When Leo XIV reinvented the consistory: the revolution of the round tables

Imagine an assembly of cardinals. You probably picture a large hall, rows of seats, an imposing dais, and speeches following a millennia-old protocol. On January 7, 2026, upon crossing the threshold of the Synod Hall in the Vatican, the 245 cardinals discovered a completely different setting. Small round tables. Closely spaced chairs. Small groups. A scenography that broke with centuries of tradition.

This is not merely a matter of interior design. Behind this seemingly innocuous choice lies a profound transformation of how the Catholic Church might govern itself in the years to come. Leo XIV, elected pope eight months earlier after the death of Francis, chose to alter not only the decor but also the rules of the game. And this silent revolution could redefine the balance between papal authority and collegial consultation.

The end of monologues: how roundtables change everything

The old model: when talking felt like a marathon

To understand the significance of Leo XIV's gesture, one must first grasp what a traditional consistory was. Imagine yourself sitting for hours in a large assembly. Cardinals take turns at the microphone, each speaking in turn. Some prepare speeches of fifteen or twenty minutes. Others speak at length, improvising. The assembly listens… or at least tries to listen.

The problem? This format turns the consultation into a series of monologues. Cardinal A presents his vision for fifteen minutes. Cardinal B moves on to another topic. Cardinal C revisits what Cardinal A said, but no one truly engages in dialogue. It's like watching a series of TED Talks where the speakers never directly address each other.

The result: interventions deemed "always too long," a dozing assembly, and a pope who ultimately receives a mountain of individual opinions without any real collective deliberation. Information flows in only one direction: from the cardinals to the pontiff, but not among the cardinals themselves.

The new look: why geometry matters

By installing round tables, Leo XIV changed the geometry of power. Literally. A round table is an ancient symbol—think of King Arthur and his knights—that says one simple thing: no one is more important than anyone else when you sit in a circle. No place of honor, no visible hierarchy, just people looking each other in the eye.

But beyond the symbolism, there's a practical reality. When six or eight of you are sitting around a small table, you can't hide. You can't discreetly consult your notes while a colleague speaks for twenty minutes. You have to be present, attentive, and responsive. The conversation becomes real.

This is precisely what the Pope is seeking: «To listen to the mind, heart, and soul of each person; to listen to one another,» as he explained in his opening address. And he added a crucial constraint: «To express only the main point and very briefly, so that everyone can speak.» In short: no more lengthy speeches, make way for concise and impactful exchanges.

«"Non multa sed multum": the game-changing motto

Leo XIV quoted the ancient Romans: "Non multa sed multum" – not many things, but in depth. It's a whole philosophy. Rather than multiplying topics and interventions, it's better to delve into the essentials together.

Consider the difference between a traditional board meeting where everyone presents a thirty-slide PowerPoint, and a collaborative work session where the team solves a problem together around a whiteboard. In the first case, you leave with a lot of information but few decisions. In the second, you've truly built something collectively.

This shift is precisely what the roundtable format brings about. The cardinals no longer simply come to deliver their opinions to the Pope. They are invited to deliberate among themselves, to compare their perspectives, and to develop a shared understanding. The Pope no longer receives a compilation of monologues but the fruit of a genuine conversation.

What is lost and what is gained

Let's be honest: this new format also has its limitations. In a large, traditional assembly, even if not everyone listens to everything, each cardinal can at least hear all the interventions. With small tables, you only converse with six or seven people. You inevitably miss what is being said at the other tables.

Leo XIV anticipated this objection. The themes had been prepared beforehand. The cardinals initially worked on four subjects: synodality, mission, liturgy, and the reform of the Curia. But for this first consistory, only the first two were retained. The idea? It's better to delve deeply into two issues than to skim over four.

And above all, the Pope was clear: «We must not arrive at a text, but have a conversation that helps me in my service to the mission of the entire Church.» No final document to negotiate, no diplomatic compromise to find. Just a genuine conversation from which the Pope will then draw the substance for his own decisions.

It's a risky gamble. Some cardinals might feel frustrated by the lack of a written record, of official conclusions. Others might fear that their ideas, expressed within a small circle, will be lost in the noise. But it's also a gamble on trust: trust me to truly listen, not to tick boxes in a bureaucratic process.

