In the shadow of the seminary at Écône, a commemorative wooden box holds four bottles of Swiss wine — a Pinot Noir, a Syrah, a Petit Arvine and a Fendant — their labels printed with a mitre, a ring, a cross and a bishop’s crozier. Priced at 75 francs, the Cuvée Écône 2026 is one of the more tangible souvenirs of a gathering that, in the words of Spanish media, resembles a “Woodstock of ultra-traditionalism”. Pilgrims book designated hotels, reserve parking spaces and pay for food with cashless wristbands and QR codes. The consecration ceremony itself, set for the morning of 1 July, will be streamed live in six languages. It is a schism engineered for the age of the internet, and it has drawn a last-ditch letter from Pope Leo XIV, pleading with the breakaway group to “turn back” from what he calls a “sin of extreme gravity”.

At the centre of the drama is the Society of St Pius X (SSPX), founded in 1970 by the French archbishop Marcel Lefebvre to preserve the Tridentine Mass and a pre-conciliar model of priestly formation. The society has never accepted key reforms of the Second Vatican Council, particularly on religious liberty, ecumenism and the liturgy. A first rupture came in 1988, when Lefebvre consecrated four bishops without papal mandate, triggering automatic excommunication. Benedict XVI lifted those excommunications in 2009, but the SSPX remains in an irregular canonical position. Now, with only two of those original bishops still alive, the superior general, Davide Pagliarani, argues that a “state of necessity” compels the society to provide new bishops for its roughly 700 priests and half a million faithful worldwide. The Vatican’s doctrinal office warned in May that the act would be schismatic, yet the society has pressed ahead, insisting in a public reply to the Pope that it has no desire to separate from Rome but wishes to “serve her in an extraordinary way, like helping a mother in need of special help”.

The standoff is not merely about four mitres. It reopens a wound that has festered since the Council, and it arrives at a moment when the wider Church is debating how to handle the traditionalist current. In 2021, Francis’s motu proprio Traditionis Custodes sharply restricted the old Latin Mass, a move that, according to some bishops and cardinals, inadvertently swelled the ranks of the SSPX. During a recent consistory, Cardinal Gerhard Ludwig Müller reportedly proposed a new commission to receive clergy and faithful who might leave the society but wish to retain the ancient rite, while an Asian cardinal argued that lifting the restrictions would make it easier to attract moderates away from the schism. Viewed from Rome, the imminent rupture is forcing a reckoning: whether a more generous pastoral approach to the old liturgy could drain support from the hardline fringe, or whether any concession would be read as weakness.

The society’s response to the Pope’s appeal has been a curious blend of filial language and defiance. “We ask you kindly to give us your blessing,” the leadership wrote, even as it prepared to defy the pontiff’s explicit request. At a pre-ceremony homily, abbot Denis Puga told the faithful to remain at peace, comparing their possible excommunication to the trial of Joan of Arc, who was burned by the Church and later canonised. The gathering itself has drawn far-right political figures, Italian media note, including members of Forza Nuova and the former MEP Mario Borghezio. Yet the most striking feature of the event is its technological fluency: a rejection of liturgical modernity broadcast via fibre-optic cable, a defence of immutable tradition organised with the logistics of a music festival.

As the morning of 1 July approaches, the Pope’s words hang in the air: “To tear the seamless tunic of Christ is a sin of extreme gravity.” The society’s reply, asking for time to reflect and for a blessing, leaves the door ajar but the chasm wide. In Écône, the faithful will soon raise glasses of Cuvée Écône 2026, the mitre and crozier glinting on the labels, while the livestream carries the ancient rites to screens across continents. It is an image that captures the paradox of the moment: a schism packaged as a commemorative set, a rupture performed for a global audience that can pay with a tap of the wrist.