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Vatican City - A few evenings ago, at the end of one of those intense days marked by Congregations and the Novemdiales, we found ourselves dining with some friends and a cardinal of commendable pastoral experience — a discreet figure who shuns the limelight, yet possesses a clear and profound vision of the Church. On 7 May, he will enter the Sistine Chapel, and this task “keeps him awake at night.” As we dined, gazing at the lights and rooftops of the Eternal City, our conversation turned to the future, but also to the lessons of the past. From our vantage point, we could see the dome of St Peter’s silhouetted against the night sky, like a beating heart in the twilight of history. The air was mild, the wine generous, and time seemed to flow with that full slowness unique to certain Roman evenings. Many topics were discussed: the beauty of the Church, the search that young people pursue despite the pessimistic narrative some prefer to promote, the struggle and grace of ministry, the weight of silence and the liberation of truth-speaking words. Then, after dinner, we settled into a few armchairs, and the cardinal shared an intense and candid reflection on the future of the Church and the election of the next Pope. His words, tinged with concern yet filled with hope, left a profound impression. They stemmed not from resentment or political calculation, but from a genuine love for the Bride of Christ and a desire that she might rediscover her truest voice.
Deep Faith and Fidelity to Christ
In the discernment of the next pope, the first indispensable quality must be a deep faith — rooted in the Gospel, preserved in Tradition, and firmly anchored in doctrinal orthodoxy. It is extremely dangerous — as recent experience has shown — to elect a man who is not truly known, or worse, who is known only by outward appearances, perhaps for having held prominent roles in the Roman Curia during Pope Francis’s pontificate. The prestige of a role does not equate to the transparency of a soul. During Pope Francis’s pontificate, many cardinals, bishops, and theologians were unable to express their thoughts freely or contribute authentically to ecclesial debate, for fear of repercussions. A silent fear has crept through the sacred corridors and dioceses alike: the fear of being labelled, isolated, or removed. This climate has stifled not only free theological exchange but also a true knowledge of ecclesial personalities: many have remained in the shadows, others have conformed superficially for convenience or institutional survival.
The election of Pope Francis in 2013 revealed the risks of placing hope in candidates known only superficially or through the distorted and often ideological lens of the media. Trust was placed in a constructed narrative, rather than in a real understanding of the candidate’s heart and mind. What is needed today is greater spiritual prudence and deeper discernment. As St Gregory the Great warned: “The shepherd’s tongue must be close to the heart of God before it opens to the people.” If this does not happen, guidance becomes control, and service becomes imposition. We need a man of God, not a man of image. A pastor who does not seek media acclaim or popularity at all costs, but who can resist the temptation of easy approval. As Benedict XVI reminded us: “The true shepherd does not measure his actions by success, but by fidelity to the truth.” The new pope will need the courage to say “no” where everyone expects a “yes”, if that “yes” means distorting the deposit of faith. Moreover, the Church must breathe once more through theological thought, sincere inquiry, and honest debate. We need a pope who has the strength and humility to allow genuine theological ferment, without suppressing or suspecting those who, while remaining faithful to the Church, express differing views on open questions. During the current pontificate, many orthodox theologians have been marginalised or silenced simply for being perceived as “not aligned”. Yet theology does not flourish under fear, but within the guarded freedom of communion. Still, such ferment must never be mistaken for confusion.
The Pope is not a moderator of debates, but he who, as successor of Peter, confirms the brethren in the faith (Luke 22:32). He cannot exercise his role like a “president” ruling by majority, especially in matters of doctrine. As St John Paul II stated in Dominus Iesus: “The magisterium is not superior to the Word of God, but serves it.” The Pope cannot reinvent the faith, but must guard it, defend it, and propose it in its entirety.
In this sense, we need a man who is a father, not an ideologue; a witness, not a strategist; a defender of the Creed, not a doctrinal alchemist. As Pope St Paul VI said, “The Church needs shepherds, not leaders; teachers of truth, not agitators.” The Church needs a pope who is unafraid of the truth and who does not inspire fear in those sincerely seeking it.
A Father to All, Not a Bitter Judge
The Church needs a Pope who is, above all, a father, a teacher, and a sign of unity. We have lived through years in which much has been said about mercy, but for many, the concrete experience has been one of variable mercy — applied selectively, and often denied precisely to those who most deserved it: priests, religious, and bishops.
Pope Francis’s pontificate presented itself from the outset as an “age of mercy”, but in reality, it has shown a certain harshness towards the clergy, exacerbated by a climate of generalised suspicion, almost as if every priest were presumed guilty. This approach has bred insecurity, fear, self-censorship, and a widespread sense of alienation among those who live and serve the Church daily — often in silence, in hardship, and far from the spotlight. As St John XXIII once said: “The Pope must be a father, not an inquisitor.”
Sadly, too often it has seemed that Francis has acted not as a father, but as a judge. Many have observed that his decisions appear driven by long-standing prejudices, personal wounds, or deep mistrust toward the Roman Curia and clergy, accused of being “clerical and false.” In Argentina, first as a Jesuit and later as a bishop, Jorge Mario Bergoglio experienced conflicts, marginalisation, and tensions that deeply shaped his personality. This past was never truly processed or overcome, and it has significantly influenced his papacy. It is undeniable: many of his interventions and reforms seem guided more by resentment than by discernment. The proof lies in the many motu proprio that established something, only to contradict it later. Francis harboured resentment toward what he perceived as the “old Church” — the very Church that raised, formed, ordained, and welcomed him. It is the perennial Church, which never changes. His failure to reconcile with that past prevented Pope Francis from being a true father to the clergy: affectionate yet demanding, merciful yet steadfast, paternal not punitive. The figure of the pope must not be shaped by one’s inner wounds or unresolved conflicts. We do not need a man who wants to “please everyone”, who chases media approval or ecclesial factions’ applause, but one who can speak with all without being a prisoner of his own wounds. As Benedict XVI stated, “The man of the Church cannot be enslaved by his emotions or personal battles, but must be free in truth and charity.”