A pope who governs differently

The man behind the change: an atypical journey

To understand why Leo XIV dared to so drastically overturn established practices, we must go back to his story. Robert Francis Prevost – his birth name – was not a typical prince of the Church. Born in 1955 in Chicago to a father of French and Italian descent and a mother of Louisiana Creole ancestry, he chose an unexpected path: the missions.

At 27, newly ordained a priest, he arrived in Peru. Not in the comfortable capital, but in the rural regions of the Andes, sometimes traveling on horseback to reach isolated communities. He would spend thirteen years there, creating literacy centers, organizing medical brigades, and sharing the daily lives of the poorest families. It was there, in those Peruvian mountains, that he forged his conviction: the Church is not governed from a Roman office; it is lived in contact with the people.

But Prevost is not just a field missionary. He also has a solid background in canon law and experience in governance. For twelve years, he led the Order of Saint Augustine worldwide, managing an organization of several thousand religious on every continent. And in this role, he developed his own unique method: consult widely, listen carefully, and then make a decision.

When Pope Francis called him to Rome in 2023 to head the Dicastery for Bishops—one of the Vatican's most strategic positions, as it is responsible for appointing bishops worldwide—Prevost brought with him this dual role: the missionary who believes in close collaboration, and the manager who understands that collegiality is not chaos.

Synodality as DNA

If you follow Catholic news, you've undoubtedly heard the word: synodality. It has become the watchword of the pontificate of Francis, and Leo XIV, in fact, it's practically his DNA. But what does it mean in concrete terms?

Synodality is the idea that the Church is not simply a pyramid with the Pope at the top and the faithful at the base. Rather, it is a network where everyone—bishops, priests, religious, and laity—participates in its mission and governance. This is not achieved through democratic voting (Prevost was always clear: the Church is not a democracy), but through mutual listening, which allows the Holy Spirit to manifest itself through the "sensus fidei," the sense of faith of the people of God.

During his time at the Dicastery for Bishops, Prevost applied this principle in a very concrete way. He asked the nuncios—the Vatican's ambassadors in each country—to no longer simply consult the ecclesiastical elite when choosing a new bishop. He wanted them to go into the field, meet with parish groups, and listen to the laity. Not to give them a vote, but to ensure that the chosen candidate truly met the needs of the local Church.

It wasn't just a nice theory. Under his leadership, the Dicastery included three women—a first—in the process of selecting bishops. A symbolic gesture, but also a practical one: diversifying perspectives to avoid blind spots.

François' legacy, but different

It is often said that Leo XIV continued along the path laid out by Francis. This is true… and false. The two men shared a similar sensitivity to the margins, a similar distrust of clericalism, and a similar desire to make the Church less hierarchical. But their styles differed profoundly.

Francis was a pope of rupture, sometimes abrupt, who did not hesitate to challenge established practices and openly criticize the Roman Curia. He governed by pastoral intuition, with great freedom of tone and gesture. This approach appealed to many faithful but also created tensions, even divisions, within the Church establishment.

Leo XIV, however, had a different temperament. He was what one might call a "quiet revolutionary." He wanted the same changes as Francis—perhaps even more profound—but he proceeded differently. Instead of imposing, he consulted. Instead of making quick decisions, he took the time to listen. Instead of criticizing, he supported.

This difference is already evident in his manner of dress. Francis had abandoned the traditional papal vestments—the red mozzetta, the embroidered stole—preferring a simple white cassock. A symbolic gesture of simplicity. Leo XIV, on the other hand, donned these traditional garments again for his first appearance on the balcony of St. Peter's. Not out of conservatism, but because he understands the value of symbols for a segment of the Church. His revolution does not involve the rejection of forms, but the transformation of the spirit.

A cardinal quoted in the press summarized this approach: "The world needs a Church that is quietly missionary, fraternal, and human. And it may not make much noise to be human, but it does a lot of good."«

The Prevost method: listen, then decide

Those who have worked with Prevost all describe the same method. He begins by listening. At length. He asks questions. He seeks to understand not only what you think, but why you think it. He doesn't interrupt. He takes notes.

Only then does he decide. And when he decides, it's clear and firm. No half-measures, no ambiguities. This ability to listen without hesitation and to decide without arrogance is precisely what could make him an effective pope in the long run.

