Exactly one month after the mass crossing of the Tarajal sea wall, Italy announced on September 1st the extension of its border controls with Spain for another fifteen days, a move immediately imitated by Madrid in a seemingly endless standoff. The Italian Ministry of the Interior justified this decision by citing "the continued existence of the assessment criteria that had motivated their reintroduction on August 1st," while the Spanish government retaliated by extending, in turn, until September 22nd, the checks imposed on travelers arriving from Italy. What is striking, a month after the tragedy, is not so much the technical persistence of these controls as what they reveal: two founding nations of the European Union, two peoples with a deep Catholic tradition, now prefer to erect administrative barriers rather than recognize, in the bodies washed up on the beaches of Ceuta, the face of Christ knocking at the door. The crisis is no longer solely about migration; It has become the magnifying mirror of a European spiritual fracture, where fear of the other prevails, month after month, over the duty of welcome that Scripture constantly reminds us of.
Because we must remember what transpired at the end of July. Around sixty thousand people attempted to cross the border between Morocco and the Spanish enclave of Ceuta, resulting in dozens of drownings near the Tarajal seawall, while a temporary morgue was to be set up in the port to receive the bodies pending identification. Faced with this silent massacre, the Spanish Church, through Father Fernando Redondo Pavón, director of the migration department of the Spanish Episcopal Conference, immediately declared the event a "humanitarian crisis," rejecting any discourse that would exploit these deaths for political ends. A month later, as governments become entrenched in a logic of reciprocal retaliation, this pastoral message retains its full force and invites us to examine, in depth, what "closing a border" truly means from the perspective of the Christian faith.
When two Catholic nations close their doors to each other
The logic of retaliation and the forgetting of the dead
What has happened since August 1st is a case of almost automatic escalation, where each administrative decision triggers another, without the fundamental issue—that of people who have died trying to cross a border—ever truly being at the heart of the debate. Italy initially suspended, as of August 1st, the application of Schengen rules to Spain, reinstating border controls at air and sea borders for non-EU citizens arriving from the Iberian Peninsula. Spain responded on August 8th with reciprocal controls on air and sea routes from Italy, particularly targeting third-country nationals. Since then, each monthly deadline has turned into a new round of this diplomatic duel: on August 31, Rome notified the European Commission of the extension of its controls for an additional fifteen days, considering that "the factors which had led to their reintroduction on August 1 persist", and Madrid replied within the hour with a symmetrical measure valid until September 22.
The Italian Interior Minister, Matteo Piantedosi, personally communicated this extension to his Spanish counterpart, Fernando Grande-Marlaska, while the Italian Foreign Minister, Antonio Tajani, emphasized the need to combat the risk of terrorist infiltration to justify Rome's firm stance. For his part, the Spanish Prime Minister, Pedro Sánchez, called for strict adherence to European treaties, pointing out that Ceuta and Melilla are not strictly part of the Schengen Area and that controls are already in place at the natural border with Morocco—rendering, according to Madrid, any Italian suspicion of a possible "flight" of migrants to the peninsula unfounded. This dialogue of the deaf, between two governments each blaming the other for the crisis, illustrates a truth that Scripture states with striking clarity: "Do not be deluded: those who sow injustice will reap calamity" (Proverbs 22:8). The injustice here is not only that which could have been committed by one or the other government, but the more insidious injustice of two nations that allow administrative fear to cover the memory of the drowned of Tarajal.
What the persistence of the dispute reveals
The wording used by the Italian ministry—"the circumstances that motivated it remain"—deserves close scrutiny, as it betrays a view of the border as a permanent barrier rather than a regulated space for interaction. Rome, however, specifies that it made this decision "also taking into account the initiatives already launched by Spain, in collaboration with the European Union, so that the situation in this region can move towards normalization in the near future." This diplomatic nuance, almost an olive branch in the very text of the closure, reveals the profound ambivalence that runs through all of Europe regarding the migration issue: borders are closed, but reopening is hoped for; normalization is suspended, but normalization is desired; there is distrust of the other, while acknowledging that they are already working to resolve the crisis.
