Every year at Pentecost, tens of thousands of young Catholics from across Europe and beyond make the long march from Paris to Chartres in what is one of the most striking displays of faith, cultural identity, and living tradition on the continent. Flags, chants, and prayers, accompanied by the steady rhythm of boots on French soil, turn the pilgrimage into one of the Catholic Church’s greatest testimonies of endurance. All of this unfolding in a world that seems to have forgotten its own heritage—a heritage that the pilgrims now bring to life on the roads of France. And for decades, the Polish, German, and American contingents have been the most prominent among the foreign groups. Yet among these great and proud banners, another one has begun to appear, perhaps the most unlikely of them all: the Swedish.
After all, we Swedes are among the most secular people in the world. Catholicism in Sweden is statistically almost invisible: barely 1%of the population identifies with the faith, and even fewer practise it. Christianity of any kind, be it Lutheran or Catholic, scarcely makes a mark on everyday life. Empty churches stand as silent witnesses to the faith’s retreat, while traditional practice has long since been expelled from the public square. Once the great Catholic nation of Saint Bridget and Saint Eric, Sweden has now for decades stood at the forefront of secularisation and relativism. As shown in the World Values Survey (2023), Sweden is positioned as the most extreme country in the world in terms of secular and liberal values—while fellow European nations such as Poland and Hungary lie nearer the middle, closer to the global median—even though we Swedes love to think of our own values as the most normal and reasonable. The Swedish experiment has unfortunately also spread outward, as other nations, looking to us as a model in values and social policy, have imitated our modern and secular ideals. And yet, the Swedish banner has now begun to appear across the fields of France, in one of the most extraordinary and countercultural settings for Christians and traditional values—the Chartres Pilgrimage—proudly carried by a growing number of pilgrims who seem to defy every prevailing norm of their Fatherland.
When we registered our group for the pilgrimage for the first time, in 2017, the wonderful organisers of Notre-Dame de Chrétienté and our French contact at the time, Monsieur Jérôme Malcouronne, were nearly ecstatic, as we were the first-ever Scandinavian chapter to attend. He and the French welcomed us with the greatest warmth. This was all happening three years or so after I myself, as an introspective and truth-seeking young Swede, had returned to the faith and found my spiritual home in the Catholic Church. In many ways this was thanks to the Traditional Latin Mass, and I decided to sign us up for the Chartres pilgrimage, where we had heard that there were others with the same deep affection for the tradition of the Church. Back then, we were only eight rather odd-looking pilgrims, and we naturally considered it a great victory. The whole pilgrimage seemed to pause to admire the Swedish flags, and what was the smallest group of the pilgrimage—showering us with compliments, encouragement, and questions—we were the superstars of Chartres. We felt at home like never before, and filled with courage and renewal, we brought back the spirit of France and Catholic Europe to Sweden, feeling invincible with a real sense of belonging. The pilgrimage gave us the strength needed to survive the barren and identity-less grounds we were fighting in at home.
The author proposing to Elisabeth Berkhoff during the Chartres pilgrimage in June 2025.
And surely every country, even a secular Protestant one, can gather a handful of Catholics to participate. But the Swedish group does no longer walk with only a few mustered pilgrims. No—Only a few years later, in the most extraordinary turn of events, the Swedish group at the 2025 pilgrimage had to close registrations almost immediately, as hundreds of young Swedes wanted to register for the chapter, now becoming over tenfold more than that tiny band we once started with. The smallest chapter on the pilgrimage, despite all odds, became the largest foreign chapter in the whole world. In a world that seems only to grow darker, let this offer some light of hope. Tout est grâce—all is grace.
