Cardinal Cupich: Synodality is like dancing

By Cardinal Blase Joseph Cupich

My first introduction to the art of dancing was not as a teenager attending a sock hop. It was on Wednesday evenings when my siblings and I along with cousins and other kids from the parish gathered at the church hall to learn Croatian folk dances. The style of dance was called kolo, a word that means circle, for dancers would link hands or hold each other at the  waist to dance often in syncopated steps in a circular line or chain. We were told that in the “old country,” the kolo was a means of socialization, the center of village social life and often the main venue for young women and men to get to know each other.

Admittedly, when I first heard the word synodality  it was strange to my ears. In time I gained a better understanding as I explored various explanations. I continue to find helpful the 2018 document Synodality in the Life and Mission of the Church, published by the International Theological Commission. But one day it occurred to me that my experience of kolo dancing and its many elements had much to offer for understanding synodality. Like the dance,  it too offers a means of socialization, but in the life of the church. For at its core, synodality, derived from the Greek synodos, means “walking together” or “traveling the same path.” So, synodality invites the entire community to  take responsibility for moving forward in unison, attentive to the Holy Spirit and to one another. Both dance and synodality require a shift from individual performance to collective harmony, transforming a group of distinct individuals into a singular, moving body.

How does the rhythm of dance mirror the spirit of synodality?

In dance, movement never begins in a vacuum; it begins with the music. Before dancers can take a step, they must cultivate a deep, attentive silence to internalize the rhythm, tempo, and mood of the piece. Synodality operates on the exact same frequency. Its foundational step is not speaking or enacting policy, but deeply listening—to the Holy Spirit, to scripture, to tradition, and listening attentively to one another, especially those on the margins. Just as a dancer who ignores the music becomes disconnected from the ensemble, members of a community who fail to listen cease to act in a synodal way. Listening to the shared rhythm ensures everyone is moving to the same song.

A complex choreography like the kolo features distinct roles, even though everyone moves at the exact same time. Yet, even as a leader offers guidance, that leadership is not about dominance or controlling outcomes,  but about creating a safe space for the others to shine and  move securely. This is the very definition of co-responsibility in a synodal framework. The hierarchy, the laity, religious communities, and theologians all hold distinct charisms (spiritual gifts) and roles. Synodality does not flatten these differences; rather, like a master choreographer, it weaves them together. The beauty of the dance relies on the fact that every dancer’s movement is necessary for the whole piece to work.

Dancing also involves creativity and adaptability. Dancers must navigate the pull of gravity by picking up their feet, adjust to the weight and momentum of their partners, and adapt when a misstep occurs. Synodality requires a willingness to step onto the floor without a rigid, predetermined outcome. In fact,  it is inherently a journey into uncharted territory. It embraces the creative tension of dialogue, recognizing that Holy Spirit can disrupt our neatly planned routines. When a community encounters tension or disagreement, synodality asks them not to walk off the stage, but to use that friction to pivot, adapt, and find a new way forward together. And just as dancers are to avoid stepping on one another’s toes, turning synodal dialogue into an argument would be a misstep.

Additionally, dancing requires spatial awareness. The dance floor is never infinite. Dancers need to pay attention to the measure of the floor to ensure room for all. If dancers ignore the set boundaries of the floor, they risk tumbling into the wings, colliding with the orchestra, or spilling into the dark where the movement loses its form and meaning. Similarly, a synodal path expands the tent. It asks the community to look at who is missing from the dance floor and actively invite them in. It requires those who are accustomed to center stage to step back, to ensure that the rhythm of the community accommodates the pacing and steps of everyone, not just the seasoned performers.

And yet,  just as dancers in the present moment attend to the dimensions of the dance floor to accommodate all who are dancing, they also recognize that its edges, structural pillars, and a specific architectural boundary were designed by others. It was poured, leveled, and polished by generations of dancers who came before. Our generation, learning dances in the parish hall were aware that our steps were mapped out decades or centuries ago, handed down through a living chain of memory. This awareness did not limit our creativity but was the condition that made our dance possible. It was up to us to bring our  own breath, energy, and cultural context to the performance.

Synodality operates across time in exactly the same way. It carries on a dialogue not just with contemporaries, but with the living, the dead, and those yet to be born. Thus, as one of my brother Cardinals recently observed, in addition to an approach to synodality that is synchronic, that is attentive to the contribution of the present generation, a diachronic approach across time is also necessary lest the “tyranny of the present” compromise authentic synodality. A diachronic approach to synodality ensures that the voices of the saints and Church Fathers and Mothers are given a vote in the current discernment, preventing the local community from drifting into a fleeting cultural fad that fractures historical unity. The diachronic boundaries of Church teaching rather than stifling the Holy Spirit,  channel divine creativity. When a contemporary synodal community respects the dimensions of the floor, prepared and used by others, it stops wasting energy trying to tear down the walls of the theater. Instead, it discovers immense freedom within those boundaries, finding fresh, creative, and pastoral ways to express timeless truths to a modern world.

The synchronic and diachronic dimensions need to be kept in tension. A common temptation in contemporary conversations is to view synodality as an exercise in rewriting the rules from scratch—as if the current ensemble can simply expand the floor at will or leap off it entirely. A true synodal step is always taken on the floor, recognizing that modern discernment does not happen in a vacuum. The boundaries set by scripture, dogma, and historic councils are not restrictive cages; they are the stable parameters that give our current movements context, safety, and legitimacy. A synchronic approach asks: “How do we dance with those who are in the room today?” This is vital for inclusivity. However, a diachronic approach adds: “How does our dance honor the original choreographer, and how does it pass the choreography faithfully to the next generation?”

By synthesizing the synchronic and the diachronic, synodality achieves its full creative beauty. The Church is called to be intensely aware of the dancers on the floor today—their joys, their wounds, and their unique rhythms. But she must remain equally attentive to the historical floor beneath her.

When we respect the dimensions of the dance floor, the synodal journey ceases to be a frantic, isolated improvisation of the present moment. Instead, it becomes part of an epic, unbroken performance, a timeless ballet where the steps of the past guide the movements of today, carrying the whole body safely across the stage toward eternity.

Advertisement

Viewing synodality through the lens of dance rescues this unfamiliar word and concept from the realm of dry bureaucracy, committees, and paperwork. It reframes the communal journey as something dynamic, joyful, and deeply incarnational. Synodality is the Church learning to dance. It is an ongoing practice of listening to the divine melody, honoring the unique steps of every participant, and moving forward in a beautifully coordinated witness to the world. It reminds us that the goal is not to reach the end of the song as quickly as possible, but to praise the Creator through the grace, unity, and love displayed in every single step along the way.

But even more. Synodality viewed as dance also opens a fuller appreciation of how the Church is called to mirror the mystery of the Trinity. Early Fathers of the Church spoke of perichoresis, literally “a dancing around,” in describing the mystery of the Trinity. With this image, they meant the necessary being-in-one-another of the three divine Persons of the Trinity.

And so, the Church mirrors the Trinitarian mystery ever more effectively the more she embraces the dance of synodality.