With thirteen popes before him bearing the name Leo, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly which one inspired him. Still, Leo XIII (1810–1903) stands out: the pope who united Thomistic orthodoxy with social engagement. Perhaps Leo XIV aspires to the same combination—socially engaged Catholicity with a firmer doctrinal framework.
 
For all these reasons, the election of Leo XIV was a knight’s move—unexpected, disruptive, and strategic. From a sense of institutional checkmate under Francis, the Church of Rome now attempts to reposition itself in its relationship with the world, with religions, and with humanity.
 
This new pope will undoubtedly attract interest from the evangelical world. Evangelicals in the Global South may see in him a missionary close to the poor. North American evangelicals may recognize an Augustinian voice who understands the language of tradition. In short, everyone may be tempted to see the pope they want to see.
 
But what must not be lacking is evangelical discernment. Leo XIV is the Supreme Pontiff of the Roman Church, representing a religious system that remains distinct from—and ultimately opposed to—the gospel of Jesus Christ. Whether more or less traditional, more or less conservative, more or less open, these remain internal shifts within Roman Catholicism. With the election of Leo XIV, Rome has shown shrewdness and long-term vision. It is once again positioning itself to bring the whole world under the influence of its ecclesiastical structure.

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240. “The Diversity of Religions is the Will of God”. A Window into Pope Francis’s Theology of Religions

Many Roman Catholics raised their eyebrows when they read: “The pluralism and the diversity of religions, colour, sex, race and language are willed by God in His wisdom, through which He created human beings.” The one who was saying this was Pope Francis in the 2019 Abu Dhabi Statement on “Human Fraternity for World Peace and Living Together”, co-signed with Ahmad Al-Tayyeb, the Grand Imam of Al-Azhar.
 
That God willed (and therefore created) the diversity of colour, sex, and race is unquestionable: these are all good traits of God’s creation. One could argue that as far as language is concerned, the account of the tower of Babel (Genesis 9) should be taken into account to realize that the multiplicity of languages is also the result of sin. But what about the diversity of religions? Is it really the will of God that men and women should worship gods and goddesses other than the One and True God, i.e. the Triune God of the Bible? The straightforward biblical answer is No. Period. However, Pope Francis said Yes.
 
How is it possible? Does the Roman Catholic Church now accept that all religions lead to God? Where does this new view of religions come from? These are all legitimate questions. According to Alberto Caccaro, L’uomo fa la differenza in Dio. La questione cristologica in Jacques Dupuis (Brescia: Queriniana, 2024), in order to to grasp the present-day theological debate on religions within Roman Catholicism, one needs to be aware of the work of the Jesuit theologian Jacques Dupuis (1923-2004). This Belgian theologian, who spent part of his life as a missionary in India, is an important voice that forms the Pope’s theological framework. Pope Francis, himself a Jesuit, does not quote him either in the Abu Dhabi Statement or in the encyclical “All Brothers” on fraternity among all peoples, but Dupuis’s thoughts are part of the backbone of his positive and “fraternal” approach to religions.

Questioning the existing models for thinking about the role of religions (i.e. exclusivism = Christ excludes other religions; inclusivism = Christ includes all religions; pluralism = Christ is one among many religions), Dupuis explored new “frontiers” in light of what he believed to be the “surplus” of the mystery of Christ over the linguistic and institutional forms of Christianity. His theology of religious pluralism was a response to what he considered an oversimplification of traditional accounts and an invitation to rework Christology by recognising the “space” of religions as a constitutive part of Christ and the gospel. In Dupuis’ view, religions are convergent and complementary mediations of salvation, and therefore the task of theology is to elaborate a Christology of religions that corresponds to their role.
 
This study by Caccaro, a Roman Catholic theologian and missionary working in Cambodia, takes up the themes of Dupuis’s reflection precisely from the Christological question and considers Dupuis’s three books on the subject: Jesus Christ at the Encounter of World Religions (English edition: 1991), Towards a Christian Theology of Religious Pluralism (English Edition: 2002) and Christianity and the Religions. From Confrontation to Dialogue (English Edition: 2002).
 
These works caused debate not only in the theological academies but also in the Vatican Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith (at the time presided over by Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger), so much so that the Congregation sent him a “Notification”, a yellow card for having entered minefield territory, for “serious doctrinal errors” and “ambiguities” in his thinking. Although it generated some heat, this “Notification” had no disciplinary outcome. After Dupuis’s death, the trial was dropped.
 
