The week that is beginning in Germany is not like any other. Not for the Church in Germany, and not for the universal Church. There are moments in history when a process launched as an experiment crystallizes into a permanent structure—moments when a line is crossed and there is no turning back. That is precisely where we find ourselves now.

In Stuttgart, the final synodal assembly of a process begun years ago—officially presented as a response to crisis—has been convened. What initially claimed to be a path of listening, correction, and support has gradually changed its nature. It is no longer a space for reflection. It has become the ratification of the statutes of a new, permanent body: the so-called Synodal Conference.

This is the point at which the transition becomes historic.

Over the past years, we have witnessed a proliferation of terminology that is anything but accidental. First came the “path,” then the “assemblies,” then the “council,” and now the “conference.” Different names, one direction. Each step has expanded the scope of decision-making and shifted the center of gravity of ecclesial governance. What began as consultation has become deliberation. What was framed as listening has taken the form of binding votes.

At the heart of this transformation lies a principle that is deceptively simple—and precisely for that reason disruptive: the equalization of votes. One person, one vote. Bishops, lay people, and religious placed on the same decision-making level. Authority no longer flows from the specific responsibility of those who have received the episcopal office, but from an assembly logic that recalls models foreign to the Catholic tradition.

This is not merely about participation. It is about redefining authority.

In this new structure, the laity are not simply consulted; they decide. And not as an indistinct expression of the People of God, but through structured, powerful, and economically significant bodies. This distinction matters. The Catholic Church in Germany is one of the country’s largest employers, with tens of thousands of employees. That is not a marginal detail. It creates power balances, pressures, and expectations. It risks transforming theological discernment into a confrontation between institutional apparatuses.

The lay committee tasked with evaluating the statutes is largely composed of figures embedded within this system. The unanswered question remains decisive: do these bodies truly represent the sensus fidei of the Catholic people, or do they reflect a self-referential bureaucratic elite? A crucial part of the Church’s future hinges on the answer.

Adding to the uncertainty is an unexpected leadership development. The president of the German Bishops’ Conference has announced that he will not seek reelection. He could have remained. Instead, he has chosen to step aside at the most delicate moment. The resulting leadership vacuum weighs heavily and reads like a signal. Who will now guide the episcopate—a mediator or a system loyalist? The answer will directly affect the outcome of this transformation.

Not all bishops have followed this path. Some have openly distanced themselves. Others have chosen not to participate in the assemblies at all. They are a minority—but a minority that pays a high price. In this context, dissent is anything but neutral.

This became evident during a previous assembly when a vote on sensitive doctrinal issues failed to reach the required quorum among the bishops. The response was telling. Instead of reflection, there was reaction. From that moment on, voting became public. No more secrecy. Anyone who dissented did so in full view. Since then, the number of opposing votes has dropped dramatically—not necessarily out of conviction, but out of fear of consequences.

The statutes currently under discussion institutionalize this dynamic. A bishop who chooses not to implement a resolution of the Synodal Conference in his diocese must publicly justify his decision. He must expose himself, explain himself, and inevitably become the target of a powerful media and organizational machine. It is a mechanism that discourages dissent before it even has the chance to emerge.

In this already tense climate, a letter from Benedict XVI surfaced a week ago. The text, which remained private because it was personal correspondence, nonetheless contained a sober and unmistakable warning. The former pope cautioned against a synodal process detached from tradition and capable of turning the Church into a self-referential organism. His judgment was restrained but clear. Such a trajectory, he suggested, could not lead to a positive outcome. In other words, it would end badly.

That warning now sounds like a final one.

What happens in Germany will not remain in Germany. When synodality is discussed again at the universal level, the German model will serve as the reference point. A path is being carved out that others may follow. The fundamental question, therefore, is not organizational but theological: who decides what is true and what is good? Fidelity to revelation and tradition—or the outcome of a vote?

We gather. We vote. And what was once considered sin becomes virtue. What was once truth becomes opinion. Is this the future being built?

Rome cannot remain on the sidelines. The statutes must pass the scrutiny of the Vatican authorities, and with that comes an immense responsibility. Approving them would mean legitimizing a model that alters the very nature of ecclesial governance. Blocking them would risk opening a deep rift with one of the most powerful churches in Europe. Either decision will be painful.

Meanwhile, tensions continue to rise. In recent weeks, signals, public positions, and indirect criticisms have multiplied. Ancient liturgical gestures have suddenly become ideological fault lines. Measured words are interpreted as provocations. Everything suggests that no one intends to arrive unprepared at the moment of judgment.

What is at stake is not only a reform, but the overall direction of the pontificate of Leo XIV, who is being called to decide in a context with no recent precedent. If the statutes are approved as they stand—with equal voting rights and no real protection for dissent—we will enter a new phase. Not an experiment, but a normalization. What is now presented as an exception will become the rule.

That is why this week is different.

It is a threshold. A before and an after. Not merely a debate, but a dividing line. Church history is marked by dramatic moments in which the decisions of a few have shaped the fate of many. This is one of those moments.

What do you think?

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God bless you.