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Synod

Marco

I stand at the entrance of the Synod Hall, taking a deep breath before I step inside.

For two weeks, we’ve been engaged in the most intense theological discussions of our time.

The Extraordinary Synod on Human Sexuality and Love has drawn Cardinals from every corner of the globe—Africa, Asia, the Americas, Europe, and Oceania.

Without the looming presence of Cardinals Antonelli, Lombardi, and Visconti—now facing criminal charges—there’s a palpable difference in the atmosphere. Cardinals who previously remained silent now speak freely, without fear of retribution or political consequences.

“Your Holiness,” Cardinal Sullivan greets me as I enter, “we’re ready to begin the final session.”

I nod, clutching the small USB drive in my pocket.

Sister Lucia gave it to me weeks earlier—thousands of anonymous confessions and testimonies from LGBTQ+ Catholics collected by a network of progressive priests over the past decade.

These voices, silenced for so long, will finally be heard in the highest chambers of the Church.

The hall falls silent as I take my place at the centre. Hundreds of red-capped Cardinals sit in concentric circles, their faces solemn yet expectant .

“My brothers in Christ,” I begin, “we have spent two weeks in prayer, study, and dialogue. We have examined Scripture, Tradition, and the lived experiences of the faithful. Today, before we vote on the proposed reforms, I wish to share something with you.”

I hold up the small USB drive.

“This contains the voices of those who have been pushed to the margins of our Church—not because they lack faith or love for God, but simply because of who they love.”

I nod to the technician, and the lights dim as a projection screen descends.

“What you are about to hear and read are excerpts from over ten thousand testimonies from Catholic faithful around the world.”

The first testimony appears on screen, and I read it aloud:

“‘I was sixteen when I realized I was gay. I prayed every night for God to change me. When nothing changed, I believed God had abandoned me. I attempted suicide twice before my twentieth birthday. I still attend Mass, but I sit in the back and leave before Communion. I don’t believe I’m welcome at the Lord’s table. ’”

Cardinal Ferreira from Brazil crosses himself, his eyes closing briefly.

I continue with another:

“‘I’ve been with my partner for thirty years. We raised three adopted children together, all of whom are now practising Catholics. Yet at my mother’s funeral, the priest refused to let my partner sit with the family. We were told our relationship was ‘inappropriate’ in a house of God.’”

The testimonies continue—stories of rejection, spiritual trauma, and exile from the faith that these people love deeply. But also stories of resilience, of finding God in the wilderness, of clinging to faith despite being told they are unwelcome.

After twenty minutes, I signal for the lights to come back on. The hall remains silent, many Cardinals visibly moved with tears in their eyes.

“These are not just statistics or theological abstractions,” I say softly. “These are our brothers and sisters in Christ. They are not asking us to abandon Scripture or Tradition. They are asking us to see them as full members of the Body of Christ.”

Cardinal Okoro from Nigeria, known for his conservative views, raises his hand to speak.

“Your Holiness, I must confess that I came to this Synod prepared to defend the traditional teaching. But these testimonies… they trouble my heart. I am reminded of Christ’s words about millstones and those who cause the little ones to stumble.”

His voice wavers slightly.

“In my country, we have seen young people take their lives because they cannot reconcile their sexuality with their faith. I cannot stand before God and say this is what He wants.”

A murmur ripples through the hall. Cardinal Okoro’s shift is significant—he represents a region where opposition to LGBTQ+ inclusion has been strongest.

Cardinal Chen Wei stands next. “The Eastern tradition reminds us that theology is not merely intellectual assent to propositions, but a lived experience of God’s love.

How can we claim to understand God’s design for human love if we refuse to listen to the experiences of those who love differently than the majority? ”

As the day progresses, more Cardinals speak. Some express caution about moving too quickly, others worry about schism. But the tone is markedly different from previous Church discussions on sexuality—respectful, thoughtful, focused on pastoral care rather than condemnation.

By evening, it’s clear that a consensus is forming. Not unanimity—that would be too much to expect—but a solid majority in favour of significant reforms.

I close the day’s session with prayer, my heart lighter than it’s been since this journey began.

* * *

Two weeks later, I stand on the balcony overlooking St. Peter’s Square once more. The crowd below is even larger than before, a sea of humanity stretching as far as the eye can see. Many hold rainbow flags alongside Vatican banners—a sight unimaginable just months ago.

