In the modern Church's bustling corridors, the word “synodality” has taken on a near-sacred status. Gone are the days of sermons that drew on St. Paul or St. Augustine with an unwavering orthodoxy; today’s clergy often find themselves musing over “inclusivity,” “reciprocal listening,” and “community discernment.” Synodality, we’re assured, is the new “constitutive dimension of the Church”—a vision that aims to create “a Church that is closer to the lives of Her people, less bureaucratic and more relational.” In this vision, the Church, no longer a “rigid” hierarchy, becomes a dynamic “home and family of God” where all voices join in a chorus of co-responsibility and communal decision-making.
And so, the synodal vision presses on: a noble pilgrimage, we are told, “in communion with Christ toward the Kingdom,” but one seemingly designed to make the Church more accessible and inclusive at the expense of her rich heritage. Yet, from the outside, this process appears to be far more focused on fostering perpetual discussion than on achieving actual spiritual clarity. Synodality as it stands brings to mind a family gathering where everyone speaks, few listen, and someone inevitably suggests updating grandma’s recipe with foreign ingredients “to keep up with the times.”
The concept of synodality is promoted as a spiritual revolution, inviting us to “renew the proclamation of the faith” in ways that resonate with “current contexts” while recognizing and celebrating the “pluriform face of the Church.” On the surface, such language seems vibrant and full of potential. Yet, upon closer inspection, these well-intentioned phrases quickly dissolve into a web of theological vagueness, aiming not so much to illuminate doctrine as to render it palatable in a world allergic to absolutes.
An example of this vagueness lies in the synodal approach to unity and diversity. The synodal documents call us to appreciate the “dynamism of ecclesial communion” as a unity-in-diversity, finding its model and fulfillment in the Eucharist. But the call for unity is paradoxically laced with a discomforting elasticity—one that feels increasingly tolerant of doctrinal plurality. If unity means that truth must be tailored to “the needs of each Church” to respect “different cultural contexts,” then we begin to see a Church that risks becoming less a “visible sacrament of salvific unity” and more an open invitation to theological confusion.
Then there’s the question of “renewed reciprocity” between men and women in the Church. In synodal language, this reciprocity is described as honoring “the charisms, vocation, and role of women.” This noble ideal is, of course, foundational to Catholic teaching, but the proposed “solution” veers suspiciously close to the egalitarianism of secular culture. The document champions the “co-responsibility” of women in Church decision-making, calling for greater participation in Church councils, leadership positions, and even discussions on liturgical renewal. The rationale? “Relationality, interdependence, and reciprocity,” with a “renewed mentality” that insists men and women are to be “equal decision-makers” in the work of the Church.
The result is a troubling paradox: the synod purports to enhance the Church’s mission by embracing diversity and “renewing” traditional structures, yet this vision risks compromising the very foundations on which the Church stands. As the synod strives to make the Church “more inclusive” and less “hierarchical,” it subtly undermines the hierarchy instituted by Christ Himself. While the concept of “synodal renewal” may have noble intentions, we must ask ourselves: does this “walking together” strengthen the Church’s role as the guardian of truth, or does it render her a mirror of an increasingly secular world?
Take, for example, the synodal insistence that greater participation, particularly by women, will lead to a Church that is “attractive and credible.” Perhaps it is necessary to remind ourselves that credibility and attraction have never been central to the Church’s mission. The call has always been to truth and holiness. It is worth remembering that saints like St. Teresa of Ávila and St. Catherine of Siena achieved sanctity not through positions of power but through lives of holiness and uncompromising fidelity to Christ. If synodality were truly concerned with empowering women, would it not be urging all Catholics—men and women alike—to emulate these models of holiness?
The irony, of course, is that this shift toward a synodal model—one ostensibly aimed at stripping away the Church’s bureaucratic tendencies—has done quite the opposite. The road to “synodality” has become paved with new councils, committees, and commissions, each established to explore ever-expanding definitions of “inclusivity” and “relationality.” In trying to make the Church more “mission-oriented,” we find ourselves tangled in an endless web of dialogue and “discernment,” adding layer upon layer to the Church’s structure rather than peeling away unnecessary encumbrances.
In the end, this synodal journey seems less like a clarion call to sainthood and more like a polite plea for cooperation in the marketplace of ideas. The Church is indeed a family, as the synodal documents insist, but a family bound together by truth, not by democratic consensus. Her “relational reciprocity” is rooted in sacrificial love, not in an eagerness to be liked. The synodal approach risks redefining that family by placing opinion above doctrine, making popularity the measure of faith.
In this time of great challenge, we are called not to redefine the Church but to be ever more faithful to her teachings, however unfashionable they may appear to modern sensibilities. Let us walk the path with Christ, not in a synodal haze but in the light of unshakeable truth, bearing witness to a Church that does not waver with the world but stands firmly, even defiantly, as the Bride of Christ.