This is the method he brought to the consistory of roundtables. By saying, "I am here to listen," he does not relinquish his papal authority. He positions it differently. Authority does not consist of speaking first and imposing one's vision. It consists of creating the conditions for a genuine conversation, and then assuming responsibility for the final decision.

It's a delicate balance. If the cardinals feel their opinions don't truly matter, the consultation becomes a charade. Conversely, if the pope feels paralyzed by the need for consensus, he loses his ability to govern. Leo XIV wagered that both could be achieved: genuine collegiality in deliberation, and true authority in decision-making.

What is really happening in these circles?

Beyond the format: the real issues

Roundtables are merely a tool. The real question is: what is at stake in these circles? What is Leo XIV truly seeking through this change of method?

The first issue: the unity of the Church. The consistory was held just after the Epiphany, and this was no coincidence. In his opening address, Leo XIV quoted the prophet Isaiah: «Arise, Jerusalem, shine! For your light has come.» He spoke of the Magi from the East, those strangers who recognized Christ when many did not see him.

The message? The Church is «a very heterogeneous group, enriched by diverse origins, cultures, ecclesial and social traditions, educational and academic backgrounds, and multiple pastoral experiences.» This diversity is not a problem to be solved but a strength to be cultivated. And roundtables are precisely the format that allows this diversity to be expressed without being diluted.

By forcing the cardinals to converse in small groups, Leo XIV was banking on something essential: mutual listening creates communion. When you are compelled to truly listen to someone who thinks differently from you, when you must argue with them while looking them in the eye, something changes. You can no longer caricature them. You are forced to acknowledge their good faith, even if you disagree.

The fundamental question is: who really decides?

But there is a deeper, almost political issue at stake. By changing the form of the consistory, Leo XIV subtly shifted the boundary between consultation and decision. And this raises an uncomfortable question: does the pope govern alone after listening, or does he govern with the cardinals?

Catholic doctrine is clear: the Pope has "fullness of supreme, ordinary, and immediate power" over the entire Church. He does not need the cardinals' approval to make decisions. The consistory is an advisory body, not a decision-making one. But in practice, the way in which the pope is consulted changes the nature of the power.

If the consistory is a ritual where everyone gives their opinion and then goes home, the Pope remains the sole authority. But if the consistory becomes a place of genuine collective deliberation, where the cardinals work together to develop a shared understanding, then the Pope finds himself morally bound by what emerges from this deliberation. He retains the formal power to decide otherwise, but it becomes more difficult—politically and spiritually—to ignore a consensus that has emerged.

Leo XIV seems to embrace this tension. He speaks of a "collegial path," of "working together," of "offering a model of collegiality." At the same time, he reminds everyone that he bears the "heavy responsibility of governing the universal Church." He does not relinquish his authority to govern, but he wants to do so in a way that truly engages the cardinals in the process.

It's a bold gamble. In the history of the Church, attempts at collegial governance have often led either to chaos or to a return to papal centralism. Leo XIV believes that a third way can be invented, which he calls "synodality.".

Attraction rather than coercion

Another essential element of Leo XIV's discourse was the idea of attraction. He quoted Benedict XVI and Francis on this theme. The Church, these popes said, does not proselytize. It "grows by attraction: just as Christ draws each person to himself by the power of his love."«

Applied to internal governance, this logic is revolutionary. If the Church progresses through attraction rather than coercion, then the Pope cannot impose his will vertically. He must create the conditions for cardinals, bishops, clergy, and the faithful to freely embrace the proposed vision because they recognize its truth and beauty.

The roundtables embody this logic. Instead of a pope who speaks from on high and expects obedience, you have a pope who sits (metaphorically) with the cardinals and seeks the way forward with them. Authority does not disappear; it is reconfigured: it becomes the authority of one who knows how to listen, discern, and then chart the course based on collective wisdom.

It sounds good on paper. But in reality, it requires rare qualities: humility to truly listen, courage to then make a decision, and the ability to explain why a particular decision was made, even if it's not universally accepted. Does Leo XIV possess these qualities? The coming months will tell.

The horizon: June 2026 and beyond

The consistory of January 7-8 was just the beginning. At the end of the proceedings, the cardinals learned that a new extraordinary consistory would take place at the end of June 2026, only six months after the first. This is unprecedented.