In recent years, we have also witnessed a portrayal of the clergy as deeply sick, corrupt, and decayed. Undoubtedly, there are abuses, scandals, and betrayals — but the identity of the priest or religious cannot be reduced to that. In a world increasingly hostile to consecrated life and Gospel values, every priest who remains faithful to his vocation, despite many weaknesses, is a sign of hope. Religious life has never been easy; today it is simply heroic. Mercy is not weakness, but strength that lifts — as Christ taught in the Gospel. The Pope should be the one who reassures the clergy, heals their wounds, values their service, and calls them to fidelity — not through public humiliation or contemptuous attitudes. The Pope we are called to elect must remember that the weakness of the clergy is no different from that of any human being, and that true reform is born not from demolition, but from spiritual fatherhood. Finally, the Church needs a man who does not promote factions, who does not favour ideological or ecclesial alliances, but who knows how to restore broken communion, heal divisions, and be a shepherd to all — without labels, exclusions, or revenge. As St Leo the Great warned: “He who presides over the Chair of Peter must unite, not divide; build, not demolish; preserve, not experiment lightly.”
A True Reformer, Not a Power Centraliser
During Pope Francis’s pontificate, there has been much talk of reform. His 2013 election was heralded as the start of a new era: the promise of a renewed Church — more transparent, more essential, more evangelical. And indeed, Francis has promoted and enacted many structural changes. He reorganised the dicasteries, merged and multiplied offices, changed titles, and replaced leaders. But after twelve years, one is entitled to ask: what has truly changed? Has the substance improved? Or have we witnessed a revolution more in the headlines than in reality? Many problems have not only remained unresolved, but have worsened. The reforms desired by Pope Francis often amounted to superficial operations — good for newspaper headlines, but ineffective in practice. They generated confusion, uncertainty, and in some cases, paralysis. More than a reform of the Curia, what we have witnessed is its de-institutionalisation: the hollowing out of competences, centralisation of decisions, and suspicion toward all established powers. The result has been devastating: organisational chaos and decision-making improvisation. A prime example is the Secretariat of State — historically the heart of Vatican diplomacy and governance. In the name of transparency and renewal, it has been progressively stripped of its prerogatives, powers, and financial resources. Yet what occurred was not purification, but the relocation of power into other, often less competent and less transparent, hands. The container has changed, not the content. As St Pius X warned: “The reform of institutions without the reform of hearts is illusion.” We must pause and ask ourselves: do we exist for the good of the Church, its freedom and survival — or merely to satisfy the headlines of weekly magazines?
In recent years, Francis has maintained strict personal control over every area of the Curia. He appointed collaborators — often unilaterally — only to then drastically limit their room for action. Trust proved illusory, and the governance of the Church morphed into a personalistic management where everything passed through the Pope’s hands. This practice has proven not only un-evangelical but also inefficient.
This became clear during the Pope’s recent hospital stays. Various dicastery heads admitted they were unable to act because nothing could move without direct papal approval. The Curia came to a standstill, incapable of genuine operational autonomy. In any state — and likewise in the Church — this can mean only one thing: failure in governance. Governing, in fact, does not mean controlling everything. It is, rather, the art of delegating, trusting, training, and giving space to those with competence. If someone is appointed to lead a dicastery, it is because they are deemed worthy and capable: preventing them from acting is a betrayal of that trust. The next Pope must be a true reformer — not in a spectacular sense, but with an institutional vision able to distinguish between visibility and effectiveness, between cosmetic change and true renewal.
Furthermore, ecclesial reform must take place collegially. Francis has spoken much of synodality, but in practice has often decided alone, without adequately consulting his collaborators or the College of Cardinals. The number of unilaterally issued motu proprio is telling: key decisions affecting the universal Church have been made without real collegial consultation. This is not synodality, but authoritarianism masked as innovation.
Finally, with regard to the Vatican City State, the situation is equally delicate. The judicial and administrative reform initiated by Francis, though inspired by a desire for justice, has resulted in an abnormal concentration of power in the Pope’s hands. The Pope has become legislator, executor, and ultimate judge — in a structure that now struggles to meet the minimal standards of the rule of law. Various international observers have raised serious concerns about the respect for fundamental rights, highlighting arbitrary procedures, a lack of procedural guarantees, and an opaque judicial system. Francis’s successor will need the courage to reverse certain decisions that have compromised the legality and credibility of the Holy See. As St John Paul II once did, he must restore a separation of powers, reaffirm the role of technical and juridical bodies, and remove from papal discretion those matters that ought to be governed by stable and transparent norms.
As Tradition teaches, Ecclesia semper reformanda est — but to reform the Church does not mean dismantling her, nor governing her alone, nor chasing the approval of journalists. Rather, it means serving her with humility, competence, and fidelity to her supernatural mission.
d.C.P.
Silere non possum