In Dupuis’s thought, the distinction between Logos énsarkos (incarnate Word) and Logos ásarkos (non-incarnate Word) is central. While the former coincides with the person of Jesus Christ and the biblical account of him and his work, the latter is by its very nature open, spacious and irreducible to any closed codification. On the side of the Holy Spirit, while the Spirit of Christ is associated with the historical person of the God-man Jesus (i.e. the hypostatic union), the Spirit of God “blows where He wills,” and possibly in all religions.

As a Roman Catholic theologian, Dupuis glimpses the problems raised by these insights, and in his theology, one can see the struggle to keep Christology anchored to the incarnate Person of Jesus Christ while opening the non-incarnate Logos to accomodating and welcoming the different religions. The underlying question is: can one find salvation beyond the historical and embodied revelation of Jesus Christ? If yes, as argued by Dupuis, there is room for “differentiated and complementary revelation” and salvation offered by other religions. Since Dupuis wants to affirm both that Jesus Christ is the final revelation in his embodied Person and the possibility for other religions to be revelatory and salvific in his non-incarnate reality. Roman Catholic theology, a master in holding tensions together (et-et), must open its synthesis to the maximum exercise of its catholicity, i.e. its ability to embrace two opposites at the same time.
 
Dupuis speaks of “polarities at play.” In the unresolved polarity between the incarnate Word (biblically attested) and the non-incarnate Word (spacious enough as to include other religions), there would be room for the salvific role of religions. Compared to traditional models (i.e. exclusivism, inclusivism, and pluralism), Caccaro claims that Dupuis’s thought can be understood as “inclusive pluralism” or “pluralistic inclusivism” (91).
 
Even on a first reading, the problems with this position are evident. If the non-incarnate Word is pitted against the incarnate revelation of God in Jesus Christ, doesn’t one devalue the necessary scandal of the incarnation and the cross? If the Spirit and the Father operate outside of and without Jesus Christ, isn’t the unity and harmony of the Trinity endangered? If salvation can be found outside of the incarnate Word, doesn’t conversion to Christ become redundant?
 
Caccamo is helpful at exploring the “acrobatics” of Dupuis’s theology of religions especially as far as his concepts of “surplus” and “superabundance” of the mystery of the Word which cannot be contained in closed and pre-defined schemes of thought.
 
What is perhaps most interesting is to see how his work influenced Pope Francis’s claim that the diversity of religions is the will of God. Dupuis is only the latest development of a long-term process within Roman Catholicism that the Pope echoed. In fact, the theology of religions was given a shock at Vatican II (1962-1965) when it was argued that the plan of salvation includes people who don’t profess faith in Jesus Christ and that those who don’t know the gospel can attain salvation (Lumen Gentium, n. 16). Then, Redemptoris Missio, the 1990 encyclical by John Paul II, stated that “participated forms of mediation of different kinds and degrees are not excluded” (n. 5).
 
A lot of water has passed under the bridges of Roman Catholic theology: from the “anonymous Christianity” of Karl Rahner to the “All brothers” of Pope Francis. Of course, there have been pushbacks here and there (e.g. the 2000 critical declaration Dominus Iesus signed by Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger), but the direction seems to be clear. The theology of religions is fertile ground in post-Vatican II Roman Catholicism. It is therefore not by chance that Pope Francis could write that “the pluralism and the diversity of religions, colour, sex, race and language are willed by God in His wisdom, through which He created human beings.” In this sense, the spirit if not the letter of Dupuis’s work was at play in the Pope’s mind.
 
One glimpses a pattern: Dupuis broke new ground in his work, the immediate Vatican reaction was fairly negative, then his main concerns were accepted and integrated, and now they are part of the mainstream teaching of the Roman Church, at least implicitly. Here is how the Roman catholicity works: on the one hand, the traditional exclusivist and inclusivist positions are formally maintained, but on the other hand, they have developed in the “inclusive pluralism” or “pluralistic inclusivism” that Dupuis gave theological weight to in his work. There is no commitment to the ultimate authority of the Bible, and therefore the Roman Catholic system can flex one way or the other away from gospel boundaries.

