.jpg?width=80&height=80&name=staff_Headshots-(3%20of%2013).jpg)
The church does not await a verdict; she proclaims one.
As the world turns its eyes to Rome and the Vatican prepares for a new papal conclave, the scene feels almost cinematic. Black smoke. White smoke. Ancient chants echo through the Sistine Chapel. News anchors explain the symbolism. Crowds press into St. Peter's Square. And somewhere behind those closed doors, a new pope is about to be chosen.
It is a moment of global attention and, for many, of great hope. Even for those outside the Roman Catholic Church, the ritual of it all stirs something transcendent. The world longs for leadership, for order, for spiritual weight. The conclave seems to offer it.
But this moment is also a reminder for those of us in the Protestant tradition. Not of what we lack, but of what we have: a sure foundation that does not shift with smoke or succession.
Shared Roots, Different Centers
We share a common language and history with the Roman Church: the name of the Triune God, the words of the ancient creeds, and a reverence for the risen Christ. However, shared language does not equate to shared theology. Familiar hymns and historic rites cannot paper over the differences in how the gospel is preached and how certainty is given to sinners. A shared past does not equal a shared foundation.
In the Augsburg Confession, Article VII, the Reformers confessed: “The Church is the assembly of saints in which the Gospel is taught purely, and the sacraments are administered rightly." This was not rebellion; it was rescue. It was not a rejection of unity but a refusal to build the church on anything less than Christ alone.
A Church Built on Christ, Not a Chair
Where the Roman tradition elevates a man to speak ex-cathedra, the Reformation brings us back to a Christ who speaks from the cross. Where the conclave votes behind closed doors, the gospel resounds in courtyards and crowded streets: "You are forgiven! You are free!"
In the Treatise on the Power and Primacy of the Pope, the Reformers wrote: "The Pope is not by divine right the head of all Christendom or the lord of the whole world, but only according to human law." They rejected the notion that any human office could claim authority over the entire church, especially when that authority was not rooted in Scripture.
The Smalcald Articles state this clearly: "The pope is not the head of all Christendom by divine right, for this belongs only to one, whose name is Jesus Christ."
The Lutheran confession is not anti-authority; it is anti-idolatry. The rock on which Christ builds his church is not Peter himself, but the confession that Peter made: "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God" (Matt. 16:16).
That confession remains our foundation. Not a lineage of bishops, not a human office, and not a vote in a chapel. As Ephesians 2:20 puts it, the church is "built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone."
This is why Martin Luther, standing before emperor and council at the Diet of Worms in 1521, did not appeal to Rome but to the Word of God:
"Unless I am convinced by the testimony of the Scriptures and by clear reason, since it is well known that popes and councils have often erred, I am bound by the Scriptures. My conscience is captive to the Word of God. Here I stand. I cannot do otherwise. God help me. Amen."
At that moment, Luther wasn't defying mere authority; he was declaring that the Christian's conscience must rest on Christ alone, revealed in the Scriptures. That continues to be the conviction of those who stand with the Reformers, bound to the Word of God, confident in Christ alone.
The Gospel That Cannot Be Voted On
The world watches this conclave as if it were a royal coronation. However, the Kingdom of God is different. It has no election cycle, is not decided by ballots, and is not bound by white smoke. The head of the church is not awaiting selection. He has already been crowned with thorns and then glory.
Jesus Christ, crucified for sinners and risen for their justification, is the sole head of the church. He speaks, and sins are forgiven. He calls, and the dead are raised. He reigns not from a palace but from the Word and Sacraments given to his people.
As Colossians 1:18 says, "And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent."
To the Weary, the Watching, and the Wondering
If you've grown up within a church structure that has left you uncertain, if peace with God still feels far away, obscured by priests, confessionals, or papal pronouncements, hear this: "Christ alone is your peace" (Eph. 2:14).
You do not need a conclave or a cardinal to know where you stand with God. You need only a crucified and risen Savior, whose final breath was not uncertainty but promise: "Your debt is paid" (John 19:30). He freely gives what no conclave can vote on.
Already Crowned
The world waits for smoke. Black for no. White for yes. The slow ritual of suspense. But the church doesn't hold her breath. Her hope is not in the color of the chimney, but in the crimson of the cross. She does not await a verdict; she proclaims one.
Her decision was made long ago, on a hill outside Jerusalem, where no white smoke rose to announce hope. There was no vote, no ceremony. What rose instead was the redeeming cry of the Messiah, as the Lamb of God who cried out: "It is finished" (John 19:30).
Her hope does not rise with smoke.
It rises with the Son of God.
She already has a head, a shepherd, a king. And his name is Jesus. Not crowned in splendor, but in thorns. Not surrounded by smoke but by sinners. He rules from the cross, and he is risen, indeed.
This is the Kingdom without smoke—clear, certain, and unobscured. Unlike the Roman Catholic Church, whose hopes rise and fall with each plume from the chimney, this Kingdom rests on a finished work, not a future vote. The gospel is without condition. And Christ is yours, forever.
.jpg?width=36&height=36&name=staff_Headshots-(3%20of%2013).jpg){kind=small}
