In keeping with Francis' teachings, Pope Leo is starting to make trouble [original word: lío]. And on several levels. For example, what happened in Spain. It is known that a few weeks ago he called Cardinal Cobo, Archbishop of Madrid, to tell him that he wants to visit Spain this year. In other words, he invited himself, and no one knows exactly why. The problem is that the official invitation must be issued by the head of state, the king, and by the prime minister, Pedro Sánchez. The former will do as he is told, and the latter was reluctant to sign the invitation. And that is why the dates of the visit have not yet been confirmed.
And everyone fears this visit, politicians and bishops alike. Among other things, it would take place in the midst of the “reinterpretation” of the Valley of the Fallen, which was endorsed and signed by the infamous Cardinal Cobo himself, bowing to the wishes of Sánchez's socialist government and without having the authority to do so, as it is a pontifical basilica.
But there are other more serious problems involving the Church. Last week, without prior notice, Leo XIV “dismissed” a young bishop from Indonesia whom Francis had appointed cardinal. Fear of this order that the pontiff seems to be imposing on the world episcopate at the beginning of the year is beginning to take hold of the Argentine Episcopal Conference, where many skeletons are being dug up and many corpses are piling up in closets that were thought to be inviolable. And these are corpses that Leo knows very well, since he was prefect of the Dicastery for Bishops.
But the Argentine episcopal stupor occurred on Thursday, January 22, just a few days ago, when the Holy See press release announced that the Pope had received in audience Monsignor Oscar Sarlinga, bishop emeritus of Zárate-Campana, the first of those shown mercy by Francis, who thus avenged a personal hatred that he had kept captive in his merciful heart for years. The question is more than obvious: why did the Supreme Pontiff grant an audience to a bishop emeritus who had been completely forgotten and was outside all episcopal circles at the time? Certainly, it was not to drink Yerba Mate together.
Sarlinga's presence, once again linked to the heart of ecclesiastical power, is causing a stir. A big stir. In the corridors of the Vatican and at the headquarters of the Argentine Episcopal Conference [CEA], there is talk of old files being reopened, of names reappearing just as the new pontificate begins to make its own decisions; just as León begins to cause trouble.
In this context, two minor but suggestive pieces of information fueled episcopal concern. On the one hand, there was the discreet movement of the Argentine apostolic nuncio without replacement (requested by the CEA authorities); on the other, the acceptance of the early resignation of the Indonesian bishop mentioned above. None of this has been publicly explained. But in Rome, explanations never come first.
And at the center of this climate appears Sarlinga: the bishop who left prematurely, who never spoke his mind, and who now returns to where decisions are made. For some, it is a mere coincidence. For others, it is a sign that the recent past of the Argentine Church has not yet been fully accounted for.
“In the Vatican, no one reappears by mistake,” murmurs a veteran observer of the curia. Meanwhile, the official silence persists. But the implicit message circulates strongly: something is stirring, and the name of Óscar Sarlinga is once again written—albeit in pencil—in the margins of power.
