With the passing of Pope Francis yesterday, the Catholic Church stands at a crossroads, its 1.4 billion faithful turning their eyes to Rome. The question on everyone’s mind: who will be the next pope? The process, steeped in centuries of tradition, is as secretive as it is sacred, blending prayer, politics, and a touch of divine mystery. It’s not a campaign trail with debates and ads, but a quiet, intense drama unfolding behind the Vatican’s walls. Let’s pull back the curtain on how the Church picks its next shepherd—and what’s at stake this time around.
A Time of Transition: The Sede Vacante
When a pope dies, the Church enters a period called sede vacante—Latin for “empty seat.” It’s a strange, liminal time when the Vatican’s usual hum slows to a solemn rhythm. Right now, Cardinal Kevin Farrell, as camerlengo, is the temporary caretaker, handling day-to-day affairs. The papal apartments are sealed, and the pope’s fisherman ring, a symbol of his authority, is destroyed with a silver hammer to prevent forgeries. These rituals, some dating back to the Middle Ages, set the stage for what’s next: the conclave, where cardinals gather to elect the new pope.
Francis’s death has triggered a global countdown. His funeral, expected in four to six days, will draw millions to Rome—presidents, pilgrims, and everyday Catholics like my neighbor Sofia, who’s already booking a flight. After nine days of mourning, the conclave must begin within 15 to 20 days, likely by mid-May. Until then, the Church holds its breath.
The Conclave: A Sacred Lock-In
The word “conclave” comes from Latin cum clave—“with a key”—and it’s literal. Cardinals under 80, the only ones eligible to vote, are locked into the Vatican, cut off from the world. No phones, no internet, no outside contact. In 2025, about 130 cardinals qualify, including 11 from the United States, like Cardinals Timothy Dolan of New York and Raymond Burke of Wisconsin. They’ll live in the Casa Santa Marta, a modest guesthouse, and work in the Sistine Chapel, under Michelangelo’s frescoes of creation and judgment—a fitting backdrop for a task both human and divine.
The process is governed by strict rules, last tweaked by Francis in 2024. Each morning and afternoon, the cardinals gather for voting sessions, called “scrutinies.” They write a name on a slip of paper, fold it, and drop it into a silver urn, swearing an oath to act “before God” for the Church’s good. Two cardinals count the votes, and a two-thirds majority—roughly 87 votes this time—is needed to elect a pope. If no one gets it, the ballots are burned with a chemical that sends black smoke through the Sistine Chapel’s chimney, telling the world: no pope yet.
Day after day, the cardinals pray, vote, and talk—quietly, over coffee or in hushed corners. They’re not campaigning, but they’re sizing each other up, asking: Who can lead? Who can unify? After four days without a winner, they pause for prayer and reflection. If deadlock persists, later rounds allow a simple majority, though that’s rare. In 2013, Francis was elected in just two days, but conclaves can drag on. In 1268, it took nearly three years—hence the “lock-in” to keep things moving.
When a cardinal finally wins, the dean asks, “Do you accept?” If he says yes, he picks a papal name and is led to the “Room of Tears,” a small chamber where the weight of the job often hits hard. Then, dressed in white, he steps onto St. Peter’s balcony as the crowd roars, “Habemus Papam!”—We have a pope.
Who’s in the Running?
No one “runs” for pope—that’s taboo—but names are already swirling. The next pope doesn’t have to be a cardinal, but he almost always is. He’s usually a bishop, over 50, with global experience. Francis, elected at 76, was on the older side; this time, oddsmakers favor someone younger, maybe 60 to 70, for a longer reign.
The field is wide open, but a few names stand out. Cardinal Luis Antonio Tagle, 67, from the Philippines, is a charismatic pastor with a knack for connecting, nicknamed the “Asian Francis.” Cardinal Pietro Parolin, 70, the Vatican’s Secretary of State, is a seasoned diplomat who knows the Church’s machinery. Cardinal Matteo Zuppi, 69, from Italy, blends Francis’s mercy with a knack for peacebuilding—he’s been key in Ukraine talks. Dark horses include Cardinal Péter Erdő, 72, from Hungary, a canon law expert, and Cardinal Robert Sarah, 79, from Guinea, a conservative favorite for his focus on tradition.
Then there’s Cardinal Raymond Burke, the Wisconsin traditionalist. At 76, he’s a long shot, but his vocal defense of doctrine has a loyal following. Posts on X are buzzing, with some calling him “the only one to save the Church,” while others dismiss him as too divisive. An American pope was unthinkable a century ago, but with 11 U.S. cardinals in the mix, it’s not impossible—just unlikely.
Geography matters. Francis was the first Latin American pope, breaking Europe’s grip. Today, 52 electors are European, 28 African, 22 Asian, 18 North American, and 14 Latin American. Africa and Asia, where Catholicism is growing fastest, could push for one of their own, like Tagle or Ghana’s Cardinal Peter Turkson, 76. But Italy, with 25 cardinals, still has clout, and some bet on a return to an Italian pope after 50 years.
What’s at Stake?
This conclave isn’t just about picking a name—it’s about the Church’s future. Francis’s push for inclusion, from welcoming migrants to blessing same-sex couples, thrilled some but alienated others. Conservatives like Burke want a course correction, doubling down on tradition. Progressives hope for a Tagle or Zuppi to keep Francis’s vision alive. The next pope will face a polarized Church, a secularizing West, and a booming Global South, plus hot-button issues like women’s roles, clergy abuse, and climate change.
The cardinals aren’t just voting for a man; they’re voting for a direction. Will the Church lean into Francis’s “open doors” or Burke’s firm boundaries? I talked to my friend Marco, a Rome taxi driver who’s been ferrying pilgrims all week. “Everyone wants something different,” he said, shaking his head. “Some want a saint, some want a CEO.”
The Human Side of the Conclave
It’s easy to get lost in the pomp—red robes, Latin oaths, smoke signals. But the conclave is deeply human. Cardinals aren’t robots; they’re men with doubts, hopes, and biases. They pray hard, but they also whisper about who’s got the right stuff. Some might push for a friend, others for a compromise. In 2005, Benedict XVI was a surprise pick after cardinals rallied around a quiet scholar over flashier names. In 2013, Bergoglio’s humor and humility won hearts fast.
The isolation is grueling. No X, no news—just each other and God. A cardinal once admitted sneaking a radio into a conclave decades ago, only to hear static. Today’s electors face the same pressure, knowing the world’s watching. Outside, St. Peter’s Square will be packed, with pilgrims like Sofia praying and betting on smoke colors. “I just want someone kind,” she told me, clutching a rosary.
A Waiting World
As the conclave nears, Rome is buzzing. Hotels are booked, and vendors are selling pope-themed trinkets. The smoke—black or white—will be the signal, but the real story is what happens inside those walls. Will it be Tagle’s smile, Parolin’s steady hand, or a total wildcard? Whoever it is, he’ll step into a world that’s hurting, hoping, and hungry for guidance.
Yesterday, I stood in the square, watching mourners light candles for Francis. A nun next to me whispered, “God already knows the next pope.” Maybe so, and maybe the cardinals will find him soon. For now, the Church waits, the chimney stays cold, and the search for the next Vicar of Christ begins.