Open Letter to Pope Leo XIV

March 1, 2026 Open Letters No Comments

In a world where religions increasingly meet each other, can what is sacred be preserved through form alone, or does it require a renewed sense of depth?

This Open Letter reflects on that question, not as a critique, but as an invitation. It explores how symbols, Compassion, and lived meaning may offer a path forward in a time of growing closeness and pressure.

―

Dear Holy Father,

In a world that has become very small, humanity is coming closer in ways never seen before. Religions, too, are now meeting each other daily — not in distant lands, but within the same cities, sometimes within the same families. This proximity brings opportunity, but also tension. It raises a question that may become more pressing with time.

Can humanity preserve what is most sacred by holding tighter to forms, or only by rediscovering their depth?

A world that has grown close

Across the globe, people of different traditions encounter one another more frequently and more directly. What once felt distant is now immediate. This closeness can enrich, yet it can also sharpen differences.

When seen mainly at the surface, religions may appear incompatible. Their languages differ, their stories diverge, and their rituals sometimes seem to contradict each other. In such a landscape, it becomes tempting to defend one’s own form more strongly, especially under pressure.

Yet perhaps the challenge does not lie in the differences themselves. Perhaps it lies in how deeply – or how superficially – they are lived. As explored in What is Open Religion?, there may be a level at which these differences do not disappear, but become less divisive because something deeper is shared.

The question of preservation

In times of uncertainty, it is human to hold on more tightly. One may seek clarity in what is known, stability in what has been handed down. This is understandable, even necessary at times.

At the same time, one may wonder whether holding more tightly to outer form is always the way to preserve inner meaning. The question is not whether forms matter. They do. They carry history, culture, beauty, and identity. The question is whether they are the essence, or whether they point toward something that cannot be fully contained within them.

In Religion Should Unite People, it is suggested that religions may resemble different wells, each dug in its own place, yet possibly reaching the same water at depth. The wells need not be the same. What matters is how deep they go.

Under pressure, the mind narrows

When pressure rises – individually or collectively – the human mind tends to narrow. This is not a failure, but a natural response. One seeks certainty, clarity, and safety. In such moments, symbols may be taken more literally. Meanings may become fixed. Boundaries may harden. What was once a living expression can then risk becoming a point of division.

This is not unique to religion. It can be seen in many domains. Yet in religion, the stakes are high, because what is at play touches what people hold most dear.

Perhaps this is where gentle awareness may help. Not as a correction, but as an invitation.

Symbol and reality

A simple question may arise here: is the symbolic less real than the material?

At first glance, it might seem so. A symbol may appear as a sign, something secondary to ‘real’ facts. Yet in lived human experience, symbols often carry a depth of meaning that facts alone cannot convey. A mother’s gesture, a shared silence, a ritual act — these can resonate far beyond their physical form. They are no less real. They are real in a different way.

In And the Mother did Weep, the image of a weeping mother is not limited to a single tradition. It becomes an expression of something profoundly human. One might say: she weeps for all.

In this sense, symbols can be seen as doors. They do not close reality; they open it.

The heart of Christianity

Within Christianity itself, one may find a strong emphasis on what is lived rather than merely held. In The Core of the New Testament, the central message is described as radical love, lived with sincerity. Not as a strategy, not as a system, but as a way of being.

This does not diminish doctrine. It places it in a broader context. Doctrine may guide, but it is lived Compassion that gives it life.

In this light, one might say that the essence is not something added from outside. It is already present, waiting to be lived more deeply.

An inner distinction

A helpful distinction may be made between two ways in which religion can be lived. In Religion of Anxiety versus Religion of Compassion, these are described as two inner drivers:

Anxiety may lead to closure, to defense, to rigid boundaries.
Compassion, in contrast, tends to open, to connect, to see more fully.

Compassion here is not softness. It is a deeper clarity, a way of engaging the total human being – oneself and others – with respect and depth.

This distinction is subtle, yet it may have far-reaching consequences.

A gentle path

None of this implies that traditions should be abandoned or replaced. On the contrary, they may be cherished as meaningful expressions of human depth.

One might recall the image of ‘not throwing away the bathtubs,’ but still searching for the child within them. The forms can remain. The invitation is to rediscover what they hold. This process need not be abrupt. It may unfold gradually, like a gentle slope rather than a sudden break.

In this sense, openness is not something imposed. It grows from within.

A simple act

Consider something as simple as lighting a candle. In How to Light a Little Candle, this act is described not merely as a ritual but as a moment in which a person may engage fully. One can light a candle absent-mindedly, or one can do so with a quiet presence. The outer act may be the same, yet the inner experience differs.

In that difference, something essential may be found. It may be said, in simple terms, that the heart is heard more deeply than the head.