This ambivalence is not unique to governments; it also pervades the consciences of ordinary Catholics, torn between the duty of charity toward foreigners and the legitimate concern for our shared security. Saint Paul, writing to the Romans, reminded us: «Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good» (Romans 12:21). This verse, rarely invoked in migration debates, nevertheless powerfully illuminates the current situation: the temptation, for a state as for an individual, is to respond to a crisis with a mirrored closure, one evil with an equivalent evil—precisely what Italy and Spain have been doing for the past month, each meticulously imitating the other's measures. The Christian vocation, however, calls us to break this spiral with a different kind of action, an act of kindness that does not simply respond in kind.
The broader European political context is further exacerbating this tension. German Chancellor Friedrich Merz demanded that Morocco immediately re-admit irregular migrants, while France and the United Kingdom offered their support to Madrid, with French President Emmanuel Macron himself ordering increased border controls with Spain. European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen described the images coming from Ceuta as "unacceptable," while reaffirming that irregular crossings must cease and returns must be carried out swiftly, in accordance with European rules. This cacophony of national responses, each dictated by its own electoral interests, paints a picture of a Europe that has, for the time being, lost the capacity to consider migration as a common challenge requiring a common response—precisely what the Schengen Area, in its founding principle, was supposed to embody.
The Church that refuses to let the emergency erase dignity
The Diocese of Cadiz-Ceuta and Concrete Charity
Faced with this logic of mutual closure, the local Church's response was distinguished by its speed and concrete action, offering a striking contrast to the diplomatic slowness of the capitals. From the very first days of the crisis, the Diocese of Cádiz-Ceuta made its reception facilities available to the authorities and those arriving in the enclave, with particular attention paid to the most vulnerable, especially sick or injured migrants. The parishes of Ceuta also decided to dedicate the offerings collected during Eucharistic celebrations the weekend following the influx to the direct support of those who had arrived in recent days. This discreet gesture, though laden with theological significance, serves as a reminder that the Eucharist itself—the memory of the broken and shared bread—finds its natural extension in material sharing with those who have lost everything.
This concrete charity is rooted in a consistent biblical tradition, which the First Letter of Peter expresses with particular force: «You also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house» (1 Peter 2:5). This verse, usually meditated upon for its ecclesiological significance, takes on a concrete and almost architectural resonance here: while governments construct barriers and checkpoints, the local Church builds a structure made of living stones—that is, of people welcomed, cared for, and nourished. The contrast between these two forms of construction, one designed to contain, the other to welcome, encapsulates the theological tension of our present moment.
Father Fernando Redondo Pavón also emphasized a point often overlooked in political commentary: he firmly rejected any attempt to link the massive influx of migrants to an extraordinary regularization program approved a few months earlier in Spain, recalling that a similar situation had already occurred in Ceuta in 2021, even before this regularization process existed. «This amounts to manipulating public opinion,» he declared, reaffirming that any response to the crisis must prioritize the protection of human dignity and rights. This demand for truth, in the face of ideological manipulation, is itself a spiritual act: it refuses to allow the suffering of migrants to become a bargaining chip in a dispute that no longer concerns them.
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Hospitality as a criterion of lived faith
The biblical theology of the stranger is not limited to a few isolated verses; it constitutes a guiding thread that runs through both the Old and New Testaments, and which takes on a burning relevance in light of the Ceuta crisis. The Book of Leviticus formulates this requirement with a clarity that should challenge any nation claiming a Christian heritage: «If a stranger comes to live among you in your land, you shall not mistreat him» (Lev 19:33). This commandment, addressed to the people of Israel as they emerged from their own experience of exile in Egypt, grounds hospitality not in sentimentality, but in memory: it is because Israel itself experienced the condition of being a stranger that it is asked never to forget this in the other.
This memory is precisely what seems to be fading in the current debate between Rome and Madrid, where the question is no longer "how to welcome them with dignity" but "who should bear the administrative and security burden of this welcome." The Spanish Foreign Minister, José Manuel Albares, had nevertheless sought to reassure everyone from the very first day of the crisis, stating that "almost all" of the approximately sixty thousand migrants who had left the country had already returned to Morocco, and that the integrity of the Schengen Area remained "absolutely guaranteed." This factual and reassuring statement, however, does nothing to resolve the underlying theological question: what do we, as Christians in Europe, do with those who knock on our door, whether they number sixty thousand or sixty?
