Evolution in Spain

When General Francisco Franco and his Nationalists rose in revolution against the Spanish Republic in 1936, many Roman Catholics in Spain welcomed the general as a liberator. The Catholic Church had been badly battered from the left in the turmoil that led up to the civil war: property had been confiscated, parochial schools outlawed, churches and convents burned. After Franco consolidated his power, he put clergy in the pay of the state --a status they had lost under the Republic. The church readily agreed to restore to Franco an old privilege of Spanish monarchs--a virtual veto over the appointment of Spanish bishops.

Today, that comfortable alliance is breaking up. The church, in fact, has asserted a startling new independence from the Franco regime. Last fall, at a meeting of the National Conference of Bishops and Priests in Madrid, more than half of the delegates approved a resolution apologizing for the church's role in the civil war ("We did not always know how to be true ministers of reconciliation . . . [in] a civil war among brothers"). In December, the church's National Commission on Justice and Peace attacked the maintenance of public order by "force and repression." In January, when he took office as the new Archbishop of Madrid-Alcala, Spain's Vicente Cardinal Enrique y Tarancon, 64--himself the son of a working-class family--pointedly pledged that he was the "spokesman for those who have no voice to defend their legitimate aspirations--the poor."

New Blood. The new church-state relationship reflects broader changes in Catholicism itself--changes that have swept away the feudal image of the Spanish church that persisted from the days of Philip II. Gone, except on the grandest feast days, are the somber rows of mantillas that once filled cathedral pews. In their place are bare heads, wispy dresses, blue jeans, even miniskirts. As in other Roman Catholic churches around the world, the liturgy has been modernized. Women and children now pass collection plates. Worshipers sometimes help themselves to the Communion host. Guitars and drums accompany new Spanish hymns set to such internationally recognized tunes as Michael, Row the Boat Ashore and Blowin' in the Wind.

Above all, the Spanish clergy and hierarchy have changed. Vatican attitudes toward the church's posture in Spain began to shift during the reign of Pope John XXIII, particularly in the liberal climate created by his Second Vatican Council. Then, in 1967, Pope Paul VI named Italian Archbishop Luigi Dadaglio as Apostolic Nuncio--papal ambassador--to Spain. Dadaglio arrived in Madrid with a virtual mandate to bring new blood into the Spanish hierarchy. With an assist from Franco's able ambassador to the Holy See, former Washington Envoy Antonio Garrigues y Diaz Canabate, Dadaglio engineered the appointment or advancement of more than 30 Spanish bishops, the majority of them liberals. Franco, yielding to his progressive man in the Vatican (and some sympathizers in his ministries), accepted the choices. The appointees include nearly all of Spain's leading episcopal reformers today, among them Cardinal Tarancon. In all, two-thirds of Spanish churchmen may now be considered reformist.

Their reforms, however, are mainly in the political, social and liturgical spheres. Doctrinal issues that have plagued other European churches --even Italy's--do not trouble them: divorce, birth control (much less abortion) and the continuance of celibacy. The new liberals have backed such causes as the workers' right to strike and campaigns for unionization. In their national conference, they have approved conscientious objection to military service. Such activism apparently appeals to Spain's restless youth, who seem to be coming to the churches in greater numbers than they have for generations. The Spanish innovations are clearly in line with Vatican thinking. Indeed, some at the Holy See are concerned that the changes may be too slow. "Our big worry," says one Spain-watcher there, "is that evolution is not moving fast enough to avoid violent upheavals."

Temporal Justice. There are still some pockets of resistance within the church. In traditionally pious Andalusia, some peasants still literally kiss the hems of priests' cassocks. In Madrid, a group of ultrarightists who call themselves "Warriors for Jesus Christ" have smeared graffiti on the facade of one of the city's most liberal churches. But by far the most serious opposition has come from conservatives within the government itself. In his New Year's address, Franco threatened to take action against the church if it interfered in temporal affairs. A few days later, Spain's Undersecretary for Justice, Alfredo Lopez, attacked the "new church mentality," in which "the church becomes an exclusive group of prophets" preoccupied with achieving temporal justice and "the earthly paradise of Marxist society."

The Spanish church may have to pay a high price for its independence. At last fall's National Conference of Bishops and Priests, delegates proposed that all ties with the state should be cut and that the 1953 church-state concordat with the Vatican--which confirmed the arrangements made with Franco after the civil war--should be abolished. They asked, however, that the modest state salaries (most under $100 a month, even for some bishops) be continued until the clergy could persuade laymen to support the church themselves. The government has replied that it would be glad to cut all ties --and immediately end all financial support. So far, no compromise proposal has been found.

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