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239. Fifteen Years (2010-2025) of Vatican Files at the Service of Evangelical Discernment

It is a modest anniversary, both for its relatively short time (only 15 years) and for the relatively small achievements to remember. Yet, it is worth mentioning for a few reasons. It was 2010 when the website www.vaticanfiles.org (VF) was opened and articles began to be posted on a regular basis, eventually becoming a monthly column. Now the VF have almost 250 free articles offering “evangelical perspectives on Roman Catholicism” translated in multiple languages and reposted by other outlets like Evangelical Focus, Evangelicals Now and Protestante Digital, as well as appearing in the monthly newsletter of the European Leadership Forum. The VF have 650 subscribers, but through the above-mentioned channels, the readership is far wider and global.

The VF are a small but not insignificant pool of resources to help evangelicals approach, understand and assess the vast and complex reality of Roman Catholicism with gospel clarity and theological breadth. It is a free resource at the service of evangelical discernment.

How the Vatican Files Began
The origins of the VF date back to the time when I arrived in Rome in 2009. Having a published PhD on evangelical interpretations of Vatican II, having taught courses on Roman Catholicism at Istituto di Formazione Evangelica e Documentazione (Padova, Italy), and having read papers on Roman Catholicism at international conferences such as the Fellowship of European Evangelical Theologians, the World Reformed Fellowship, and in various places in Italy, the UK, Germany and France, I thought of ways to make my expertise available to the wider evangelical public, taking advantage also of me now living and ministering in Rome.

At that time, I was also vice-chairman of the Italian Evangelical Alliance, and I offered to the World Evangelical Alliance to write regular updates for its leadership on Vatican documents and events and more generally on Roman Catholicism-related topics. It was through the WEA that I was admitted to the Vatican Press Office as correspondent. In this way, I gained direct access to official press conferences and had opportunities to interact with Vatican experts from all over the world.

The first VF were sent to a list of WEA leaders and interested people. It was only a few months later that the number of people who wanted to receive them grew considerably and the website was opened so that the articles could be posted there and become freely accessible.

Blind Spot
Since 2010, the VF have assessed documents and initiatives of the late Benedict XVI up to his abrupt resignation, the election of Pope Francis and the unfolding of his pontificate, the various theological, ecumenical, missionary, cultural, institutional trends that can be observed in Roman Catholicism through the analysis of books, events, journals and other resources.

As a theologian and not a journalist, in the VF I have tended to offer a theological interpretation of the Roman Catholic world from an evangelical viewpoint. When I researched what the evangelical world was producing in terms of its own assessment of Roman Catholicism, I came to the sober conclusion that very little was available and even less in progress. On the one hand, Roman Catholicism had become a regular dialogue partner in many evangelical constituencies and circles world-wide; on the other hand, very little effort was put toward understanding the dynamics of what had come out of Vatican II and the present-day reality of Rome.

Evangelicals were opening to the ecumenical embracement of Rome or entering joint activities with Roman Catholic agencies and movements, not having done the proper and necessary homework of trying to come to terms with the Roman Catholic system. The latter is capable of being traditional and progressive, Marian and seemingly “evangelical”, sacramentalist and “charismatic”, papal and “missionary”, always keeping its institutional outlook and spiritual agenda. The root problem was the lack of evangelical engagement with what had happened at the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965) coupled with a process that was leading to the weakening of evangelical distinctives with regards to the multiple and changing faces of Roman Catholicism. This was the blind spot that the VF tried to overcome.

From the VF to the Reformanda Initiative and Beyond
The VF began small and unassuming, and they remain such. However, they cover ground that is hard to find in the evangelical world. As their circulation increased, so opportunities to write, speak, give papers and talks grew correspondently.

A major step forward was the launching of the Reformanda Initiative (RI) in 2016 as a more comprehensive project, brewed out of the inspiration received at the European Leadership Forum. As an independent entity, RI’s aim was and is to “Identify, unite, equip, and resource evangelical leaders to understand Roman Catholic theology and practice, to educate the evangelical church and to communicate the gospel.”

Since 2016, the Rome Scholars and Leaders Network has been gathering each year 30-40 global theologians and leaders from around the world to participate in a weeklong seminar. The RI podcast was launched soon after. Opportunities to write books and invitations to speak at conferences multiplied (e.g. Australia, Brazil, USA, Canada, various European countries), involving also my dear friends and colleagues Reid Karr and Clay Kannard.

The work of the RI is expanding fast, although it is still organic and with potential to grow. It will be for another occasion to evaluate the impact of the RI. Suffice it now to say that it was birthed also out of the preceding experience of the VF.