During his twelve-year pontificate, Pope Francis rarely convened the entire College of Cardinals except for the appointment of new cardinals. Leo XIV seems intent on making it a regular occurrence. The goal? To create a genuine culture of consultation, where cardinals meet not only for formal occasions but truly become collaborators with the Pope in the governance of the Church.

Looking further ahead, the ambition is even greater. The synodal process launched by Francis in 2021 is to continue until 2028. Cardinals are invited to reflect on "long-term directions." The liturgical question, a highly sensitive issue, could give rise to discussions on possible relaxations. The reform of the Roman Curia, often mentioned but never truly implemented, is on the table.

In short: the roundtables of January 7-8 are not an isolated event. They foreshadow a new way of governing the Church for years, even decades, to come. Leo XIV is not seeking a media stunt. He is trying to fundamentally change the governance culture of the Catholic institution.

Inevitable resistance

Of course, not everyone applauds. Some conservative cardinals see these innovations as a dilution of papal authority. Others, while in favor of collegiality, worry that the roundtables will lead to nothing concrete if no text is produced, no decision formalized.

There is also the practical question. Bringing together 245 cardinals twice a year is costly, logistically complex, and time-consuming for men who have dioceses to manage or dicasteries to lead. The risk is that it will become just another bureaucratic routine, devoid of its original purpose.

Leo XIV seems aware of these pitfalls. By insisting on the brevity of the interventions («Non multa sed multum»), by refusing to produce a final document, by emphasizing «conversation» rather than negotiation, he tries to maintain the freshness and authenticity of the approach.

But let's be realistic: transforming a two-thousand-year-old institution doesn't happen in six months. Habits are deeply ingrained. Structures are cumbersome. Interests diverge. Leo XIV has chosen a difficult path. If he succeeds, he will have reinvented the governance of the Catholic Church. If he fails, it will be said that it was a beautiful but unrealistic idea.

The truth test

Ultimately, the real test will not be in the form – the elegant roundtables, the speeches about listening – but in the actions. Will Leo XIV truly take into account what was said during these conversations? When he makes important decisions in the coming months, will the influence of the consistory's collective work be evident?

If the cardinals feel that their hours of dialogue have been pointless, that the Pope had already made up his mind before even listening to them, trust will be broken. The next consistory will become a soulless, obligatory exercise. Conversely, if the cardinals see that their contributions have genuinely enriched the Pope's thinking, that decisions have been adjusted or reconsidered as a result of their discussions, then this dynamic can be sustained.

A cardinal said after the consistory: «There is a capital of trust in the College of Cardinals. It is a value that will stand the test of time.» This capital of trust is precisely what Leo XIV is trying to build with his roundtables. Not just a meeting format, but a new way of doing Church together.

In his opening address, Leo XIV quoted a phrase that sums up his entire project: «From the way we learn to work together, something new can emerge, something that engages both the present and the future.» The roundtables are the laboratory for this «something new.» A fragile, ambitious, perhaps utopian laboratory. But if it works, it could change the face of the Catholic Church for a long time.

In summary

Leo XIV did not simply rearrange the chairs. By opting for round tables rather than a traditional assembly, he transformed the rules of speech within the consistory. Gone were the long monologues, replaced by brief and impactful exchanges. This change in setting reflected a deeper vision: that of a Church that governs through mutual listening and collective deliberation, without relinquishing papal authority.

The man behind this change is not a Vatican theorist but a former missionary in Peru who learned firsthand that closeness and collegiality are not options but necessities. His wager: one can be a pope who truly listens without ceasing to be a pope who decides.

The coming months will tell if this gamble pays off. If the consistory of June 2026 confirms the momentum, if the decisions made are clearly enriched by the January discussions, then Leo XIV may have succeeded. Otherwise, the roundtables will remain a nice symbol without any follow-up.

One thing is certain: by altering the structure of the consultation, Leo XIV shifted something essential. As the Romans he likes to quote used to say: "Non multa sed multum"—not many things, but profoundly. This is perhaps the best definition of what transpired on January 7 and 8, 2026, at the Vatican. Not a spectacular revolution, but a profound change whose effects will only be measured over time.

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