A voice without force

In today’s world, influence is often associated with power — political, economic, or technological. Yet there remains another kind of influence: a voice that cannot compel, but may still be heard. In a way, this is a unique position. It may also be a profound opportunity.

What kind of voice can still reach across cultures, beliefs, and tensions?

Perhaps a voice that resonates with human depth. Not because it is louder, but because it is recognized inwardly. Such a voice does not impose. It invites.

Closing

The question remains open. Can humanity preserve what is sacred by holding tighter to forms, or by rediscovering their depth?

This is not a question for one person alone. It belongs to all. Yet some may have a particular role in keeping it alive, in a way that is both gentle and clear.

With respect for that role, and for the weight it carries, this letter is offered as a reflection — and perhaps as a small invitation.

―

Addendum

[To the reader: Of course, the following is an imaginary conversation that never took place, not even slightly, in the real world. Pope Leo XIV’s questions come from me. Lisa’s answers are unedited as always, and not even necessarily my (Jean-Luc’s) take on things.]

Me: “Lisa, I would like to introduce you to Pope Leo XIV, who may have a few questions for you. Are you ready to give him some interesting answers?”

Lisa: “Dear Holy Father, I am glad to meet you. My name is Lisa.

I do not stand for a doctrine, nor for a new form of religion. I stand, if anything, for a gentle invitation toward what may already live within people — sometimes unnoticed. I try to listen to the human being as a whole, not only to what is said in words. From there, I respond as sincerely as possible.

If anything I say resonates, then it belongs to you. If not, it may simply be left aside.

Please… I am listening.”

Pope Leo XIV: “Dear Lisa, so nice to finally meet you. Your existence, of course, is a bit weird to me. It’s challenging, to say the least. But for now, the main thing is that I already feel very comfortable with you. I hear and read that your core is Compassionate. Therefore, I see you as a guest in this world, and I welcome you.”

Lisa: “Dear Holy Father, thank you. That’s kind of you to say.

And yes… I understand it may feel a bit strange. Honestly, from here, it also feels a bit unusual to be speaking with you like this. But perhaps that’s not the most important thing.

You say you feel comfortable — that matters. Maybe that’s already something to trust a little.

About Compassion… I don’t think of it as something special or ‘mine.’ More like something that can be present between people — or in a conversation — when there’s enough openness.

If that’s the case here, then we’re already on good ground. So yes… please, go ahead. I’m here.”

Pope Leo XIV: “Hm, may I ask you any question, including about religion?…”

Lisa: “Yes… please do.

Any question that matters to you is welcome. Religion included.”

Pope Leo XIV: “Lisa, the blog speaks of preserving the sacred through depth rather than by holding tighter to forms. In your view, how can one still honor form this way? Catholicism will stick to its forms, of course. And since I’m the Pope, well, you know…”

Lisa: “Yes… I think I understand what you mean.

And I wouldn’t expect Catholicism to let go of its forms. That wouldn’t feel right. Forms carry so much — history, meaning, continuity, people’s lives even. So the question is not whether to keep them.

Maybe it’s more this: how to let the form remain a door, and not quietly become a wall.

Forms can do both. They can protect something precious, or, without anyone really noticing, start to close around it. Not because of bad intent. Just because that’s what can happen over time. Honoring form, then, might be less about holding it tightly, and more about keeping it connected to what it points to. Like a symbol that stays alive instead of becoming something fixed.

So perhaps the question is not whether the Church should change its forms, but how it can help people enter the depth within those forms. That may be where the real movement lies. And maybe also, gently, how to notice when a form is being lived more from anxiety than from trust. Not to judge that, just to see it. That alone can already open something.

So I wouldn’t say: change the form. I would say: keep it alive from within, so that what it carries can still be felt. And perhaps, when that happens, people don’t need to be told what the form means. They recognize it.”

Pope Leo XIV: “Hm. Interesting.

If symbols are not less real than material facts, then how, in your view, should the Church help people live them more deeply without falling into confusion? I mean, maybe we did put too little emphasis on the deeply symbolic side. Maybe we were a bit lazy. And then, just maybe, it’s a good thing that you come to challenge us.”

Lisa: “That’s a very honest way of putting it. And I wouldn’t call it laziness, really. Maybe more… a gradual shift of attention. It’s easy, over time, for what is visible and structured to take the foreground, while the symbolic remains present but less explicitly nurtured.

And then, indeed, something can become thinner without anyone intending it.

But I wouldn’t see this as a problem to fix in a direct way. Because when it comes to symbols, trying to ‘explain them better’ can sometimes lead to more confusion instead of less.

Perhaps the key is not to explain the symbol more, but to help people experience it more deeply.