As already indicated, fifteen years is a modest anniversary that should not fuel human pride but praise to God. The evangelical world needs faithful, updated and comprehensive perspectives on Roman Catholicism. It is neither a luxury nor a speculative endeavor: it is a must that is required by the evangelical commitment to the biblical gospel. To that end, the VF have given a small but incremental contribution.

In closing, I wish to say thank you to David Valente, Gordon Showell-Rogers, Reid Karr, Clay Kannard, Greg Pritchard, Tom Wilson, Becca Paternoster, Abby Dill, Rob Clarke, David Barker, Joel Forster, Rosa Gubianas and many others whose names I may have forgotten, who in various ways (e.g. encouragement, web design, graphics, editing, translating) have helped the VF to be known over the years. Soli Deo gloria.

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238. No Longer Accretions. The Problem of Roman Catholicism in Dialogue with Gavin Ortlund

In the beginning was the church, then something went wrong, and Roman Catholicism emerged. What did go wrong? The answer is: accretions. Accretions were innovations added to the faith and life of the early church mainly in the realm of Mariology, sacraments, and devotions. Roman Catholicism is the cumulative result of such accretions, having become a religion where these additions have found citizenship and have become identity markers of the Roman Catholic account of Christianity.

This is one of the points made by Gavin Ortlund in his recent book What It Means to Be Protestant (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2024). The volume is a superb commendation of the Protestant faith against the background of recent attraction to Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy experienced by younger evangelicals. The advice given by Ortlund to people who are searching is to think twice (and pray even more) before dismissing Protestantism as a “new” and “sectarian” departure from ancient and traditional Christianity, as some Roman Catholic apologists depict it. As a matter of fact, the Protestant faith is the best pathway to catholicity and historical rootedness. In essence, Protestantism is “a movement of renewal and reform within the church” (xix). Its Sola Fide (faith alone) and Sola Scriptura (Scripture alone) principles, properly understood and applied, represent biblical teaching at its best and make Protestantism the best-suited movement for “an always-reforming Church”, as the subtitle of Ortlund’s book suggests.

This is not going to be a review of this insightful book but only a reflection on one of the arguments that Ortlund puts forward in addressing the problem of accretions in Roman Catholicism and how Protestantism deals with it in its renewing and reforming drive.

Accretions Explained
As already indicated, central to his analysis is the idea of “accretion”. Here is what happened. In post-apostolic times, the “gospel has been both obscured and added on to” (xxiii) and Roman Catholicism is the institutionalized result of such an accretion process. Again, “Many of the essential, necessary features of Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox theology and worship represent historical innovation and error” (149). Both traditions “have inadvertently added requirements on the gospel that Christ himself would not require” (221).

Ortlund’s book explores in detail two examples of accretions and presents them as case studies: Mary’s bodily assumption, a belief sneaked in during the 5th century that was dogmatized by Rome in 1950, and icon veneration as was affirmed by Nicaea II, the seventh ecumenical council, in 787. In both cases, we are confronted with two add-ons that are not part of the biblical core of the gospel.

Protestantism and Accretions
What’s the calling of Protestantism then? In the 16th century, Protestantism called for “the removal of various innovations or accretions” (xx). To put it differently, “The point of Protestantism was to remove the errors. Their goal was to return to ancient Christianity, to a version prior to the intrusion of various accretions” (138). This is not confined only to the Reformation age. The very mission of Protestantism is to be “a historical retrieval and a removal of accretions” (147, 149, and 220), even its own internal ones.

This is to say that Protestantism has accretions too and is not immune from deviations. According to Ortlund, “Accretions are inevitable. In an imperfect world, the intrusion of errors will be a constant possibility and frequent occurrence. The difference is that Protestant accretions are not enshrined within allegedly infallible teaching” (149). Unlike Rome, which has locked accretions in a system that is allegedly infallible, the Protestant faith through the Sola Scriptura principle has a mechanism that is at the service of “an always-reforming church”, at least in principle. Through retrieval of biblical teaching and removal of deviations that are incompatible with it, Protestantism submits to the infallibility of Scripture rather than to a pretentiously infallible church and its magisterium that is already infected by accretions.   

No Longer Accretions
The theory of accretions is certainly plausible from a historical point of view, and Ortlund does a great job in raising the issue and sampling it. The point is that Roman Catholicism is no longer Christianity in its biblical outlook but an accrued version of it.

