The End of an Era (But Not the One They Think)
With the death of Pope Francis, the ecclesial commentariat is already rushing to define an era. They speak of simplicity, humility, dialogue. Of a Church that “opened its arms” and “met the world where it was.” But such phrases are not analysis. They are branding.
For those of us formed in the deep structure of the Church’s liturgical, musical, and doctrinal tradition, this moment invites not eulogy but reckoning.
Pope Francis presided over a decade-long dismantling of the fragile efforts to recover a coherent, tradition-conscious liturgical culture in the wake of the Council. His papacy did not simply shift emphasis. It redirected the Church’s institutional imagination, away from continuity, and toward managerial improvisation. What was marginal under Benedict XVI became mainstream under Francis. What was once held in cautious tension was declared obsolete.
The most obvious expression of this was Traditionis Custodes (2021), a motu proprio whose title was ironic at best. Far from “guardians of tradition,” bishops were empowered to suppress it, to recast longstanding liturgical forms not as gifts to be preserved, but as threats to unity. Dioceses that had carefully built communities around the usus antiquior (often with reverent liturgy, robust catechesis, and rich musical programs) were given no presumption of good will. Instead, they were treated as liabilities to be managed.
But Traditionis Custodes was not an isolated gesture. It was the culmination of a clear and consistent trend:
The suppression of the Pontifical Liturgical Institute’s reform trajectory. Under Francis, voices associated with the “Reform of the Reform” were steadily marginalized within academic liturgical circles. The once-respected Pontificium Institutum Liturgicum in Rome saw a noticeable shift in tone and faculty, emphasizing anthropology and enculturation over sacramental theology and continuity.
The effective sidelining of the Office for Liturgical Celebrations. Under Benedict XVI, papal liturgies were marked by a renewed sense of Roman sobriety, musical integrity, and attention to symbolic continuity. Under Francis, this office was hollowed out. The emphasis turned to simplicity, spontaneity, and frequent liturgical improvisation, even at major papal Masses.
The gradual deprofessionalization of sacred music. The Cappella Sistina, long a bastion of musical excellence, underwent significant restructuring in 2018. Longstanding personnel were replaced or redirected. The general aesthetic movement turned away from the polyphonic and toward the pastoral-populist. Gregorian chant, once called “the supreme model of sacred music,” became effectively invisible.
The appointment of liturgically indifferent bishops. Perhaps most devastating has been the appointment pattern of bishops with little or no liturgical literacy or musical imagination. Dioceses that once had flourishing music programs watched them wither under new leadership more concerned with optics than tradition. Institutions that trained liturgical musicians found themselves out of sync with ecclesial priorities.
Even symbolic gestures sent unmistakable messages. The decision to celebrate Holy Thursday Mass in prisons rather than cathedrals. The impromptu foot washing of women and Muslims without catechetical framing. The rejection of liturgical vestments traditionally associated with hierarchical solemnity. None of these acts were neutral. They reflected a calculated reframing of what the Church values and what it is willing to abandon.
This is not a caricature. It is the observable pattern of the Francis era.
To critique this is not to deny his moral sincerity or pastoral heart. But it is to assert that tradition, real tradition, is more than a stylistic preference. It is a living continuity of belief, expression, and worship. And when that continuity is treated as optional, the entire sacramental architecture begins to fragment.
Francis did not kill tradition. But he emboldened a generation of bishops, liturgists, and pastors to treat it as backward, dangerous, or irrelevant. And that, more than any document or statement, is the legacy his successor will inherit.
The end of his pontificate is not the end of a war. It is the end of a ceasefire.
There will now be calls for unity. For moving forward. For healing. But let us be honest: unity cannot be forged on erasure. Healing cannot come from pretending the wound was never inflicted.
We who remain, formed by the liturgical mind of the Church, not just its policies, must now do the work of memory. Not to return, but to anchor. Not to repeat, but to preserve. There can be no sacred future without sacred continuity.
Let the next papacy begin not with amnesia, but with reckoning.