LISBON – The organisers of the World Youth Day (WYD) events are proud of the unparalleled internationality of their participants. However, though the initiative (supported inextricably by the underlying shared Catholic faith) boasts of its universality, the diversity on show has a visible and audible tendency to cheerily amplify idiosyncrasies and patriotism.
I spoke to a few people who were pleased to share both personal and national stories of their Catholic faiths; stories frequently untold and oft forgotten.
Most bands of pilgrims are nationally-coded and few can presently be found on the streets of Lisbon without at least one of their country’s or region’s flags. Many, in fact, sport plenty more.
It is not uncommon to observe amongst a band, for example, of nine Spanish pilgrims some six or seven with rojigualdas (the national, red and yellow flag of Spain) tied around their waist, backpacks, or draped around their shoulders.
Lest any were to think this a superfluous statement of identity, the spirit into which the pilgrims enter when they tour round the various stages and events spread throughout the city (such as the “City of Joy” in Belém, where confessions were heard in the park and a vocations fair is running) is one of fiery passion.
Pilgrims sing national anthems and folk songs (some secular, others not) as they competitively attempt to out-sing those of other nationalities.
On multiple occasions as crowds hoarded towards the Marques de Pombal square for the opening Mass, Mexicans could be heard singing Cielito Lindo while Spaniards cried “¡Viva Cristo Rey!” (long live Christ the King) before a chorus of voices in assorted locations would respond “¡VIVA!”
Along with sporting the flag, or even singing La Marcha Real, this cry is seen as politically loaded in Spain due to associations with the Franco regime, though supporters protest that this is unfair as all three predate the Spanish Civil War. Others are less concerned with the criticisms and do so anyway.
Later that evening French pilgrims virtually took over the Bairro Alto district. La Marseillaise was booming through the narrow streets of Lisbon’s trendy bar and tapas neighbourhood, while one pilgrim climbed onto a first-floor balcony and began waving his tricoleur to raucous cheers in a scene oddly reminiscent of 1789. Three eloquent Portuguese volunteers approached us and gave us big hugs of relief in laughter to discover we are not French.
Yet it is in the Jardim da Estrela (an elegantly pruned green space opposite the 18th century baroque basilica of the same name across the road) the following day that I meet a band of Dutch Catholics from the Diocese of Haarlem and Amsterdam.
Over the noise of upbeat worship music coming from the stage and the ecstatic crowds behind them, they are eager to tell me that (officially) there are over 1,500 Dutch-speaking pilgrims here.
Fewer than a third of those are Flemish, in spite of the fact there are 6.8 million people in Flanders – virtually all of whom have Catholic roots and ancestry – and only around half that number of Catholics in the Netherlands. A pilgrim from Flanders comments that he is particularly impressed and surprised by the relative Dutch zeal.
Lisa Schmeink, 26, from Nijmegen, tells me she is here with a group of 95 who had already been travelling for two weeks prior through France and Spain by bus in order to get to Lisbon.
They will be travelling for a further week after the WYD proceedings come to a close. They are happy to reveal they are presently staying in the João do Brito neighbourhood, named for the Saint and Portuguese Jesuit missionary to India.
Despite the adventure taking three weeks, they are travelling for the agreeable sum of €1,100. Though Lisa appreciatively smiles as she tells me this is even more pleasant than it seems – as she and other pilgrims benefitted from generous sponsorships so are there “almost for free”.
I next get a glimpse into the Catholic world of the Netherlands and come away with much more esteem for it than I’d have ever thought.
When I ask Lisa the story behind her faith, she reveals that she came from a nominally Catholic family by whom she was baptised but that she refused to receive her confirmation into the Church at an early age.
She next tells me a story I recognise, which I can see being a turning point in her life.
“When our teacher asked us if we were Catholic, I raised my hand because I was baptised that way. And then I looked around and saw that no-one raised their hand. So, then, I was one of the few.
“It made me think: why aren’t there so many people still religious? Why am I the only one? Why am I even raising my hand?”
