Unusually for me, here’s a short one — my friend Justin, who can sit and read chapters of Harry Potter at a time, found it hard to concentrate on anything more than 500 words, which on average is what the posts are here. So I am reining it in with this post... we’ll see!
Apparently, there is something happening over in Vatican City. There’s something almost tragic about the black smoke of a papal conclave. All that ceremony, all those centuries of tradition, the crowds gathering, hotels full, street vendors making more in a week than in a year, and yet it is just a signal of mere human indecision. A puff of dark vapour telling the world... not yet.
The cardinals will sleep and eat at the Casa Santa Marta, a guest house within the Vatican where Pope Francis lived, until the process is over. It is a challenging and exhausting process voting up to four times a day, and with no social media!
Now set that beside the smoke of God and we are talking!
When God descended on Sinai, the mountain was wrapped like a blanket in smoke because the Lord had descended on it in fire (Exodus 19:18). The earth trembled and shook, the people stood far off, keeping their distance in awe, and even Moses, the man who spoke with God, said, “I tremble with fear” (Hebrews 12:21). This was no symbolic gesture. This was the terrifying, holy presence of the living God.
The black smoke from the Sistine Chapel rises for a moment, drifts into the Roman sky, and vanishes. It has no power to change a human heart, no power to forgive a single sin, no power to raise the dead — and it should not, as it is purely about making an announcement that they have collectively agreed about who the next Pope should be. It is more dramatic than just sending someone out to the balcony and shouting out the successful candidate. But the smoke of God? That is the cloud of glory that fills the entire temple, the smoke that says, “I am holy, and you are not.” It is the smoke that silences every mouth and brings a nation to its knees.
And yet, here’s the wonder: the God of Sinai, the God of the smoking mountain, came down to us not with consuming fire but clothed in flesh. In Jesus Christ, the holy God walked among us, bore our sin, and through the cross tore down the wall that kept us from His presence.
So let the conclave vote and wish them well. Let the black smoke rise and fall, eventually turning white as they set fire to a different compound in the chimney set up just for this occasion. For everyone in the world, there is an invitation to fix our eyes on the One whose voice shakes not just a room of cardinals but heaven and earth itself (Hebrews 12:26).
And by His blood, we do not stand far off trembling - we draw near, forgiven, beloved, and made new. No smoke required.