We have a father

The Cathedral is vacant… but not the one in Rome.

Since January, the See of Canterbury — the symbolic head of the Anglican Communion — has remained empty. It has been almost six months without an Archbishop, and no one seems to notice. They neither question it nor are bothered. Not even among Anglicans, who officially number 26 million worldwide.

There is no date, no candidates, no expectations. The silence is not just institutional — it is symptomatic. Because when an institution stops leading, teaching and believing, its absence ceases to be felt. It dissolves into the world and, with it, into irrelevance.

And Rome?

When Pope Francis died a few weeks ago — on the Monday after Easter Sunday — the world stopped. The mourning was global. Televisions tuned in to the Vatican. Social media went silent. Cameras focused on the chimney of the Sistine Chapel. And when the Habemus Papam was heard, that ancient and solemn announcement once again sent a shiver of eternity through a cynical and distracted world.

With the election of Leo XIV, the papal succession was not only rapid, but also intensely experienced—by believers and non-believers, by Catholics, curious people, critics and sympathizers. Because, like it or not, the Church of Rome continues to be the only global religious reference with doctrine, authority and universal mission.

What about the Anglican Church?

Where is it? In irrelevance. Even before the vacancy, its leadership was already a formal ornament. The British monarchy, formally the head of the Church, is only interested in religion when there are coronations, weddings or photo shoots for magazines.

King Charles III — now Defender of the Faith , a title bestowed on Henry VIII by Pope Leo X in 1521 and retained even after the schism — recently celebrated the beginning of Ramadan at Windsor Castle to the sound of Islamic chants. It was a scene that could have been taken from Michel Houellebecq's novel Submission . But it was real. Tragically real.

In its eagerness to appear relevant, the Anglican Church jumped on the bandwagon of cultural progressivism. And it derailed. What starts out crooked often does not straighten out. Ever since Henry VIII, it has had power on its side; but as the monarchy has moved away from the faith, the church has also faded into the background. What remains is an institution shaped by fashion, disconnected from the transcendent, trapped in the spirit of the times.

It ordained LGBT clergy, celebrated same-sex marriages, rewrote prayers, adopted gender-neutral pronouns, and reformulated rituals to please the world. With each concession, it lost followers. With each gesture of cultural adaptation, it emptied the churches. It tried to be modern — it became superfluous.

The numbers don't lie: in 1980, around 11% of English people regularly attended the Anglican Church's Sunday service. In 2022, that number was less than 1.7%. According to data from the Church of England itself, more than half of the church's members have disappeared since 2000.

In contrast, despite internal crises, doctrinal tensions and cultural pressures, the Catholic Church remains alive and growing. In 1980, there were 757 million Catholics. Today, there are 1.4 billion. In countries such as Poland, the Philippines, Mexico, Brazil and Nigeria, Catholicism remains vibrant. And even in the secularized West, there are signs of a rebirth – especially among young people. In France, the United States and the United Kingdom, thousands are rediscovering their faith. And this is not through lukewarm compromises, but through an encounter with the Truth.

This contrast proves that it is not doctrine that drives people away—it is its absence. Churches that are diluted by the world disappear. Churches that are faithful to the Gospel, even when going against the current, resist and bear fruit. The world does not need an echo—it needs light.

The Pope is not a manager, he is not Francis II, conservative or progressive. He is the successor of Peter. He does not respond to surveys, editorials or pressure groups. He responds to Christ. And that is what disconcerts the world — and gives peace to the faithful.

The scandal is not that there is celibacy or the absence of “women bishops”. The scandal — and the miracle — is that, in today’s increasingly secular world of radical secularism, there is still a Pope with authority, who clearly and without hesitation: speaks of eternal life, heaven, hell; sin, grace, mercy, justice, the truth of the Gospel and the encounter with Jesus Christ the Savior.

While the Anglican Church celebrates “Pride Month” and hangs LGBT flags — making the celebration of a mortal sin a “pastoral gesture” — Rome stands as a bastion of the apostolic faith. When the Pope speaks — or dies — the world listens. Because there is a firm voice, in an institution that was not born of men, but of the promise of Christ.