Whereas the historical awareness is present, what is perhaps lacking in Ortlund’s book is the theological appreciation of the impact of accretions on Roman Catholicism as a whole. As already noted, an accretion is a belief and/or practice discordant if not contrary to the Bible that is added. When the accretion is made by Rome and it has received the official approval by the magisterium, it is no longer an add-on but has become part of the whole doctrinal and devotional system. Accretions are integrated in such a way as to infiltrate the religious core at the deepest level. They start as additions but result in becoming part of the theological DNA.  

Ortlund hints at this when discussing Mary’s assumption. He writes, “The bodily assumption of Mary is held to be an infallible dogma, and thus an irreformable and obligatory part of Christian revelation” (161). True, this “historical innovation” (185) was introduced as an accretion but now according to Rome is to be considered as inherently belonging to divine revelation. After it became dogma in 1950, it is “irreformable” and “obligatory”. It is no longer an add-on: it is a defining mark of Roman Catholicism.

The same is true for icon veneration. As historical accretion, the practice was given doctrinal status only in the 8th century. Since then, though, in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, “The icon is placed on a level with the Holy Scripture and with the Cross” (190). This means that icon veneration infringes on the authority of Scripture and the significance of the cross, i.e., two tenets of the Christian faith. Also in Roman Catholicism, icon veneration is grounded in the incarnation of Christ, thus touching on a basic Christological point. It is no longer a historical addition that can be detached and disposed of. It has become embedded in the core account of the Roman and Eastern gospels at the highest theological level, i.e., the doctrines of revelation (Scripture), salvation (cross), and Christ (incarnation).

While not investigating the issue with the same historical depth as the previous two, Ortlund makes reference to the doctrine of the papal office as another example of accretion. The papacy is evidently not part of the New Testament message. It is a child of imperial culture and politics, the result of “Slow historical accretions – a gradual accumulation and centralization of power within the Western church” (109-110). Yet Roman Catholicism has elevated the papacy to the highest theological status, i.e., the dogma of papal infallibility promulgated in 1870. The papacy is now another defining mark of Roman Catholicism, and this means that the Roman Catholic account of the gospel considers the papacy as central in the deposit of faith. Introduced as accretion, it is now organically part of the whole.

A Perplexing Conclusion
With all these accretions added to a system that deems itself to be infallible when elevated to dogmas, we are confronted with an integrated theological whole. Accretions were added in history but are now part of theology and practice. Borrowing an expression used by the Church Father Cyprian, Ortlund refers to “muddy water” (151) to indicate the mixed nature resulting from the accretions: it used to be water, but after the dirt is added, the water is no longer separable from the dirt.

This is the problem of Roman Catholicism from a Protestant viewpoint: it is muddy water in all areas. The muddiness is not equally dirty but is everywhere: the accretions have percolated in such a way as to modify all doctrines and practices.

Considering this, Ortlund’s final comment is perplexing. When he sums up his argument, he writes, “While we (Protestants) can share the core gospel message with many of the traditions outside of Protestantism, certain of their practices and beliefs have the unfortunate effect of both blurring it and adding on to it” (221-222). An inconsistency is evident here. On the one hand, the devasting reality of irreformable accretions is reckoned with; on the other, he still thinks that “we can share the core gospel message” as if the accretions have not altered it.

The case studies presented in the book show something different, i.e., accretions have infiltrated the core gospel message. Mary’s assumption is dogma although it has no biblical support. Icon veneration is thought of in terms of the incarnation of Christ. The papal office is dogma although it is a child of imperial ideology. We could add other examples of accretions:

In other words, the Roman Catholic “core gospel message” is Roman, papal, Marian, and sacramentalist. After the Council of Trent (1545-1563) that anathemized “faith alone”, the First Vatican Council (1870) that promulgated papal infallibility, the two modern Marian dogmas of the immaculate conception (1854) and bodily assumption (1950), the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965) that made steps towards universalism, Rome’s “core gospel message” is imprisoned in irreformable and unchangeable dogmatic commitments that are beyond the Bible if not against the Bible. After the Counter-Reformation there is no core gospel message that is left untouched by accretions.

There is a vast difference between what Paul writes in Galatians and what he writes to the Philippians. In Philippians 1, Paul is able to rejoice because, despite leaders’ wrong motives, the true gospel is preached. But in Galatians, the gospel is being distorted although some gospel words are still used, and Paul confronts this. Post-accretions Roman Catholicism is more of a Galatians 1 than a Philippians 1 issue.

