Leo XIV Reminds the Spanish People that "To Change the World, Friend Sancho, Is Neither Madness nor Utopia, but Justice"
"Before beginning to pray, to be aware of where I am going and for what" (SpEx 206). This Ignatian aphorism has helped me, before I begin to write my opinion on Leo XIV's apostolic journey to Spain, to consider where I am going and for what.
I want to tell why I feel pride in what was experienced in Madrid, Barcelona and the Canary Islands from 6 to 12 June — pride understood as satisfaction. And the "what": because this visit was an event that managed to unite faith, a historical memory that was neither partisan nor distorted, the State, diplomacy, youth and people. So many people! And not a single incident.
I will not devote more than one line to those who tried to use this visit as a showcase for their nationalist proclamations: it did them no good at all.
The Pope's messages were clear, powerful, profound. What a gift to hear him in Spanish! The Pontiff knows the history of Spain and let no intervention pass without recalling our past and our present, while also inviting us to lift our gaze to the future.
Some journalists do not hesitate to compare him with John Paul II. I think comparisons contribute nothing good: each Pope responds, through who he is and what he does, to specific historical moments. This Pope draws crowds: he gathered 2.5 million people across the 21 events organised over the six days of the apostolic journey. He combined intellectual depth with the spontaneity and naturalness of his gestures, and with warmth in his dealings.
And this way of being that I have just described was for everyone. His face is moved and his eyes show it; his smile betrays complicity and welcome. His embraces and blessings for children, young people and adults are the here and now of the tenderness and mercy of the one who is the head of the Church.
I want to highlight the Pope's most spontaneous side, which sets protocol aside when he thinks it necessary: his chat with the plane's pilots, his being a Real Madrid supporter, or his meetings with prisoners at Brians prison and with homeless people in Carabanchel. And this, for a people as warm and affectionate as the Spanish, is essential. Because that is how the Spanish are.
We are a parliamentary monarchy, and the Head of State and his family welcomed Leo XIV at the Royal Palace. King Felipe VI framed his message around the defence of the dignity of the person and the need to strengthen dialogue and unity in order to leave behind the trenches of polarisation; and he acknowledged the social work the Church carries out in Spain. Brave of the King, who did not sidestep the issue of child sexual abuse!
The defence of life and of human dignity was the central axis of the Holy Father's 23 interventions. These two principles resounded powerfully during his historic address to the Congress of Deputies, where he challenged us as a society with a direct question: "can a community that leaves the unborn child, the elderly and the sick in the shadows call itself fully just?"
This address before the Cortes marks a milestone: it was the first time a Pope had spoken at the seat of national sovereignty. There, Leo XIV praised Spain's historic contribution to human rights through the School of Salamanca, a pioneer in theorising about the "dignity of the indigenous person." He received a long ovation. Now it falls to us, as a nation, to take up the baton and build the future on words like disarmed peace, hope and encounter.
A connoisseur of our history — another source of pride — he mentioned the centuries of coexistence of the three cultures, the Camino de Santiago, the mystics Saint Teresa and Saint John of the Cross, and Unamuno. He also cited Cervantes and his most famous work, Don Quixote. I was struck by how he used language and the word, aware of who he is and where he was going.
At the abbey of Montserrat, the Pope dismantled the pose of nationalist victimhood. He used Catalan naturally, stripping the language of its instrumentalisation as a weapon to be hurled. He also delivered a message of unity in the face of an increasingly individualistic and fragmented society.
Culturally, Pope Leo's journey brought to light our rich cultural and artistic tradition: classical music at the Royal Palace, Siloé — an indie pop-rock band — flamenco, and even the "six-seven" gesture at the Bernabéu stadium and in the streets.
Antonio Banderas, the Málaga-born actor and theatre entrepreneur, made it clear that he has been enchanted by God. He quoted Saint Augustine and set out, with the faith of a brotherhood member, how Holy Week and the processions are a "multicoloured polyhedron of elegant beauty." Nor did his voice tremble as he acknowledged that the Church and faith have been the greatest producer of art in the history of humanity. And so it is fitting to mention, as we mark the 100th anniversary of his death, Gaudí.
Antoni Gaudí is known as God's architect. His Sagrada Família is an eloquent, modern catechesis that chisels in stone, projects in light and gives colour to the Word. Barcelona offered Leo XIV a spectacle of light, technology and music. The basilica invited people to lift their gaze to Heaven, and in that sky the whole world read: first love, then technique. This is a phrase the Catalan genius shared with his collaborators, and which served to unite the thought of an artist with that of a Pope who has given us Magnifica Humanitas.
So this is what I came to do — to put a few letters together to say that Leo XIV's journey reminded us that we are a great people woven of peoples and persons, and that now other peoples and other faces are making history with us. He reminded us that we were created to look to Heaven, but that on earth we are God's collaborators. Leo XIV loves his time and invites us to commit ourselves and to place ourselves at the service of History and of our brothers and sisters, out of love. Like the Mystery of the Assumption, which takes up the presence of God on earth so that He may take us up into heaven.
Ana Alonso, R.A.