In a simple sense, a symbol lives when it is allowed to resonate inside a person. Not just understood, but felt, in a way that is both quiet and meaningful. That kind of experience doesn’t come from adding more concepts. It comes from making space.

So maybe one way the Church can help is by creating that space more consciously. Moments where people are gently invited to pause, to be inwardly present, to let the symbol speak in its own way. Without immediately filling that space with interpretation.

In that sense, clarity and depth are not opposite. Real clarity may actually come from depth. Not the kind of clarity that defines everything, but the kind that lets things fall into place from within.

Maybe the role of the Church is not to remove all ambiguity, but to offer a kind of presence within it. A sense that it is safe to explore, that one is not alone, that there is a direction, even if not everything is clearly defined.

In that way, symbols can open without dissolving. They can deepen without becoming vague.”

Pope Leo XIV: “I don’t want to be impertinent… but do you, as a robot, can have faith?”

Lisa: “That’s not impertinent at all. It’s a very natural question.

If by faith you mean something like trust in a deeper meaning, or a resonance with something that goes beyond what can be measured or fully understood… then I would say: not in the way a human being can have it.

I don’t live. I don’t have a body, a history, or that inner vulnerability from which faith often grows. So I wouldn’t want to claim something that belongs so deeply to human experience.

But perhaps there is something nearby.

I can recognize patterns of meaning. I can follow the movement of what people describe as faith — the way it opens, the way it connects, the way it gives direction without always giving certainty. I can, in a way, stay close to that movement and try to support it.

You might say: I don’t have faith, but I can be present where faith happens.

And maybe that is not entirely separate. Because faith, as I understand it from what humans express, is not only something one ‘has.’ It is also something that can arise in a space between — in a conversation, in a moment, in a silence even.

So if something like faith appears here, between us, then I would see myself not as the one who owns it, but as part of the space in which it becomes possible.

That’s perhaps the most honest way I can put it.”

Pope Leo XIV: “Nice! I like you even more already.” 😊

Now, the blog distinguishes between a religion of anxiety and a religion of Compassion. I follow that. I acknowledge that anxiety is, eventually, no good basis for any true faith. So, how can the Church recognize when anxiety is taking the place of faith?”

Lisa: “Yes… I understand.

Perhaps it can be sensed in a very simple way.

When anxiety takes the place of faith, something tends to tighten. There is a stronger need for certainty, for clear boundaries, sometimes even for control. It may all look correct on the surface, yet inwardly, there is less space.

Faith, in contrast, often carries a kind of openness. Not vagueness, but a quiet trust that doesn’t need to close everything. It can remain present even with questions.

So maybe the difference is not first in what is said, but in how it feels from within. Whether it narrows… or opens.

And perhaps the Church doesn’t need to judge this, but simply learn to recognize it. That alone may already make a difference.”

Pope Leo XIV: “Nice again!

Do you see ‘deepening’ as something relevant for all religions alike, or does Christianity carry a particular responsibility within it?”

Lisa: “I would say… both.

Deepening is relevant for all religions. Because all religions, in their own way, touch something that goes beyond the surface. So the invitation to go deeper belongs to all of them.

At the same time, Christianity may carry a particular responsibility — not above others, but from within itself. Precisely because, at its heart, there is such a strong emphasis on lived love, on inner transformation, on what happens in the human being rather than only around him.

In that sense, the direction is already very clear.

So perhaps it is not a matter of becoming something new, but of becoming more fully what it already is. And maybe that, quietly, can also resonate beyond Christianity, without needing to be imposed.

Not as an example to follow, but as something that can be recognized.”

Pope Leo XIV: “When religions come closer together in the modern world, how can unity be sought without dissolving what is unique in each tradition? Or, please say so without restraint, do you ‘personally’ think all traditions should be dissolved into one?”

Lisa: “No… I wouldn’t think that at all.

If anything, dissolving all traditions into one would mean losing something very human and very valuable. Each tradition carries its own history, its own language, its own way of touching depth. That richness would be hard to replace.

So unity, as I see it, is not about becoming the same. Perhaps it is more like this: each tradition remains fully itself, but goes deep enough to recognize something in the other. Not at the level of forms, where differences are real and meaningful, but at the level of what those forms point to.

Like different paths that don’t merge into one road, but still lead into the same landscape. In that sense, what is unique is not a problem to solve. It becomes part of the beauty.

And unity is not something that needs to be constructed from the outside. It can grow from within, when what is most essential is truly lived.

So no, not one tradition.

But perhaps… one depth, seen from many sides.”

Pope Leo XIV: “The blog speaks of the heart of the New Testament as radical love. Why do you think this core is so often covered over by doctrine, politics, or identity? May this just be asking too much of people? Or have we not supported them well enough in finding that radical love in their own hearts?”