After periods of depression, during which she began to look for answers (even seriously exploring other religions), her faith deepened most significantly following conversations with her late devout grandmother and her encounter with the Church’s rich intellectual tradition.
Though Lisa was always committed to routine vocal prayer in the form of an Our Father every evening, it took a while for her spiritual life to become something living. She attributes the grace of God in saving her from a desire for suicide.
Perhaps providentially, she was drawn towards studying theology at university, (seeds were planted here early on as her favourite subject at school had been her “life philosophy” classes – classes she now, in a turn of fate, teaches).
She undertook this at the Radboud Universiteit Nijmegen and then Katholieke Universteit in Leuven – almost always identified as Belgium’s best institution of higher education.
“Everything in Catholicism is so well thought-through. We have this whole history of 2,000 years of bishops and theologians who have thought about every detail. In Dutch we say: er is geen speld tussen te krijgen. It means you can’t poke any holes through it.”
“It was also the beauty. I always hear from friends: Oh Lisa, I recently went into this or that church – it was so beautiful … Catholicism is about glorifying God.”
Lisa believes the Catholic tradition is unmatched in achieving this goal.
I ask her what she thinks the greatest problem afflicting the Church is.
“I wrote my thesis on the Sacrament of Penance. It’s highly important for me… not important for a lot of people these days. If I look at my home parish, almost all people go up for communion.
“So I asked my priest for my thesis and he told me that there were only five people who regularly went for confession. That didn’t add up in my head.”
Lisa acknowledges that she does not use this to judge individual Catholics but maintains it exposes a major problem at the macro-level. She believes it opens up a contradiction and discrepancy in Catholic beliefs about what the Eucharist is and what happens when we consume it.
“What are you doing your communion for? Are you doing it for yourself or are you doing it for God? Why do you think you need it? Why are you worthy of It?”
People no longer perform examinations of conscience, she fears, and no longer have the self-critical mirror to expose to ourselves where vices have taken hold or where we are not as virtuous as we ought. She believes this to be more important than ever in a contemporary culture in which sin is celebrated and self-justification is the rule.
I speak also to 58-year-old Paul from Amsterdam, who is spritely and good-humoured for his age. He is travelling with the group with his son and two daughters.
“I bring my children to many places where they meet other young people. Now, I hope they are strong enough to keep the Faith,” he says.
“I am glad because when the children come back and are enthusiastic, I know that sometimes it has a strong effect on the parents.”
This was Paul’s experience after he attended the 1997 World Youth Day in Paris with fellow pilgrims.
But it is the curiosities about Dutch Catholicism he reveals to me that I find most intriguing. Catholics are a minority in the Netherlands and were persecuted until as late as 1854.
When the hierarchy was re-established and legitimised, he tells the story about how thousands upon thousands of Dutch Catholics around the country came out of hiding, whom the Faith had been preserved by underground for centuries.
“Until recently in the Netherlands, there were Catholic greengrocers and Protestant greengrocers,” he reveals. “Catholic schools and universities would not teach non-Catholic students nor would this happen on the other side.”
Paul next drew attention to the proud Dutch Catholic missionary tradition. One of the best in the world in terms of numbers of men sent out. This corroborates with the fact that the Netherlands provided more volunteers – known as the “Papal Zouaves” – to defend the Papal States against Garibaldi’s forces in the 19th century than any other country on earth.
Paul regrets that the Church in the Netherlands was thriving and growing until the 1960s. After which a sharp decline was experienced.
There are parallels between English and Dutch Catholicism, as indeed are there are in the story of our monarchies. The Catholics are a minority; a somewhat counter-cultural one, but a passionate one whose sincerity has been demonstrated on numerous occasions. Among those who are left, they are thus resilient and determined. And who are the other side of the story for any who would dismiss their homelands as secular and irreligious.
The Dutch may not be the loudest or the largest group at the 2023 WYD celebrations. But as with small Fátima, often the greatest stories are found in the overlooked places.
(Photo by Jonas Lammens)
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