Cardinal Sullivan stands at my side, along with Archbishop Chen, Sister Lucia, and Father Tomás. Together, we represent the diverse coalition that has made this moment possible.

I step forward to the microphone, and the square falls silent.

“Dear brothers and sisters in Christ, I come before you today to announce the conclusions of the Extraordinary Synod on Human Sexuality and Love.”

The paper in my hands contains the fruit of our two weeks of deliberation—a document that will reshape Catholic teaching for generations to come.

“After prayerful discernment and extensive dialogue, the Synod has approved, by a vote of one hundred eighty-seven to sixty-three, the following declarations:”

I take a deep breath and begin reading:

“First, the Church affirms that all persons, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity, are created in the image and likeness of God, possessing inherent dignity that must be respected and protected.

“Second, the Church acknowledges that its past teachings and practices have caused harm to LGBTQ+ persons and their families. For this, we express profound regret and ask forgiveness .

“Third, the Church recognizes that committed, faithful same-sex relationships can be sources of grace, love, and holiness. Therefore, the Church will develop appropriate pastoral blessings for such unions, while maintaining the sacramental distinction of matrimony.

“Fourth, the Church affirms that LGBTQ+ Catholics are full members of the Body of Christ, entitled to all sacraments and ministries according to their baptismal calling and personal charisma.

“Fifth, the Church calls for an end to discrimination against LGBTQ+ persons in civil society and condemns violence or persecution based on sexual orientation or gender identity.”

I pause, allowing these historic words to sink in. Below, I see tears on many faces—tears of joy, of vindication, of healing.

“Regarding priestly celibacy,” I continue, “the Synod has approved, by a vote of one hundred fifty-two to ninety-eight, the following reforms:

“First, while affirming the value of celibacy as a charisma and gift, the Church will no longer require celibacy as a universal discipline for priests of the Latin Rite.

“Second, local Episcopal Conferences may establish norms for the ordination of married men who demonstrate appropriate spiritual maturity and vocation.

“Third, priests who have left ministry to marry may apply for reinstatement through a process established by the Congregation for the Clergy.”

The square erupts in applause. I wait for it to subside before continuing.

“These changes represent not a rupture with Tradition, but a deeper engagement with the Gospel message of love, inclusion, and human dignity. They are grounded in the conviction that the Holy Spirit continues to guide the Church in every age, revealing new dimensions of God’s truth as we are ready to receive them. ”

I look out at the vast crowd, aware that my words are being broadcast to millions around the world.

“Implementation of these reforms will begin immediately, though full integration will take time. Detailed guidelines will be published in the coming weeks.”

I pause, then speak more personally.

“I know that for some, these changes will be difficult to accept. I ask for your patience and open hearts. For others, they come too late after years of pain and exclusion. To you, I say: the door is open. Come home to your brothers and sisters.”

“The Church we are building together is not one that simply tolerates diversity, but one that celebrates it as a reflection of God’s infinite creativity.

It is a Church that listens before it speaks, that accompanies rather than condemns, that finds unity not in uniformity but in our shared love for Christ.”

The sun breaks through the clouds, casting golden light across the square. I can’t help but see it as a sign of divine approval.

“In the days ahead, we will continue the work of reform, addressing other areas where our practice has fallen short of our calling. The renewal of the Vatican Bank continues, with new transparency measures and ethical investment guidelines already in place.”

I feel a sudden welling of emotion, thinking of the journey that brought me here—from a poor boy in rural Italy to this moment of transformation.

“I ask for your continued prayers as we walk this path together. May God, who has begun this good work among us, bring it to completion.”

I make the sign of the cross over the crowd.

“May the peace of Christ be with you all.”

As I step back from the balcony, the square erupts in cheers and song. Cardinal Sullivan squeezes my shoulder.

“You’ve changed the Church forever, Your Holiness. ”

I shake my head. “Not I, but the Holy Spirit working through all of us.”

Sister Lucia smiles. “And through the courage of those who shared their stories.”

I touch the pocket where I still carry the USB drive with those thousands of testimonies.

“Their voices will never be silenced again,” I say quietly.

For the first time since becoming Pope, I feel not the burden of the office, but its true purpose—to be an instrument of God’s love in a world hungry for authenticity and belonging.