Anyone wondering whether modern day Poland is still a fervently Catholic country should head to the Tesco in Swiebodzin,
near the German border.
There, on the rocky hill opposite the
supermarket, is the newest, most audacious religious icon in all of Europe,
if not the world: a 33-metre high, rather crudely carved statue of
Jesus, which volunteers from the town, along with prisoners on day
release from the local jail, have been building for the last 10 years.
On
a windy day last week, a crane gently swayed as work continued on the
concrete folly, the brainchild of a local priest who claims it is the
world's biggest statue of Jesus Christ – bigger even than Christ the
Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro, a sore point with the Brazilians who grumble
that the Polish Jesus is cheating by standing on a mound.
Father
Sylwester Zawadzki had driven on site in his Mercedes, rosary beads
hanging from the rear view mirror, but he didn't want to talk about his
heavenly monolith. "I've had enough of talking," he said.
Previously
when asked why he decided to erect the gargantuan saviour, he said, "It
was Jesus's idea: I was just the builder."
Quietly, though, and
rarely on the record, many locals find the statue an embarrassment.
They
see the odd gaggle of tourists pull up in their cars, jump out and have
their photos taken, giggling as they mimic the Lord's outstretched
arms, before driving off again, never even venturing into town to spend
some money.
"I read in the press that He cost six million zloty
(£1.5m) and I think we could spend that money far better. We need
schools, we need hospitals, we need better roads," said one young woman
in Swiebodzin, who refused to give her name for fear of incurring the
wrath of the church.
Waldemar Roszczuk, editor-in-chief of the
local newspaper, Gazeta Swiebodzinska, is one of the few prepared to
speak his mind: "I know that many local people are against it, but they
won't speak out in public against the priests."
When he publicly
questioned the value of the statue last year, he received silent phone
calls.
"We are still a very Catholic town in a very Catholic country and
the church wields a lot of power. But talk to young people and you will
see that many do not want to go to church any more. They are of a more
rational mindset and question everything the church tells them," he
said.
It is this sort of comment which has led to much speculation
that the Catholic church is losing its grip on Poland.
More than 90% of
the population consistently identify themselves as Catholic, but the
proportion of Poles who go to church every Sunday is 45%, compared with
nearly 60% in the last days of communism.
Young Poles in particular are
increasingly likely to be passive rather than active Catholics.
The
number volunteering for seminaries has fallen by half in the last few
years.
But in the seminary in Krakow at the foot of Wawel Hill,
the holy home to the Polish Royal Castle and cathedral, a group of
trainee priests dismissed talk of the church's decline.
"That's an
invention of the media," said Marek Mierzwa, 24, who will become a
deacon in May. "Polish people are generally pessimistic and the media
are, too. They say that only old people in Poland want to go to church
these days, but it's not true. They ignore all of the dynamic new youth
movements which are becoming all the more popular."
Becoming a
priest is still a highly respected choice in Polish society.
"When I
announced I was going to the seminary, people in my village were very
happy," said Tomasz Stanek, 25.
The principal of the seminary,
Father Grzegorz Rys, said intake had remained constant for more than a
decade.
"We have 217 clerics with us at the moment and have had around
that number every year since 1998," he said.
"We did have more 25 years
ago – in the 80s, we had 400 seminarians at any one time."
That Poland has clung on tighter to religion
than many of its western neighbours is in some ways a relic of
communism.
For the 44 years that Poland was a Soviet satellite state,
religion was outlawed.
As a result, Catholicism
became a refuge for those wanting to protest peacefully against the
all-pervasive power of the state.
Underground newspapers were available
from churches while chapels were used as venues for opposition meetings
and plays which would not get past the state censors.
It is often
said that Pope John Paul II, born Karol Jozef Wojtyla, played a special
role in giving his compatriots the courage to rage against the Soviet
machine.
When he made his first papal visit to Poland in 1979, he was
greeted by millions of people of all ages. It was not a coincidence that
a year later, Poles dared to organise Solidarity, the first mass
anti-communist political movement.
For many ordinary Poles, John
Paul II remains a huge hero, and his beatification is hotly anticipated.
The Sanctuary of the Divine Mercy in Lagiewniki is one stop on the
so-called Pope Express, a special train journey linking Krakow, where
Wojtyla was a student, and his birthplace in Wadowice.
Lagiewniki
was one of the pope's favourite places of worship and people come from
all over the world to pray and remember him there.
One afternoon last
week, two middle-aged ladies from Wadowice were making their monthly
visit to the sanctuary. "We come here whenever we can to pray for John
Paul II's beatification," they said.
That kind of open religiosity
might seem alien to Brits, but it does not raise eyebrows in Poland,
where a nationwide radio station is run by priests.
Radio Maryja is a hardline Catholic station which its detractors claim is xenophobic, antisemitic and chauvinistic.
Last week, the station was in the news
for broadcasting antisemitic remarks by Jan Kobylanski, a Polish
millionaire who now lives in Uruguay.
"There isn't even 30% of genuine
Poles in the Polish government. I hope this will change," he told the
station, suggesting too many Polish MPs were tainted by Jewish blood.
Radio
Maryja is still a powerful force in Polish politics but its
listenership is dying out – it is estimated that just 2% of all Polish
radio listeners tune in regularly.
Adam Balcer of the thinktank Demos
said: "Religiosity is more likely these days to represent different
styles to Radio Marija. It is much more individualistic. It is more
reflective, more aware and, in a way, more authentic.
"Roman
Catholicism is part of the national identity and probably, even with
secularisation, many people will say they are Catholics," Balcer said.
"The Roman Catholic faith is still strong among members of our elites.
"I
don't believe there will be a deep, widespread secularisation, like in
Spain. We will be more similar to Italy and Ireland, sliding slowly in
that direction."
So slow is this change that it is unusual to find
a Pole who will openly admit to not believing in God.
That is why an
atheist "coming out" march organised in Krakow in 2009 caused such a
stir.
About 600 people attended the march, the brainchild of a group of
twentysomethings calling themselves the Young Freethinkers Association.
The
peaceful demonstration aimed to present atheists as ordinary,
upstanding citizens rather than communist-sympathising heathen: they
waved banners with slogans such as "I'm an atheist and I still feed the
birds in winter".
In a café in Krakow last week, the group
explained the trouble they caused when they idly discussed with a
journalist the possibility of copying the UK atheist bus campaign which advertised on London buses with the slogan: "There's probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life."
"I
just said it was a nice idea, but that got twisted and all of a sudden
Nasz Dziennik, the newspaper run by Radio Maryja, was urging readers to
write to the Krakow tram operating company to insist they did not take
an advert from us. We never even got as far as booking an advert, but
200 people wrote in," said Ewelina Podsiad, one of the group.
"We still
live in a very Catholic, conservative country."