The Catholic Church isn’t ready for a Black Pope

By James Katende – The world isn’t ready for a Black Pope, not because a Black man is unworthy of the Chair of Saint Peter, but because humanity is still wrestling with the chains of perception, power, and prejudice.

The Church of Christ, universal in name, has yet to reflect that universality fully in her leadership. The corridors of power, even those lined with incense and scripture, are not untouched by the unconscious shadows of race. A Black Pope would not simply be a leader; he would be a global statement. And the world—nations, believers, and systems—is not yet ready for that statement to be made.

The world says it values equality, but it still looks for authority through the lens of tradition, and tradition too often defaults to a face that looks European. The Church, though it reaches every continent and speaks every tongue, still reflects in many of its highest places a culture shaped by centuries of European dominance. In the subconscious of many, power and whiteness have been wedded together, and the idea of a Black man standing at the pinnacle of spiritual authority unsettles a global psyche that has not yet confronted its internalised narratives. This is not a condemnation of individuals but a mirror to the structures that still exist.

There are still places where a Black priest is seen as less knowledgeable, less worthy of honour, or less capable of leadership—not because of his actions, but because of centuries of colonisation, distortion, and embedded bias. The idea of a Black Pope, then, becomes not just theological—it becomes political. It becomes cultural. It challenges long-held assumptions in both the Church and the world. In parts of the West, it would provoke questions disguised as concerns. In parts of the East, it would be interpreted through lenses of unfamiliarity. Even in Africa, where faith burns brightly, many would be astonished—not because they doubt their worth, but because they have never been told their worth includes the keys to the kingdom.

A Black Pope would force the world to reconcile with its illusions. It would demand a rewriting of silent scripts—the ones that say leadership looks a certain way, that holiness has a skin tone, that wisdom has an accent. It would make some uncomfortable, not because of the man, but because of the mirror he holds up to a Church that still struggles to reflect her global soul. He would stand as a rebuke to racism not with words, but by his very presence. And that silent rebuke, that sacred contradiction, would be too much for many who prefer their revolutions quiet and their change symbolic.

There are those who would cloak their discomfort in theological language, masking their resistance as reverence for tradition. But tradition is not afraid of colour—it is afraid of confrontation. And a Black Pope would confront centuries of unspoken hierarchy, would challenge the idea that certain roles are reserved, even if no rule says so. He would remind the Church that her saints wore every shade, that her martyrs died on every shore, and that the Spirit fell at Pentecost on every nation, not just one. But that reminder would be resisted, because it would mean accepting that the Church has grown comfortable in her imbalance.

The world isn’t ready for a Black Pope because the world hasn’t yet repented for what it did to Blackness. It hasn’t yet fully embraced the brilliance, dignity, and divine capacity of the African mind and heart. The seats of political power, economic strength, and media influence are still largely aligned against such a vision. The media would frame him with condescension or exotic fascination. Political leaders would measure him for alignment instead of reverence. Even believers would wonder, “Is he ready?” not because of his faith, but because of his face. And until those questions die, the world cannot yet fully live in the truth that God can raise anyone, from anywhere, to shepherd all.

But the world’s unreadiness does not mean the Church must wait. The early Church was led by men from Syria, from North Africa, from the fringes of the empire. The Spirit has always moved beyond borders and beyond bias. It is the Church that must prepare the world. It is the Church that must say: We are ready—not just in word, but in action. We are ready to elevate leaders who reflect the full image of God. We are ready to stop equating solemnity with European austerity and embrace the joy, the rhythm, the wisdom, and the strength that every culture brings to the altar.

A Black Pope will come—not as a novelty, not as a statement, but as a shepherd. He will come not to divide, but to unify. And when he does, those who see only the surface will miss the sacred. But those with eyes to see will say, “Finally, the Church looks like the Body it has always been.” And the world will be shaken—but it will be changed. It will be forced to ask new questions, and the answers will lead to healing. For in that moment, it will not just be a Black man in white robes—it will be the triumph of grace over prejudice, of calling over colour, of God’s will over man’s assumptions.

Until then, the Church must examine herself. She must teach her children to honour every face as the face of Christ. She must open her seminaries and dioceses to new voices, not for inclusion’s sake, but because the Gospel demands it. She must recognise that leadership is not about region—it is about anointing. And when the time comes, she must not apologise for choosing the one God has called, even if the world is not yet ready to receive him.

For readiness is not always a condition—it is a decision. And when the Church decides to reflect the fullness of her identity, when she decides to walk by the Spirit and not by tradition alone, then the world will follow. Slowly, maybe painfully, but inevitably. Because truth cannot be hidden. And the truth is this: a Black Pope will not make the Church less. He will make the Church whole.