“Habemus Papam”: How the Church Chooses a New Pope 04-24-25
When a pope dies—or in rare cases, resigns—the world watches the Vatican with collective anticipation. News outlets swarm St. Peter’s Square. Pilgrims gather beneath ancient stone columns. Eyes turn to a small chimney atop the Sistine Chapel. Everyone waits for a puff of smoke—black or white—to signal the next chapter in Church history.
But what unfolds behind those closed doors isn’t a media event or political drama. It’s a sacred, centuries-old tradition rooted not in strategy or popularity, but in prayer, discernment, and trust in the Holy Spirit.
This is the papal conclave, and it’s unlike any other election on earth.
“Conclave”: With a Key and With a Purpose
The word conclave comes from the Latin cum clave—“with a key.” The name is quite literal: the cardinals are locked in the Vatican until they fulfill their task. No press conferences. No phones. No outside influence. Just a solemn space for silence, reflection, and divine guidance.
When the Chair of Peter is vacant, all cardinals under the age of 80 are summoned to Rome. This usually includes between 110 and 120 men from around the globe—princes of the Church who speak dozens of languages but share one faith.
Before they ever cast a ballot, they spend time in prayer, Mass, and conversation—seeking not to promote their favorites, but to discern together who God is calling to lead the Church.
A Sacred Space Under a Masterpiece
The voting takes place in none other than the Sistine Chapel, under the outstretched arms of Michelangelo’s Last Judgment—a fitting image for such a momentous decision. The cardinals sit beneath frescoes that depict the Creation of Adam and the drama of salvation, as if the walls themselves are praying with them.
Each cardinal writes a name in secret. The ballots are folded and placed in a silver container. They vote up to four times each day—two in the morning, two in the afternoon—until someone receives at least two-thirds of the votes.
It’s not about charisma. It’s not a campaign. It’s not a matter of who’s next in line.It’s about calling. About grace. About mystery.
Smoke, Silence, and Surprise
After every vote, the ballots are burned in a special stove within the chapel. If no pope is elected, chemicals are added to the fire to create black smoke, signaling: Still discerning.
But when the votes align—and the chosen man says “yes”—a different chemical mixture produces white smoke. The bells of St. Peter’s ring out. The crowds erupt in joy. The words rise from the loggia:
“Habemus Papam!” — We have a pope!
And then, from behind the great red curtain, the newly elected pope emerges. Often trembling. Sometimes tearful. Always stunned.
He greets the world not as a celebrity, but as a servant. Not as one who has seized power, but as one who has received a cross. He gives his first apostolic blessing—and in that moment, the whole Church breathes again.
From Peter to the Present
The papacy traces its origin back to a simple fisherman from Galilee. Jesus didn’t choose Peter for his polish or perfection, but for his heart—a heart that, even in weakness, was willing to be led.
Every conclave reaffirms this truth: the Church is not guided by politics or polling, but by the promise of Christ Himself:“You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church.” (Matthew 16:18)
And while the cardinals cast the votes, it is ultimately the Holy Spirit who appoints.
The Room of Tears—and the Weight of Grace
Just off the Sistine Chapel is a quiet chamber called the Room of Tears. It’s where the new pope goes immediately after accepting his election. Inside, he finds several white cassocks in different sizes—just in case. And yes, a tailor stands ready to adjust the garments of destiny.
Why the name? Because many popes have entered that room overwhelmed by the weight of the office—aware that they are not merely stepping into leadership, but into sacrifice.
And yet, from that humility, comes strength.
From that room, a shepherd emerges.
Not the Best, But the Chosen
Some popes are scholars. Others are pastors. Some are diplomats. Others are reformers. But all are sinners called to be saints.
That’s the beauty of the conclave: the right man for the Church is rarely the most obvious. Sometimes he comes from Argentina. Sometimes from Poland. Sometimes, like Peter, from the fishing boats of obscurity. But always, he comes from grace.
Why It Matters
In a world of noise, the conclave is an act of radical listening. In an age of division, it is a gesture of profound unity. And in a culture addicted to control, it is a sign of trust—trust that Christ still leads His Church, through the storm, through the centuries, and through the hearts of men who dare to say “yes.”