But why has it turned out this way? Why are more and more Swedes converting to the Catholic faith? Why do they subject themselves to a long and penitential walk that pushes them to the limit, both physically and mentally? Shouldn’t they stay home, enjoying a comfortable and spiritually hollow existence that is offered to them? Perhaps that is precisely the point—because the Chartres Pilgrimage and Christianity offer us what the Swedish socialist state cannot: purpose and meaning, an identity as Catholics, and an identity as Europeans. The Christian faith and the Catholic Mass stand as the antithesis to the worldly ideologies that have ensnared the Swedish people for decades. In the end, God cannot be replaced—however hard one might try. For young Swedes, the pilgrimage becomes a chance to step outside a society often indifferent, or even hostile, to Christianity and to rediscover their faith and culture not as a private curiosity, but as part of a great European tapestry. In Chartres, the Swedish Catholics do not feel exiled but at home, praying and singing Latin hymns shoulder to shoulder with thousands of fellow believers, unafraid to wave their blue and yellow banner.
Spectators in Chartres continue to express surprise at the presence of our group: in a heavy French accent they exclaim, “Sweden? Really? Formidable!” But maybe precisely this moment of surprise is part of the strength of the Swedish testimony. Because it is not only the Swedes who are greatly inspired by the French, no—this is a true case of mutual enrichment. The presence of the Swedish reminds the wider Catholic world that even in Europe’s most secularised corner, the faith is not extinguished but lives quietly on, capable of springing forth anew after centuries of repression. The Catholic minority in Sweden is still small compared to France or Poland, but it is a symbol of renewal in unlikely soil. In this sense, let the Swedish group remind us of the biblical theme of the remnant—a small and improbable people chosen to bear witness in the midst of a culture that has forgotten God.
As Europe wrestles with questions of identity and the unravelling of tradition, the Swedish group on the Chartres Pilgrimage offers a hopeful paradox: a minority within a minority, but full of life. The journey of the Swedes embodies the very essence of pilgrimage—to set out against all odds and to walk together toward a supernatural goal that transcends borders and generations. That goal? Heaven itself, and the renewal of God’s kingdom on earth in and through a Christian Europe.
The Swedish banner may be the most unlikely at Chartres, but perhaps also the most prophetic: a sign that the faith and tradition can take root even in the most barren soil. If Sweden can rediscover its heritage, then surely no nation is beyond hope.
The Swedish Banner at Chartres—A Beacon in Europe’s Secular Age
Swedish, Danish, and Polish pilgrims on their way to Chartres, June 2025.
© Camille Boutin—Notre-Dame de Chrétienté
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Every year at Pentecost, tens of thousands of young Catholics from across Europe and beyond make the long march from Paris to Chartres in what is one of the most striking displays of faith, cultural identity, and living tradition on the continent. Flags, chants, and prayers, accompanied by the steady rhythm of boots on French soil, turn the pilgrimage into one of the Catholic Church’s greatest testimonies of endurance. All of this unfolding in a world that seems to have forgotten its own heritage—a heritage that the pilgrims now bring to life on the roads of France. And for decades, the Polish, German, and American contingents have been the most prominent among the foreign groups. Yet among these great and proud banners, another one has begun to appear, perhaps the most unlikely of them all: the Swedish.
After all, we Swedes are among the most secular people in the world. Catholicism in Sweden is statistically almost invisible: barely 1%of the population identifies with the faith, and even fewer practise it. Christianity of any kind, be it Lutheran or Catholic, scarcely makes a mark on everyday life. Empty churches stand as silent witnesses to the faith’s retreat, while traditional practice has long since been expelled from the public square. Once the great Catholic nation of Saint Bridget and Saint Eric, Sweden has now for decades stood at the forefront of secularisation and relativism. As shown in the World Values Survey (2023), Sweden is positioned as the most extreme country in the world in terms of secular and liberal values—while fellow European nations such as Poland and Hungary lie nearer the middle, closer to the global median—even though we Swedes love to think of our own values as the most normal and reasonable. The Swedish experiment has unfortunately also spread outward, as other nations, looking to us as a model in values and social policy, have imitated our modern and secular ideals. And yet, the Swedish banner has now begun to appear across the fields of France, in one of the most extraordinary and countercultural settings for Christians and traditional values—the Chartres Pilgrimage—proudly carried by a growing number of pilgrims who seem to defy every prevailing norm of their Fatherland.
