Portugal is one of the most Catholic countries in Europe. For centuries, the Church sat at the center of Portuguese life: in the schools, the calendar, the architecture, the family rituals. That kind of presence doesn’t disappear when church attendance drops. It settles into the language.

The seven expressions below are used every day in Portugal, in perfectly ordinary conversations, by people who aren’t thinking about religion at all. Some are exclamations, some are proverbs, one is outright crude. What they have in common is that they all carry a trace of Catholic Portugal, whether they know it or not.

If you’ve heard any of these and had no idea what was going on, that’s exactly what this is for.

Cruzes credo

This is an exclamation, used when someone is shocked, disgusted, or simply can’t believe what they’re hearing or seeing.

“Cruzes credo, que cheiro tão mau!” (Good God, what a terrible smell.)

The two words packed into it are both distinctly Catholic. Cruzes means crosses, the Christian symbol. Credo is the Creed, the foundational Catholic prayer that begins “I believe in God, the Father Almighty.” Putting them together was originally a way of invoking divine protection when confronted with something disturbing: as if crossing yourself and reciting a prayer at the same time.

Nobody thinks about any of that when they say it today. It’s pure emotional reflex. But the Catholicism is still there, built into the reaction.

Seja o que Deus quiser

This one is less an exclamation and more an attitude. It translates roughly as “whatever God wills” and is used when someone faces an uncertain outcome and decides, consciously or not, to accept whatever comes.

“Já fiz tudo o que podia. Seja o que Deus quiser.” (I’ve done everything I could. Whatever happens, happens.)

There’s something distinctly Portuguese about this expression. It’s not despair, and it’s not false optimism. It’s a kind of quiet fatalism: hand the result over to something larger and move on.

You’ll also hear it in lighter situations, almost ironically:

“E o exame amanhã?” (And the exam tomorrow?) “Seja o que Deus quiser…” (We’ll see what God has in store…)

In that register it’s less faith and more resigned humor. Either way, it’s worth recognizing.

Fia-te na virgem e não corras

This is a proverb, and one of my favorites, because of the tension at its core.

Literally: trust in the Virgin Mary and don’t run. The actual meaning is almost the opposite: don’t count on divine intervention to save you. Act yourself.

A deeply Catholic culture telling you not to rely on the Virgin Mary. The faith is fine, but move your feet.

It’s used to warn someone who is being overly confident or passive, counting on luck, on God, or on someone else to sort things out.

“Estudaste para o exame?” (Did you study for the exam?) “Não muito, mas vai correr bem…” (Not much, but it’ll be fine…) “Fia-te na virgem e não corras.” (Don’t count on miracles.)

The irony is worth sitting with: invoking the Virgin Mary to tell someone they can’t count on the Virgin Mary. That kind of contradiction is very Portuguese.

Tudo ao molho e fé em Deus

A more playful one. Molho here doesn’t mean sauce: it means a heap, a disorganized pile of things. The image is someone throwing everything onto a table with no particular order, then shrugging and trusting that God will sort it out.

Used when someone does things carelessly, without a plan, and just hopes for the best.

“Como organizaste a mudança?” (How did you organize the move?) “Tudo ao molho e fé em Deus.” (Threw it all together and left the rest to God.)

The tone is usually self-deprecating or affectionate, not a harsh criticism, more a lighthearted confession of chaos. There’s a certain ease in it: things are a mess, but the world will keep turning.

Cai o Carmo e a Trindade

This one requires a bit of history.

Cai o Carmo e a Trindade (the Carmo and the Trindade are falling) is used when something serious, dramatic, or completely unexpected happens. A major upheaval. A moment of total chaos.

O Carmo and A Trindade are two convents in Lisbon. On November 1, 1755, the Lisbon Earthquake destroyed much of the city, including the Convento do Carmo. Its ruins are still standing today in the heart of Lisbon, deliberately preserved as a monument to that day.

It was one of the worst disasters in European history. Tens of thousands of people died. When the Carmo fell, the world changed.

That memory is preserved in the expression. When a Portuguese person says cai o Carmo e a Trindade, they are, usually without knowing it, invoking the worst collapse the city ever lived through.

“Chegou dez minutos atrasado e a mãe reagiu como se caísse o Carmo e a Trindade.” (He was ten minutes late and his mother reacted as if the world was ending.)

If you hear this one in the wild, you’re deep in real European Portuguese.

No cu de Judas

I’ll be direct: this expression is crude. But it’s common, and you will hear it.

No cu de Judas means somewhere extremely remote: in the middle of nowhere, a place that’s difficult or tedious to reach.

“Onde fica esse restaurante?” (Where is that restaurant?) “No cu de Judas. Levei uma hora de carro.” (In the back of beyond. Took me an hour by car.)

Judas (the apostle who betrayed Jesus) is the ultimate outcast of the Christian story, banished from the community of the faithful. The most remote place imaginable is where he ended up.

What’s interesting is that this expression doesn’t raise eyebrows in normal conversation. People say it with complete naturalness. It’s just… geographical.

Como o diabo foge da cruz

The last one works differently from all the others.

Como o diabo foge da cruz (like the devil flees the cross) is a simile, not a standalone expression. It always attaches to a verb.

“Ele foge às responsabilidades como o diabo foge da cruz.” (He avoids responsibility like the devil avoids the cross.) “Ela foge a conversas difíceis como o diabo foge da cruz.” (She runs from difficult conversations like the devil from the cross.)

Used to describe someone’s extreme, almost instinctive aversion to something.

Notice what’s happened across these seven expressions. We’ve had God, the Virgin Mary, a Catholic prayer, two Lisbon convents, and Judas. Now the devil closes it out. Catholicism doesn’t just show up in the devotional parts of the language. It’s in the fear, the guilt, the shadow side too. The devil slipped into Portuguese through exactly the same door as God. And stayed.

The church left. The words didn’t.

None of these expressions are used religiously anymore. Nobody thinks of the Creed when they say cruzes credo, or of the 1755 earthquake when they say cai o Carmo e a Trindade. The faith has faded from them. The words haven’t.

That’s one of the things I find most interesting about Portuguese. The history is embedded in everyday speech, quietly, waiting for someone to notice it.

If seven isn’t enough, I’ve written broader round-ups too: Portuguese Idioms, Idiomatic Expressions to Impress Locals and Common Portuguese Expressions for the everyday ones you’ll hear constantly.

This is exactly what Portuguesepedia’s Idioms library is built for: natural phrasing like this, explained, in real European Portuguese.