“You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”

There is no vacuum in Rome. Because that See is sustained by something greater than votes, politics or media relevance: it is sustained by a divine promise, regardless of the behind-the-scenes political interests.

Chesterton said it brilliantly: “Christianity has died many times and come back to life; because it had a God who knew the way out of the grave.” (The Everlasting Man, 1925)

Thus, the Church does not survive, it is resurrected. Always. Throughout history, it has faced several foretold deaths. In other words, the Church can always rise again from situations of death because Christ himself conquered death. Chesterton sees this as a continual fulfillment of the promise that God will protect His Church. In addition to the theological foundation, Chesterton also highlights the strength of the historical testimony of the Church’s continued existence. He speaks of five historical moments in which Christianity almost died in history—moments when all seemed lost and yet the Church rose again:

The Arian crisis (4th century), medieval heresies (12th–13th centuries), Renaissance skepticism (15th–16th centuries), the Enlightenment and Voltaire's rationalism (18th century), modern materialist scientism (19th–20th centuries).

At all these moments, it seemed like the end. But the Church rose again. Because its strength is not human—it is supernatural. Chesterton summed up this phenomenon in a pithy phrase: “A dead thing can go with the current, but only a living thing can go against it.” The Church is not a fossil, lost in the past—it is a living organism. If it were merely a product of a distant past culture, it would have disappeared long ago. But its ability to swim against the current, to flourish where there seemed only death, reveals an inexplicable vitality.

The Colosseum is a ruin. Peter's tomb continues to shine. There is the new Pope. And with him, the promise that spans the centuries. Today, it is experiencing yet another rebirth.

In many parts of the world, the Catholic faith is experiencing a surprising revival, especially among young people, bucking trends toward secularization. In 2025, France recorded 10,384 adult baptisms at the Easter Vigil — the highest number in more than 20 years and a 45 percent increase from 2024 — with 42 percent of catechumens between the ages of 18 and 25. In the United States, dioceses such as Fort Worth reported a 72 percent increase in conversions between 2023 and 2024, driven by young people attracted to the tradition, depth, and reverence of Catholicism. In South Korea, where Catholics represent 11.3% of the population (almost 6 million people) and the country is experiencing an unprecedented demographic collapse (with the lowest fertility rate in the world: 0.72), the Catholic Church continues to grow: there were more than 58,000 baptisms in 2024, an increase of 13.7% compared to the previous year, representing a jump of 1,200% in 50 years. This spiritual dynamism, in a country where everything seems to be shrinking — from birth rates to hope for the future — is a powerful testimony to the universal, countercultural and perennial appeal of the Catholic faith — not only for its aesthetics, but for Truth, a rediscovery of faith as an anchor against the emptiness of hedonism, the tyranny of relativism and the rootlessness of secularism.

Against all odds, the Catholic Church continues to live and generate new life. And in this new life, what can we expect from Pope Leo XIV? Until we see, through his past career, life story and interventions as Supreme Pontiff, a living synthesis of his predecessors: from Francis, he inherits the pastoral closeness, spirit and desire for a missionary and forward-moving church; from Benedict XVI, doctrinal depth and theological lucidity; and from John Paul II, the aura and moral firmness. And, like Leo XIII of Rerum Novarum , he assumes proximity to the modern world in the courageous defense of the social doctrine of the Church: social justice and human dignity in times marked by wars, ideologies, technological advances and cultural melting pots.

Under the motto In uno illo unum, Leo XIV will want to recall that the unity of the Church is only possible in fidelity to Christ. And for this reason — in 2025 as in 1525 or in 325 — Rome continues to count. Because Peter is still there.

Editorial note: The views expressed by the authors of the articles published in this column may not be fully shared by all members of Oficina da Liberdade and do not necessarily reflect the position of Oficina da Liberdade on the topics discussed. Despite having a common view of the State, which they want to be small, and the world, which they want to be free, the members of Oficina da Liberdade and its guest authors do not always agree on the best way to get there .