On this specific point, the Gospel of Matthew offers a key to understanding that goes far beyond the context of migration to touch upon the very heart of the Last Judgment as Christ describes it: «I was a stranger, and you welcomed me» (Mt 25:35). This passage, often quoted but rarely meditated upon in all its radicality, places welcoming the stranger among the ultimate criteria of salvation, on par with caring for the hungry, the thirsty, and the imprisoned. It is not simply one pastoral option among others, but a final criterion for discernment, which neither legitimate security concerns nor diplomatic tensions can erase. The position of the Spanish Church, which has maintained its call for dignity throughout this month of crisis without ever denying the complexity of migration management, illustrates a way of navigating this tension: not choosing between security and charity, but refusing to let the former serve as an excuse for neglecting the latter.
Towards a European Theology of the Border
What Leo XIV has been reminding us of since Lampedusa
From its earliest months, the pontificate of Leo XIV resolutely continued his predecessor's concern for migrants, particularly through his explicit support for the nomination of the island of Lampedusa for UNESCO World Heritage status, in the category of "gestures of hospitality." This symbolic gesture, which links a small Mediterranean island, now both a tomb and a refuge, to a system of international recognition usually reserved for architectural or natural wonders, reveals something essential about the Church's vision of our time: hospitality itself is a heritage to be preserved, a civilizational treasure on par with a cathedral or a listed landscape. In a speech dedicated to the Mediterranean, Leo XIV also denounced the fact that "the deaths in this sea are victims of both the decisions made and the decisions that were not made," thus placing moral responsibility not only on the actions of governments, but also on their silence and procrastination.
This formula, applied to the current situation between Rome and Madrid, takes on a particularly acute resonance: are the people who died near the Tarajal seawall at the end of July only victims of smuggling networks and Moroccan migration policies, or also, to some extent, of the absence of a common European policy capable of anticipating and managing such influxes with dignity, rather than resorting, a month after the tragedy, to a game of bureaucratic retaliation between two allied capitals? The question posed by Peter's successor is not intended to point fingers, but to hold everyone accountable for inaction or wrongdoing, in a logic that echoes the words of the prophet Amos: "They sell the righteous for silver, and the poor for a pair of sandals" (Amos 2:6). This verse, of rare biblical brutality, denounces the way in which the most vulnerable become, in market or political logics, currency rather than persons in their own right — a denunciation that resonates strangely with the way in which the migrants of Ceuta have become, for a month, an argument in a diplomatic dispute that far exceeds them.
The shared responsibility of Catholics in Europe
It would, however, be too simplistic, and theologically lazy, to reduce this crisis to a mere opposition between heartless governments and a compassionate Church. The reality is more nuanced: within Italy and Spain themselves, millions of ordinary Catholics find themselves torn between legitimate concern about massive and uncontrolled arrivals and the constant call of their faith to welcome foreigners. The Schengen Borders Code itself provides for mechanisms for the temporary reintroduction of controls in the event of a "serious threat to public order or security," mechanisms which the European Commission has reiterated must be "notified and duly justified"—a sign that even from a strictly legal standpoint, closure is intended to be only a temporary exception and not a permanent state of affairs.
It is precisely this exceptional nature that is eroding month after month, transforming what should have been an emergency measure into an administrative routine repeated out of habit rather than genuine necessity. The responsibility of European Catholics, in this context, is not to replace governments in the technical management of migration flows—a matter that legitimately falls under the purview of political prudence—but to ensure that administrative technique never obscures the human person behind the numbers. The Apostle James, in his epistle, expresses this demand with a force that transcends centuries: «If a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled,’ without giving them the things which are needed for their bodies, what good is it?» (James 2:15-16). This saying, originally addressed to the early Christian community, applies with disturbing relevance to any official statement that invokes compassion without ever translating that compassion into real acceptance.
The Diocese of Cádiz-Ceuta, by opening its reception centers from the very first days of the crisis, perfectly embodied this concrete translation of words into action, while the chancelleries in Rome and Madrid were still, a month later, merely extending administrative measures without outlining any substantive solutions. This difference in pace and nature between Church action and government action invites every European Catholic to reflect on their own readiness: in our parishes, in our families, in our community involvement, are we closer to the logic of the Diocese of Cádiz-Ceuta or to that of the Ministries of the Interior, which have been passing the buck for a month now regarding the responsibility for a human tragedy? The question does not call for a single, simplistic answer, but it demands, at the very least, an honest examination of our own reactions to the arrival of foreigners.