When we registered our group for the pilgrimage for the first time, in 2017, the wonderful organisers of Notre-Dame de Chrétienté and our French contact at the time, Monsieur Jérôme Malcouronne, were nearly ecstatic, as we were the first-ever Scandinavian chapter to attend. He and the French welcomed us with the greatest warmth. This was all happening three years or so after I myself, as an introspective and truth-seeking young Swede, had returned to the faith and found my spiritual home in the Catholic Church. In many ways this was thanks to the Traditional Latin Mass, and I decided to sign us up for the Chartres pilgrimage, where we had heard that there were others with the same deep affection for the tradition of the Church. Back then, we were only eight rather odd-looking pilgrims, and we naturally considered it a great victory. The whole pilgrimage seemed to pause to admire the Swedish flags, and what was the smallest group of the pilgrimage—showering us with compliments, encouragement, and questions—we were the superstars of Chartres. We felt at home like never before, and filled with courage and renewal, we brought back the spirit of France and Catholic Europe to Sweden, feeling invincible with a real sense of belonging. The pilgrimage gave us the strength needed to survive the barren and identity-less grounds we were fighting in at home.
The author proposing to Elisabeth Berkhoff during the Chartres pilgrimage in June 2025.
And surely every country, even a secular Protestant one, can gather a handful of Catholics to participate. But the Swedish group does no longer walk with only a few mustered pilgrims. No—Only a few years later, in the most extraordinary turn of events, the Swedish group at the 2025 pilgrimage had to close registrations almost immediately, as hundreds of young Swedes wanted to register for the chapter, now becoming over tenfold more than that tiny band we once started with. The smallest chapter on the pilgrimage, despite all odds, became the largest foreign chapter in the whole world. In a world that seems only to grow darker, let this offer some light of hope. Tout est grâce—all is grace.
But why has it turned out this way? Why are more and more Swedes converting to the Catholic faith? Why do they subject themselves to a long and penitential walk that pushes them to the limit, both physically and mentally? Shouldn’t they stay home, enjoying a comfortable and spiritually hollow existence that is offered to them? Perhaps that is precisely the point—because the Chartres Pilgrimage and Christianity offer us what the Swedish socialist state cannot: purpose and meaning, an identity as Catholics, and an identity as Europeans. The Christian faith and the Catholic Mass stand as the antithesis to the worldly ideologies that have ensnared the Swedish people for decades. In the end, God cannot be replaced—however hard one might try. For young Swedes, the pilgrimage becomes a chance to step outside a society often indifferent, or even hostile, to Christianity and to rediscover their faith and culture not as a private curiosity, but as part of a great European tapestry. In Chartres, the Swedish Catholics do not feel exiled but at home, praying and singing Latin hymns shoulder to shoulder with thousands of fellow believers, unafraid to wave their blue and yellow banner.
Spectators in Chartres continue to express surprise at the presence of our group: in a heavy French accent they exclaim, “Sweden? Really? Formidable!” But maybe precisely this moment of surprise is part of the strength of the Swedish testimony. Because it is not only the Swedes who are greatly inspired by the French, no—this is a true case of mutual enrichment. The presence of the Swedish reminds the wider Catholic world that even in Europe’s most secularised corner, the faith is not extinguished but lives quietly on, capable of springing forth anew after centuries of repression. The Catholic minority in Sweden is still small compared to France or Poland, but it is a symbol of renewal in unlikely soil. In this sense, let the Swedish group remind us of the biblical theme of the remnant—a small and improbable people chosen to bear witness in the midst of a culture that has forgotten God.
As Europe wrestles with questions of identity and the unravelling of tradition, the Swedish group on the Chartres Pilgrimage offers a hopeful paradox: a minority within a minority, but full of life. The journey of the Swedes embodies the very essence of pilgrimage—to set out against all odds and to walk together toward a supernatural goal that transcends borders and generations. That goal? Heaven itself, and the renewal of God’s kingdom on earth in and through a Christian Europe.
The Swedish banner may be the most unlikely at Chartres, but perhaps also the most prophetic: a sign that the faith and tradition can take root even in the most barren soil. If Sweden can rediscover its heritage, then surely no nation is beyond hope.
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