The joy surrounding the appointment of two new bishops—Manuel Antonio Ruiz de la Rosa, elected as the first bishop of the newly created Diocese of Stella Maris in the Dominican Republic, and Carlos Tomás Morel Diplán, appointed Coadjutor Archbishop of Santo Domingo—transcends mere ecclesial news. It is also an opportunity to reflect on the essence of the episcopate and on what Pope Francis has called “the beauty of a Church with shepherds who smell of sheep.” In a world weary of rhetoric and thirsting for authenticity, the figure of the bishop once again speaks to us from its deepest roots, no longer as power, but as service; not as distinction, but as self-giving.

The new Diocese of Stella Maris is born as a sign of hope and closeness. Its name—”Star of the Sea”—evokes Mary, a luminous guide in the darkness, a comfort in the storms. It is significant that this diocese arises to bring the Church closer to the scattered coastal communities, to those who live far from large urban centers, and that its first bishop is a man of the people, trained in listening, education, and accompaniment. Manuel Ruiz, known for his pastoral work and his sensitivity to social and political problems,

Economic, ethical, and environmental, it embodies a leadership style built not on hierarchical authority, but on constant presence among its people. This attitude aligns with the maxim of Saint Augustine of Hippo, which aptly summarizes its program: “For you I am a bishop, with you I am a Christian.”

This phrase encapsulates a philosophy of episcopal ministry. The bishop is not a manager of sacred things nor a custodian of structures; he is an elder brother, a servant who watches over unity, not from above, but from within. His vocation is that of one who “watches” not to control, but to protect. He is not there to command, but to care. In a time when so many institutions are losing credibility by becoming detached from people, the Church offers a different model of authority: an authority that kneels, that accompanies, that becomes service. And this is precisely what Pope Leo XIV calls us to, following the ideas of Pope Francis. For a Church that closes in on itself grows old; a Church that opens itself to the Spirit is reborn.

The appointment of Carlos Morel as coadjutor of Santo Domingo confirms this same logic of service. Assuming the task of accompanying an archbishop in the final stage of his ministry is not a promotion, but an act of obedience and humility. It is learning to serve in transition, to collaborate in silence, to prepare the succession faithfully and without seeking the limelight. The Church grows when its pastors recognize themselves as heirs and servants of a shared history, when apostolic succession is not experienced as replacement, but as communion. For this reason, the current archbishop deserves our gratitude, for with a fraternal spirit he accepts, accompanies, and guides his successor in this new stage, showing that Christian authority does not consist in withholding, but in handing over.

These events invite us to reflect, from a philosophical perspective, on what it means to be a pastor today. Ultimately, it means returning to the heart of the Gospel: whoever wants to be first must be the servant of all. A bishop without a desire to serve is a living contradiction. And yet, this service is not merely a pious attitude, but rather a way of life. To serve is to be where the people are, to listen more than to speak, to bear the wounds of the people, to weep with those who weep and to rejoice with those who rejoice. To serve is to not be afraid to get one’s hands, or one’s heart, dirty in the face of the harshest realities.

When Pope Francis asks for shepherds who “smell like sheep,” he is not using a sentimental metaphor, but rather stating a criterion of authenticity. A shepherd who walks with his flock, who mingles with them, who is not afraid to spend time with them, smells like sheep. He is the shepherd who does not flee from danger, but stays to care for his flock. And that smell, which the world sometimes despises, is the fragrance of the living Gospel. It is the sign of a Church that is not confined to its buildings, but goes out into the streets, the port, the countryside, the neighborhood. In a time when so many live without guidance and without a future, a bishop who becomes a companion on the journey can be the visible face of God’s mercy.

The birth of a new diocese and the appointment of a coadjutor bishop are institutional signs, yes, but also spiritual ones. They show that the Church continues to breathe, that the Spirit continues to blow, that the Gospel continues to seek flesh in which to be incarnated. A new diocese is not just an administrative boundary; it is a boundary of the soul. It implies starting from scratch, learning to listen, building community, healing old wounds, and attending more closely to the many needs. And only a pastor who understands his mission as a gift and not as a reward, as a cross and not as a medal, can do that.

The contemporary world, saturated with egocentric leaders and empty rhetoric, needs pastors like this: men driven by a desire to serve, not by a yearning for recognition; pastors who prefer closeness to applause and power. The French philosopher Emmanuel Levinas said that the face of the other calls to us and compels us: that is the true experience of responsibility. In this sense, the bishop is a face that allows itself to be challenged by the faces of his people. He is not a functionary of the sacred, but a witness to the otherness of God.

Therefore, each episcopal ordination is more than a liturgical rite: it is an invitation to all the bishops of the world to examine their hearts. From where do they exercise their ministry? From the security of formalities or from the vulnerability of love? From the throne or from the ground? The Gospel does not ask for perfection, but for availability; it does not demand greatness, but for self-giving; it does not ask for power, but for fidelity. And that fidelity is demonstrated in the smallest acts: a visit to the sick, a word to a young person, a smile to someone who feels distant.

To thank and accompany those beginning their episcopal service is not merely a gesture of courtesy, but an act of communion. In them, the Church recognizes herself as mother and teacher, always on the journey, always ready to renew herself. May Mary, Stella Maris, illuminate the paths of Bishop Manuel Ruiz and Bishop Carlos Morel. May the Holy Spirit keep them humble, joyful, and courageous. And may their lives remind everyone—bishops, priests, and laity—that the only power that truly matters in the Church is the power of love that bends down, the love that smells of sheep.