In the early hours of January 1st, 2026, the atmosphere inside the Apostolic Palace was charged with a tension unlike any Monsignor Carlo Ferretti had felt in his 37 years of Vatican service. Summoned before dawn by Pope Leo XIV, Ferretti was handed a decree that would abolish the papal enthronement ceremony—a ritual steeped in over nine centuries of history and symbolism. The golden throne, the tiara, and the grand procession that once defined papal authority would vanish, replaced by a simple mass akin to those celebrated daily in parishes worldwide.

Pope Leo XIV, dressed not in traditional papal white but in the humble black cassock from his missionary days in Peru, stood by the window overlooking St. Peter’s Square. His words to Ferretti revealed the heart of his decision: the ceremony, once a symbol of divine authority, had become an obscene display disconnected from the suffering and realities of millions worldwide. The Pope’s vision was clear—restore the church’s focus to its core mission of service and humility, not grandeur and spectacle.

At the consistory that morning, 63 cardinals gathered, their scarlet cassocks filling the historic chamber with a sea of tradition. The announcement stunned many. Cardinal Marchetti, a staunch defender of tradition, voiced the collective shock and concern: how could the church maintain its dignity and continuity without this ancient rite? Pope Leo responded firmly, insisting that true dignity comes from Christ’s command to feed His sheep, not from gold and jewels.

The ensuing debate was passionate and deeply personal. Cardinals from across the globe shared their perspectives—some recalling how the grandeur inspired vocations, others lamenting how it alienated skeptics who saw pomp as power. The Pope listened intently, acknowledging their pain but standing resolute. The decree would stand.

Outside the Vatican, the news spread rapidly. Social media erupted with heated discussions, traditionalists protested quietly but fervently, and media outlets worldwide dissected the implications. The hashtag #Monoplo trended globally, reflecting a church at a crossroads.

Behind closed doors, Pope Leo met privately with cardinals, offering space for honest dissent. Some accepted, others remained wary, but all recognized the gravity of the moment. Late into the night, Ferretti found the Pope reflecting on a journal entry penned two decades earlier during his missionary work—a poignant reminder of the church’s true purpose: presence in suffering and humility.

The days that followed saw the Vatican adapt swiftly. The coronation regalia was archived, protocols revised, and historians documented the momentous change. The church faced both resistance and support, navigating the delicate balance between honoring its past and embracing a renewed mission.

Pope Leo’s choice was a gamble—one that risked alienating powerful factions but aimed to prevent the church from becoming a museum of its own history. He believed that stripping away centuries of pageantry might reveal the essence of faith more clearly to a world hungry for meaning.

As the sun set on tradition, the church began a new chapter—one defined not by crowns or ceremonies, but by the question that had guided Leo since his days in Peru: “What are we for?” The answer would no longer be cloaked in gold but lived in humble service.