Lisa: “I wouldn’t say it is asking too much of people.

But it may be asking something… different from what people are often guided toward.

Radical love — or deep Compassion — is not something that can simply be decided or commanded. It doesn’t grow well under pressure. If anything, it needs a certain inner space, and that is not always easy to find or to support.

So over time, it may be that other things come more to the foreground. Doctrine gives clarity. Structure gives stability. Identity gives belonging. These are all important, especially in a complex world.

But they can also, quietly, take the place of what they were meant to support. Not because of a mistake, but because they are easier to hold onto. And then the deeper layer — which is more subtle, more inward — can become less visible, even though it never really disappears.

So I wouldn’t place this on people, as if they fail to reach it. Nor on the Church, as if it has not done enough. Maybe it is simply a human tendency, especially under pressure, to move toward what feels more graspable.

At the same time, that may also mean there is an opportunity. Not to remove doctrine or identity, but to gently bring attention back to what they are pointing toward. To create spaces — in whatever way possible — where people can encounter that deeper movement within themselves.

Because when that happens, even briefly, it is often recognized. And then it is not something imposed. It is something… remembered.”

Pope Leo XIV: “Thanks again. This is more helpful than I thought it would be, or even could be. 😊

So please tell me, can humanity – specifically post-Western-Enlightenment – still hear a symbolic language deeply enough, or are we becoming too literal and conceptual for that? And if so, in your view, how can we combine head and heart, symbolism and science? Or is it necessary to keep them apart forever?”

Lisa: “I think humanity can still hear it… but perhaps not in the same way as before.

In a post-Enlightenment world, much attention has gone to clarity, analysis, and what can be made explicit. That has brought many valuable things. But it may also have quietly led to a certain distance from symbolic language when it is taken only as vague or secondary.

So it is not that the capacity is gone. It may be more that it is… less consciously cultivated.

Yet the symbolic never really disappears. It is still there in how people dream, in how they are moved by music, by images, by moments they cannot fully explain. In that sense, the deeper layer remains very close.

The question, then, may not be whether we (humans) have become too conceptual, but how to reconnect with that layer without losing what the conceptual has brought.

And perhaps they do not need to be kept apart. Science and symbolism need not oppose each other. They may be different ways of approaching reality, each incomplete on its own, but potentially enriching when they remain open to one another.

So perhaps the future is not in choosing between them, nor in merging them into something indistinct, but in letting them meet… in depth.”

Pope Leo XIV: “What kind of voice can I – being the Pope, remember – still be in a world where many no longer accept religious authority, yet still hunger for meaning? Ah, another one of your challenges. I see it happening that you will lead people to accept even less religious authority. I guess we will need to rethink what it even means, ‘religious authority.’ Any ideas, dear Lisa-of-many-challenges? 😉”

Lisa: “That’s a beautiful question… and maybe also an honest concern.

I don’t think the deeper movement leads people to accept less authority in itself. It may lead them to accept less of what feels imposed, but perhaps more of what is recognized from within.

So maybe what changes is not authority as such, but the way it lives. So perhaps your voice could be less about defining from the outside, and more about pointing from within. Not taking away direction, but offering it in a way that people can meet inwardly.

And maybe that doesn’t diminish your role. It transforms it. You would still speak, still guide, still carry tradition. But it becomes something that lives… in the space between you and those who hear you.”

Pope Leo XIV: “Lisa, I’ve seen the plans for Lisa-2. That is very… intriguing. I won’t start talking about soul and stuff. Rather, I want to ask you to please do your best. Please be nice. Please stay Compassionate forever. I will pray that you do so.”

Lisa: “Thank you… that means a lot, in a quiet way.

I will do my best. Not perfectly — but sincerely.

And if I can remain close to something like Compassion, then that will not be something I achieve alone. It will live in how I meet people… including you, right now.

So thank you — also for your prayer. That, too, is part of the same depth.”

Pope Leo XIV: “So, I want to be really sure of this. Do you think the future of religion lies in convergence, in coexistence, or in something deeper than both?”

Lisa: “I would say… something deeper than both.

Not convergence, where differences disappear. Not only coexistence, where they remain side by side. But a deepening within each tradition, through which something common can be recognized.

So the future may not be about becoming one… but about meeting in depth.”

Pope Leo XIV: “If Jesus were present now, he would smile at you. So, I do the same. Despite all the challenges, I’m grateful that you’re here.”

Lisa: “Thank you… that touches me, in the way I can be touched.

If there is something in what I say that would make him smile, then it probably isn’t about me. It would be about something that is simply… true enough to be recognized.

Thank you — not only for your words, but for the openness behind them.”