Lectio divina
«You also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual structure» (1 Peter 2:5)
You look at these stones being lined up to build walls of control, and you sense that another kind of construction is being offered to you. A living stone holds nothing back; it carries and it connects. What kind of stone have you become, facing the one who arrives exhausted? Have you chosen the wall or the building that welcomes? This question doesn't require an immediate answer, only that it remain within you, silent and persistent.
Lord, you are the cornerstone the builders rejected. Look upon our borders, our portcullises, our prolonged checkpoints, every two weeks. Teach me to become a living stone, not a wall. May my hands build shelter, never a barrier. Give me your gaze upon the one who comes from the sea, exhausted, trembling, breathless. Make my heart an open door.
A stone, still warm from the day's sun, gently placed on another, without cement or noise.
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Leo XIV1315 articles
Leo XIV, the first American pope, facing AI and digital technology: profile, social legacy of Leo XIII and challenges…
Access the folder →✝ Biblical references
7 passages · 7 books
Cast all your anxieties on him, for you are precious in his eyes. (1 Peter 5:7)
Encouragement to persecuted Christians: hope, baptism and conduct in society.
→ Explore Codex 1 Stone
Let justice flow like water, righteousness like a never-failing stream. (Amos 5:24)
Prophet of social justice: condemnation of the rich who oppress the poor.
→ Explore the Amos Codex
Faith without works is dead. (James 2:26)
Practical Christian wisdom: active faith, language, the poor, prayer and anointing of the sick.
→ Explore the Jacques Codex
Be holy, for I, the Lord your God, am holy. (Leviticus 19:2)
Holiness code, liturgical laws and purification rituals of the people of Israel.
→ Explore the Codex Leviticus- The stranger knocking at the door in September: what the Church says when two hundred and seventy voices rise up for El Salvador
- Ceuta, Rome, Madrid: when the word of the bishops becomes a rift between sister nations
- When the gold of the subsoil weighs more heavily than the dignity of the migrant: the words of San Salvador
- When Caesar believed he spoke on behalf of Peter: the prophetic freedom of the first American pope
Behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age. (Matthew 28:20)
The Gospel of the King: Jesus, the new Moses, fulfills the Scriptures for Israel and the nations.
→ Explore the Matthew Codex- Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him (Mt 25:1-13)
- Be ready (Mt 24:42-51)
- I will rescue my sheep from their mouths, and they will no longer be their prey (Ezekiel 34:1-11)
- Beware of despising one of these little ones (Mt 18:1-5, 10, 12-14)
- His clothing was as white as snow (Dan 7:9-10, 13-14)
- Clement of Alexandria: From confessed ignorance to transformative love
- The five foolish women also performed good works: this is what Gregory the Great sees in the parable of the ten virgins.
- What watching changes within us, in the school of William of Saint-Thierry
- When God comes to inspect his field — and what he finds there
- Holes of light: when Christ's wounds become windows onto God
- End of life in France: what the Constitutional Council's reservation reveals about the role of Catholic institutions
- Kenya: When the Church dares to plan its mission ten years in advance
- When hunger knocks at the church doors: charity as a lived theology in Karamoja
- Sister Miranda and the beach: when the Church reminds us that property is never an absolute right
The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. (Proverbs 9:10)
A collection of practical wisdom for living justly, in the family, in society and before God.
→ Explore the Codex of Proverbs
The righteous will live by faith. (Romans 1:17)
Paul's great theological synthesis: sin, grace, justification, and life in the Spirit.
→ Explore the Roman Codex- When the truth redeems the accused man: the lesson of the Ouellet judgment
- Dialogue, not blessing: what the Vatican's voice really says about peace
- In the icy reaches of the world, the Church is still knocking at the door
- Leo XIV at the nunciature in Buenos Aires: when the Church chose discretion to prepare for the immense
🌍 3 countries involved
Still largely marked by its Catholic heritage, Spain today has a majority of baptized people, even though religious practice is declining sharply. According to an ancient tradition, Christianity arrived there as early as the 1st century…
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The cradle of Western Catholicism and the seat of the papacy, Italy remains one of the world's major Catholic countries today, despite declining religious practice. The faith there dates back to the 1st century with the preaching of the apostles Pius XII…
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In Morocco, Catholics represent approximately 0.1% of the population, in a kingdom with a very large Muslim majority. The Christian origins of North Africa date back to the early centuries, with figures like Tertullian.
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