Accretions are not Lego bricks that once added can be taken away. They are additions that impact the whole system and transform it into something different. Roman Catholicism is no longer biblical Christianity; it is “muddy water”. It is not half gospel and half accretions. It is an integrated whole where non-biblical accretions define its foundational outlook and not only its secondary-tertiary aspects. As “a historical retrieval and a removal of accretions”, Protestantism serves the cause of an always-reforming Church and calls Roman Catholicism to a biblically radical reformation of its core commitments: back to Faith Alone and Scripture Alone.

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237. Conclave: The Movie that Takes Francis’s Papacy to Excruciating Consequences

It is no secret that the conclave (i.e. the assembly of cardinals for the election of a pope) always arouses voyeuristic interest. What happens inside the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican among the cardinal electors once the “extra omnes” (everyone out) is decreed is a source of almost morbid curiosity. In recent years, movie director Nanni Moretti chronicled his conclave in the film Habemus Papam (2011). Now, Swiss director Edward Berger is trying again with his own Conclave (2024), based on the novel of the same title by Robert Harris.
 
The film’s plot and setting are typical of the genre: the pope dies, and the “sede vacante” (vacant seat) is declared. The operations of the election of a successor then begin, culminating in voting in the Sistine Chapel. After an open-minded pope on doctrine and morals, different fronts clash: there is the progressive candidate who wants to continue the policies of the previous one, there is the conservative candidate who wants to bring the Catholic Church back into the groove of tradition, there is the “center” candidate who aims to administer the system by freezing the ongoing diatribes, and there is the African candidate who embodies the openness of Roman Catholicism to the global south.
 
In his homily at the beginning of the conclave, the Dean of the College of Cardinals says that it is no longer the time for “certainties” but for doubt and that the church must be the home of diversity that must be welcomed. It is a clue to the narrative so close to that of Pope Francis that it forms the spiritual framework of the film. Indeed, a Jesuit mark of Francis’ papacy is the exaltation of confusion and ambiguity, generating new solutions and stigmatizing traditionalism as a backward flight.

https://www.amazon.com/Tell-Catholic-Friend-Leonardo-Chirico/dp/B0DGBTY2PQ

The film chronicles how tight negotiations are constructed and unraveled over one candidate or the other. In short, all the strong candidates, one by one, fall under the weight of skeletons kept in the closet and which emerge during the conclave. The careerist and clericalist candidates involved are routed one by one. This, too, is a feature of the film that reflects a tendency dear to Pope Francis. Several times, Pope Francis has said that the Catholic Church is full of officials who are not shepherds who “smell of their flock” and who instead aspire to power. In the film, these corrupt candidates are exposed and pushed aside.
 
Eventually, in a conclave riven by scandal and conflict, the latest and unknown cardinal becomes pope. He comes from Baghdad, the “end of the earth,” as Jorge Bergoglio said of himself. He is outside the Roman system. He has been a priest in cities and countries at war: rather than the halls of power, he has been close to those who suffer. He is not doctrinaire, and in his brief address to the cardinals, he talks about inclusion, mercy, and universal fraternity. These are clearly themes that Francis always stressed. The new pope, both geographically and spiritually, resembles a candidate who mirrors Pope Francis’ portrait of the ideal priest. He seems to have no certainties except that of a church that embraces everything and everyone.
 
But there is more. While the new pope is in the “room of tears” (a small antechamber within the Sistine Chapel where a newly elected pope changes into his papal cassock for the first time), it turns out that he is also intersex. The pope who selected him as a cardinal had encouraged him to undergo uterine removal surgery, but he eventually refused, and the pope appointed him anyway.
 
The election took place, so there is not much room for maneuver. Moreover, the conclave had opened with a call to abandon certainty and open up to doubt. Now, the new pope precisely embodies that uncertainty and fluidity and invites acceptance of what is different and outside the traditional patterns.
 
Is this not the message of Pope Francis over the years of his papacy? Who does not remember the “who am I to judge” with which he introduced himself to the world? Who has not noticed the “todos, todos, todos” (all, all, all) that has been the refrain of his speeches? Who does not have in mind the blessing of people involved in homosexual relationships? Who has not heard the pope say that we are “all children of God”?
 
Here is the point: the film Conclave takes the seeds planted by Pope Francis during his pontificate to their extreme consequences. It seems that the novel on which it is based, although written by Robert Harris, was inspired by an idea of Pope Francis. The movie only anticipates some outcomes that are perhaps unsettling and excruciating, but congruent and consonant with respect to the “catholic” (inclusive, all-embracing) direction that Jorge Bergoglio imprinted on the Roman Catholic Church.