So the next time you see white smoke rising from that little chimney in Rome, don’t just think of it as a signal to the crowd.
Think of it as a sign to the world:The Spirit is still moving. The Church is still alive. And we have a pope—not because we chose him, but because God did.
But what unfolds behind those closed doors isn’t a media event or political drama. It’s a sacred, centuries-old tradition rooted not in strategy or popularity, but in prayer, discernment, and trust in the Holy Spirit.
This is the papal conclave, and it’s unlike any other election on earth.
“Conclave”: With a Key and With a Purpose
The word conclave comes from the Latin cum clave—“with a key.” The name is quite literal: the cardinals are locked in the Vatican until they fulfill their task. No press conferences. No phones. No outside influence. Just a solemn space for silence, reflection, and divine guidance.
When the Chair of Peter is vacant, all cardinals under the age of 80 are summoned to Rome. This usually includes between 110 and 120 men from around the globe—princes of the Church who speak dozens of languages but share one faith.
Before they ever cast a ballot, they spend time in prayer, Mass, and conversation—seeking not to promote their favorites, but to discern together who God is calling to lead the Church.
A Sacred Space Under a Masterpiece
The voting takes place in none other than the Sistine Chapel, under the outstretched arms of Michelangelo’s Last Judgment—a fitting image for such a momentous decision. The cardinals sit beneath frescoes that depict the Creation of Adam and the drama of salvation, as if the walls themselves are praying with them.
Each cardinal writes a name in secret. The ballots are folded and placed in a silver container. They vote up to four times each day—two in the morning, two in the afternoon—until someone receives at least two-thirds of the votes.
It’s not about charisma. It’s not a campaign. It’s not a matter of who’s next in line.It’s about calling. About grace. About mystery.
Smoke, Silence, and Surprise
After every vote, the ballots are burned in a special stove within the chapel. If no pope is elected, chemicals are added to the fire to create black smoke, signaling: Still discerning.
But when the votes align—and the chosen man says “yes”—a different chemical mixture produces white smoke. The bells of St. Peter’s ring out. The crowds erupt in joy. The words rise from the loggia:
“Habemus Papam!” — We have a pope!
And then, from behind the great red curtain, the newly elected pope emerges. Often trembling. Sometimes tearful. Always stunned.
He greets the world not as a celebrity, but as a servant. Not as one who has seized power, but as one who has received a cross. He gives his first apostolic blessing—and in that moment, the whole Church breathes again.
From Peter to the Present
The papacy traces its origin back to a simple fisherman from Galilee. Jesus didn’t choose Peter for his polish or perfection, but for his heart—a heart that, even in weakness, was willing to be led.
Every conclave reaffirms this truth: the Church is not guided by politics or polling, but by the promise of Christ Himself:“You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church.” (Matthew 16:18)
And while the cardinals cast the votes, it is ultimately the Holy Spirit who appoints.
The Room of Tears—and the Weight of Grace
Just off the Sistine Chapel is a quiet chamber called the Room of Tears. It’s where the new pope goes immediately after accepting his election. Inside, he finds several white cassocks in different sizes—just in case. And yes, a tailor stands ready to adjust the garments of destiny.
Why the name? Because many popes have entered that room overwhelmed by the weight of the office—aware that they are not merely stepping into leadership, but into sacrifice.
And yet, from that humility, comes strength.
From that room, a shepherd emerges.
Not the Best, But the Chosen
Some popes are scholars. Others are pastors. Some are diplomats. Others are reformers. But all are sinners called to be saints.
That’s the beauty of the conclave: the right man for the Church is rarely the most obvious. Sometimes he comes from Argentina. Sometimes from Poland. Sometimes, like Peter, from the fishing boats of obscurity. But always, he comes from grace.
Why It Matters
In a world of noise, the conclave is an act of radical listening. In an age of division, it is a gesture of profound unity. And in a culture addicted to control, it is a sign of trust—trust that Christ still leads His Church, through the storm, through the centuries, and through the hearts of men who dare to say “yes.”
So the next time you see white smoke rising from that little chimney in Rome, don’t just think of it as a signal to the crowd.
Think of it as a sign to the world:The Spirit is still moving. The Church is still alive. And we have a pope—not because we chose him, but because God did.