All Synod is Local: An Insider’s Reflection on the Synod on Synodality
Franciacorta was my beverage of choice for an Italian aperitivo, that delightful drink-and-snack pairing ubiquitous at Roman restaurants as the workday winds down and anticipation of dinner builds. Reminiscent of champagne, Franciacorta takes its name from the land where the grapes grow in the Lombardy region of Northern Italy, its effervescence endowed by its lake-and-foothills microclimate.
Wine aficionados talk of terroir (a French term) as destiny – or, at minimum, providential. The elevation of the vineyard, composition of the soil, humidity, sunshine, frost, and wind — altogether, a script for grapes whose eventual yield comes to be entirely distinct from what it would be if planted anywhere else.
It’s a sociological phenomenon as much as an ecological one: where we are planted matters for how we grow and what we become.
People want to know what will happen from here with synodality. It’s contingent on the terroir.
The 2021-2024 Synod on Synodality took root in hyperlocal soils. Deeply personal experiences translated into small groups, then to parishes, then to dioceses—aggregated into countries, regions, continents, and eventually the entirety of the globe.
Differences in Catholics’ terroir? Vast.
Continental syntheses preceding the Vatican’s global assembly made this clear. “Enlarge the space of your tent,” implored the working document for the continental stage, citing a passage from Isaiah. Optimistically digested into seven pat summaries, the Church heard from Catholics across the Middle East; Europe; Asia; North America; Latin America and the Caribbean; Africa and Madagascar; and Oceania.
North Americans pointed out polarization and fragmentation in their terroir, alongside fissures in trust and credibility. Abandonment and ecological collapse resonated for Latin America and the Caribbean; for Africa, caution toward modern ideas and questions about how to accommodate people in polygamous marriages. Asian Catholics, comprising some 3 percent of 4.6 billion people speaking thousands of languages, named the extremes of poverty and hardships of indigenous communities.
Even the “tent” metaphor landed unevenly. For Asia, the image conjured a common home and belonging for all: a sacred, safe space for those long excluded. For the Middle East, it was more about “pitching” a tent than enlarging it. North Americans advised moving outside the tent. Oceania decried “tent” symbolism for its mismatch with people of the sea traveling in boats and insinuation of impermanence for those forcibly moved. Africans contested the image altogether, associating “tent” not with welcome or inclusion but with welfare, displacement, and the plight of refugees.
Grafting from the same vine does nothing to guarantee the same glass of wine.
What becomes of synodality from here, then, goes back to the terroir where it will grow.
Here in the red clay soil of East Tennessee, where I’ve lived for nearly two decades now, moonshine grows better than wine. Aperitivos are happy hours, Southern Baptists outnumber Catholics, and tents enlarge when the Vols play. Catholics attend Mass in English, Korean, Polish, Tagalog, Swahili, Vietnamese, Spanish, American Sign Language, and Latin—or not at all. Churches open more than they shutter.
Oh, and lots of Catholics around here have never even heard of “synodality.”
Not everything grows. Not everything thrives. But something’s been planted.
Aperitivo comes from the Latin word aperire, meaning “to open,” “uncover,” or “reveal.”
The global Synod on Synodality came to an end on October 27 in the Vatican’s Paul VI Hall, but synodality is neither over nor fully revealed.
Cheers to what’s to come, back home.
To learn more about Dr. Bruce and her work, visit: https://triciabruce.com/
More in the series:
Where Women Sit: An Insider’s Reflection on the Synod on Synodality
About the Pope: An Insider’s Reflection on the Synod on Synodality
All in the Hall: An Insider’s Reflection on the Synod on Synodality