Santuário do Cristo Rei

When it’s not pilgrimage season, Lisbon’s number one landmark is quiet.

From a tourist perspective, it’s one of the better viewpoints, miraculously rarely overcrowded. The statue isn’t quite as large as its Brazilian counterpart, but its pedestal is twice as high. The elevator ride costs five euros and can be the goal of a tour of Almada.

Officially, the site is one of Portugal’s most important pilgrimage sites and is religiously oriented in its merchandising. Because everyone handles such matters differently, it’s worth mentioning. Architecturally, large parts of the strictly Catholic complex are practically designed to cater to the needs of pilgrims and group accommodation.

More interesting is the clerical motivation behind the 40,000 tons of concrete: with the First Portuguese Republic in 1910 came legislation aimed at replacing religion with education and significantly restricting the influence of the church. This ranged from the expropriation of land and property to the transformation of a public-law institution into a private association and the freezing of diplomatic contact with Rome — Christmas was now called Family Day.

To counter this, over the years, a plan was developed ”against the universal conspiracy against Christ,” and after a visit to Brazil, the idea emerged to cast national unity in faith in concrete. The relevance of the project is supported by the partial ”disclosure” of the secrets of Fátima. In the end, the decision was made to build Cristo Rei if Portugal was spared from war.

 

Fátima is known for Marian apparitions that occurred to peasant children in 1917. Three prophecies are at the center, initially kept secret by the Church and only partially disclosed in 1941 to retroactively interpret events already underway as predictions — rather vague about the end of the First World War, somewhat too specific about Russian culpability in the Second World War. Regardless of personal beliefs, a few things here fit remarkably well with the demands of the Portuguese Church at the time.

 

 

It opened on Pentecost Sunday in 1959. The Archbishop rejoices that Portugal ”has been spared from the worst due to a unique act of divine providence” — it remains open whether he means the war or his joy that the Portuguese Church is finally firmly in the saddle again.

Later, a new bone of contention arises because the end of the Estado Novo is accompanied by a territorial reform. This administratively places Almada under Setúbal, under the wings of the bishop there, who greatly enhances his image at the expense of his Lisbon colleague. From the perspective of the faithful, this is a good thing because renovations and expansions in 2007 also bring the important ”Cruz Alta” from Fátima to Cristo Rei. Unmistakable.