by Marie-Lucile Kubacki
Stockholm – Sweden is quietly rediscovering itself as a land of mission, even ad gentes. And this is what Anna Bieniaszewski Sandberg sees every day.
As National Director of the Pontifical Mission Societies for the Nordic countries, Anna brings together a Polish Catholic childhood lived under communism, her arrival as a refugee in a secularized Sweden, and long experience in journalism and diocesan communications.
Her journey has given her a clear and concrete perception of how faith, culture and politics meet in Swedish society, and of what missio ad gentes can mean when one’s own country is itself a land of mission.
Where does your faith journey begin, and how did you come to Sweden?
It begins with my birth and baptism in Warsaw during the communist era. The Church in Poland was very strong despite persecution; it was the place where people went to feel free and safe. I grew up in a very Catholic environment: my grandmother took me to church and catechism, and I joined a Catholic youth movement at the time when my father was imprisoned because of his involvement in the Solidarity trade union. That community rooted me deeply in the faith.
We then came to Sweden in 1984 as political refugees – my parents and I. At the beginning, in the refugee camp, we had regular visits from a priest and a real shared church life. But once we were transferred to our apartment in Stockholm, the only contact with the Church was Sunday Mass. I looked for a Catholic youth community and could not find one, and for years I lived as a “Sunday obligation” Catholic, going to Mass on Sundays and feasts, but without a real community life. I studied law, then journalism, and I worked for fifteen years for Dagen, an ecumenical Christian daily newspaper, as the only Catholic in the newsroom. Later I wrote to Bishop Anders Arborelius offering my service, and I was then hired as head of communications for the diocese—what I consider the next stage in my faith journey: serving the Church from within.
From your vantage point, how would you describe the ecclesial and spiritual situation in Sweden today?
When I arrived, Catholicism was almost invisible. There was a significant moment when John Paul II visited Sweden at the end of the 1980s and Catholics were able to gather publicly for Mass. But historically, after the Reformation, Catholicism had been forbidden, and only at the end of the eighteenth century were foreign Catholics granted the right to practice their life of faith in Sweden. Until 1951 Catholics could not be doctors, nurses or teachers, and religious communities were banned. Saint Elisabeth Hesselblad, the first modern Swedish saint, had to call her first foundation a “home for ladies” because convents were illegal. For many Swedes, the Catholic Church was therefore something very exotic and strange.
Over time, a deeply secularized culture developed. The typical Swedish answer to the question “Do you believe in God?” was, and still is: “No, but I believe there is something.” People love nature – forests and mountains – and there they feel that there must be “something greater”, but they do not call it God. At the same time, Sweden has become an important country of immigration. Around 20% of the population today has a different origin, and many of these newcomers are believers: Catholics, Orthodox Christians, Muslims. Islam is the largest minority religion in Sweden and the second-largest religious group overall, after the Church of Sweden . This has changed the landscape: faith in God is no longer so rare, and it is becoming more accepted to say that one believes.
Yet you often speak of a strong anti religious climate. Where does it come from and how does it affect Catholics?
There are different levels. First of all, centuries of anti Catholicism after the Reformation. Then, in the twentieth century, the rise of social democracy. Thanks to it, Sweden has built an impressive welfare state: free schooling and school meals, social security, a 40 hour working week, five weeks of holidays, a strong emphasis on equality. In many respects, the concern for the dignity of workers recalls Catholic social teaching.
But there was also a strong anti religious element. Historically, the Lutheran Church was closely allied with local elites and authorities. A close Swedish relative of mine, a convinced social democrat and wary of every form of religion, grew up with this perception: in her village the pastor appeared as a figure of power, not of service. Another relative, born outside marriage, was humiliated and kept at a distance by the Church. For many working class Swedes, religion – especially Christianity – became synonymous with social injustice and humiliation. Marx and Engels, with their view of religion as the “opium of the people”, reinforced this perception. All this feeds the idea that secularized people are somehow “superior” and more rational than believers.
This still has consequences today. Many Catholics would like to be missionaries in daily life and are proud of their faith, but they fear reactions and even ridicule. Public discourse can at times be hostile to religion, especially to Christianity, still associated with the Crusades, colonialism and power. At the same time, openly criticizing Islam is perceived as racist, so hostility is often directed towards Christianity. One of my daughters, for example, discovered in upper secondary school that she had more in common, religiously, with Muslim classmates than with secularized Swedish students. Some teachers were openly anti religious, especially in the social sciences. Being explicitly against religion is considered normal and acceptable. This makes young Catholics more discreet; they do not always say that they are Catholic because they do not want to be judged.
You describe the Nordic countries, and Sweden in particular, as lands of mission. You have even spoken of missio ad gentes: what does it mean in this context?
Traditionally, when we speak of missio ad gentes, we think of far away countries in Africa or Asia. But from the Church’s point of view, the Nordic countries are themselves mission countries. When I started working with Missio, the Pontifical Mission Societies, this became very clear. For a long time, Missio here existed above all as a fundraising structure: for example, we distributed the Epiphany “blessing strips” ordered from Switzerland, and World Mission Sunday was mostly a collection. Not many people, not even in the diocesan curia, really knew what Missio was.
Some years ago, the Nordic Bishops’ Conference decided to relaunch Missio and asked the Bishop of Iceland to take charge of it. A national director was appointed, and delegates from each Nordic country were invited to Iceland for formation. We were told that our task would be to promote the traditional missions in Africa, Asia and so on. And it is, of course. But it must also be recognized – and this is what we said almost immediately – that “we ourselves are in mission territories. We need missionaries here”.
Sweden is extremely secularized, and today people speak of “religious illiteracy”. Many children and young people do not really know who Jesus is or why we celebrate Christmas. For them, Christianity is like a distant mythology.
Yes, we support missions abroad with conviction, including very difficult contexts such as Mongolia or other Asian countries. We collect funds and promote solidarity under the guidance of the Pontifical Mission Societies. But at the same time we must rediscover our own country as a mission field. The Gospel of Jesus sending the apostles “into the whole world” also includes our small corner “at the ends of the earth” in Sweden.
Concretely, how do you live this twofold dimension of missio ad gentes – outward and inward?
For me, promoting missio ad gentes means two things at the same time. On the one hand, I present to Swedish Catholics the needs of the Church in those countries officially defined as mission territories, and I encourage them to support them spiritually and materially. On the other hand, I refer to these stories in order to awaken a missionary awareness here. I say: “Mission is not only ‘over there’; it is also here, in your workplace, in your school, in your neighbourhood.” People are often not aware that they are called to be missionaries in daily life.
One of the main obstacles is fear. That is why we need to support one another, showing that bearing witness to Christ does not mean imposing power, but serving in humility. In this sense, having a bishop like Cardinal Anders Arborelius is a great gift. He is very firm in his Catholic identity and at the same time deeply ecumenical and open to interreligious dialogue. The media and society see in him a man who does not seek power but radiates love and humility. This changes the image of the Church and prepares the ground for mission.
There is also a beautiful paradox: for a long time, the Pontifical Mission Societies contributed to sending missionaries to Africa, Asia and other parts of the world. Now Western countries are receiving missionaries back. In my cathedral parish in Stockholm, for example, we have Nigerian missionaries from the Society of St Paul. Without priests coming from what were once “mission countries”, several Swedish parishes could not function. This is the Church as one great body, in which gifts circulate: we formed priests who went out, and now their Churches send priests to us. It is a splendid image of missio ad gentes today, and of Sweden rediscovering itself, very humbly, as a land of mission.
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