NOT long after a puff of white smoke appeared over the Great Hall of the People in Beijing on March 14th 2013 and Xi Jinping assumed the presidency of China, he exchanged congratulatory messages with another world leader chosen just hours earlier by a different but equally opaque, arcane and undemocratic procedure: Pope Francis. The pope tried to send Mr Xi another message this month—a telegram of greeting as he flew over China on his way to Seoul, for his first visit as pontiff to Asia. A technical gremlin intervened. But these little courtesies, and China’s friendly gesture in allowing his aeroplane (unlike a predecessor’s in 1989) to use Chinese airspace, had already sparked hopes that relations between China and the Vatican, broken in 1951, might be mended. Then, at a mass for Asian bishops in Haemi, South Korea, on August 17th Francis called for a dialogue with Asian countries “with whom the Holy See does not yet enjoy a full relationship”. On his way back he said: “Do I want to go to China? Of course, even tomorrow…I have prayed a lot for the beautiful and noble Chinese people.”

Reconciliation is an ambitious aim: the forces keeping the church and China apart are still potent. But so are those pushing them together. As for any large multinational concern, Asia is the biggest potential growth area for the Catholic church, and China is perhaps the biggest of all. The country already has an estimated 17m Catholics, more than anywhere in Asia apart from the Philippines and India. For Francis in particular, the first pope from the Jesuit order, China’s historical significance looms large. Francis Xavier, a contemporary of the Jesuits’ founder, Ignatius Loyola, planned to go to China in 1552, arguing that if it accepted Christianity, other countries influenced by Confucianism would follow suit. Xavier died before he reached the mainland, but 30 years later another Jesuit, Matteo Ricci, landed in Macau, mastered Chinese and went on to establish an influential Jesuit mission and to become an adviser to the emperor.

In South Korea Francis led a ceremony to beatify 124 Koreans martyred for their faith in the 18th and 19th centuries. The church their heirs follow is one of the world’s most dynamic. Since 1970 the proportion of Catholics in South Korea’s population has risen fourfold, to 11%. As Francis noted, the founders of the Korean church had not acquired the faith from foreign missionaries. In fact, they had sought it out themselves—from the Jesuits in China.

Repairing the rift with the Vatican also seems in China’s interests. That millions of Chinese Catholics shun the officially sanctioned “patriotic” church and remain loyal to the pope turns them into dissidents, whatever their politics. The appearance in China of fanatical cults based on Christian doctrine highlights the moderation of established churches. And, having no relations with the Chinese government, the Vatican is the only one of Taiwan’s 23 diplomatic partners that is, in soft-power terms, a global force. This gives Taiwan’s leaders rare chances to flaunt their de facto independence on a world stage. A former president, Chen Shui-bian, attended the funeral of John Paul II in 2005. His successor, Ma Ying-jeou, was at Francis’s inaugural mass in 2013.

Some signs do point to rapprochement. In Haemi the pope said that “Christians do not come as conquerors.” This echoed an open letter to Chinese Catholics, written by his predecessor, Benedict XVI, in 2007. Emphasising that the church had no political ambitions, Benedict’s letter appeared to be an attempt to heal the rift between the patriotic and underground churches.

Francis seems less steeped in the fierce loathing of communism that has animated some of his predecessors. Indeed he has been a strong critic of capitalist excesses, and has complained that communism has “stolen the flag” of Christianity: its concern for the poor. He might even see in Mr Xi something of a kindred spirit. Both have inherited ossified, scandal-hit institutions and are trying to purge and reform them; both like to show the common touch—a cheap popemobile for Francis, dumplings with the masses for Mr Xi (though no one yet has accused him of the humility many admire in Francis); both, presumably, know that the other commands forces—1.4 billion Chinese; 1.2 billion Catholics—that are too big for any global power to shun.

Another reason for optimism is the pope’s choice of secretary of state. Cardinal Pietro Parolin played a big role, as an undersecretary in 2002-09, in improving the Vatican’s relations with Vietnam. That is seen as a possible model for ties with China, since the main obstacle was the same: objections to the church’s appointing its own bishops, and the church’s refusal to relinquish this right. In Vietnam a way was found of quietly agreeing on acceptable candidates. For a while, something similar seemed to be on the cards in China. But in 2010 its relations with the Vatican soured sharply after a number of bishops appeared to have been coerced into taking part in what the Vatican saw as the illicit ordination of a new bishop. Then in 2012 China was embarrassed when a bishop its patriotic church had appointed responded by denouncing and renouncing it, in loyalty to the pope.

Narrow churches

If it did come to a negotiation, Taiwan, sad though it is both for its Catholics and for its leaders’ chances of gallivanting abroad, may be expendable for the church. Senior clerics have hinted as much. The appointment of bishops, however, goes to the heart of both papal authority and Catholic doctrine, and for the Chinese Communist Party is blatant interference in China’s internal affairs. And that is something else Mr Xi has in common with Francis: they both lead organisations that, because of ideology or theology, deeply resent such meddling. Getting back on track towards a “Vietnamese solution” will be a complex and delicate negotiation. And observers of the internal politics of the Vatican and Beijing argue that leaders of both may have too much on their plates at the moment to devote the energy it would take.