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ISBN 978-0-8078-5580-5

Published: Fall 2004

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Copyright (c) 2004 by the University of North Carolina Press. All rights reserved.




Introduction
Where Tourists Meet the Sacred

The crowd gathered early at El Mercado, the old market square in San Antonio, Texas. A celebratory mood suffused the plaza as a mariachi band struck up the sounds of Old Mexico in the bright morning sun. Several thousand onlookers staked out strategic positions for the best views of the stage set up for the morning's festivities. Anticipation grew as the time of Jesus' trial drew near.

The guards led Jesus, nearly dragging him at times, before the Mercado stage to face Pontius Pilate. Jesus stood quietly, passively, answering his accusers' charges with a simple reply: "Es que dicen." Pilate, relenting to the crowd's demands, ordered the young man to be killed. The guards then stripped Jesus of his cloak and commanded him to carry the large wooden cross, the instrument of his own execution, to the San Fernando Cathedral, a brutal trek of nearly a mile. As he dragged the onerous weight along the hot pavement, guards shouted orders and beat him with whips until blood streamed from his back.

I left my vantage on the walkway above the Mercado plaza and hurried directly to the cathedral where Jesus would be nailed to his cross and hung to die. I had come to San Antonio as a scholar to observe the Holy Week celebrations at the San Fernando Cathedral. A decade earlier, the rector of the cathedral, Mexican American theologian Virgilio Elizondo, had transformed the seat of the local archdiocese of the Roman Catholic Church into a center of revived traditions for San Antonio's Mexican American community. When Archbishop Patrick Flores appointed Father Elizondo to the rector's position at San Fernando Cathedral, he told him, "Let's show what our people have to offer."[1] Elizondo accepted the challenge with, in his words, "a conscious decision to reclaim and recreate the religious traditions of my childhood and my barrio" at the cathedral, which was the center of Catholic life in San Antonio. These traditions, Elizondo explains, are "the basis of" his parishioners' "faith experiences as Latinos" and their "innermost identity as a people." But more importantly, he maintains, they offer a much-needed salve for the spiritual health of the nation as a whole.[2]

My scholarly intention to investigate the ritual life of the cathedral soon vanished as the streets of San Antonio became the ancient city of Jerusalem, filled with a crowd that came to witness an execution. I stood before the cathedral as a tourist in a mythical time and place.

The mob followed Jesus as he dragged the giant cross up Via Dolorosa and turned the corner at Main Street. Soldiers seized his sweaty, bleeding body as he arrived at the platform in the shadow of the picturesque old cathedral. They laid him down on the cross, and he cried out and moaned loudly as the guards drove heavy spikes through his hands and feet. Then they carried the cross with his fragile body fastened to it onto the platform and set it upright between two crosses that bore condemned thieves. Jesus' mother and her companions gathered at his feet and wept. A somber stillness fell over San Antonio's Main Plaza as Jesus hung dying before the cathedral. Even the children stood motionless before the ghastly sight.

Beneath the Good Friday sun of south Texas, we occupied a borderland of religion and tourism. The public space outside the cathedral doors drew a mixed crowd of Catholic parishioners, non-Catholic residents of San Antonio, tourists visiting the city's historical sites, and at least one scholar, who was gathering his first impressions of San Antonio. During my introduction to the city, however, I vacillated between feeling the curiosity of an academic observer, actively participating in the religious traditions of San Antonio's Mexican American Catholic community, and taking a tourist's delight in the authentic experience of cultural performance. Both religious and touristic, my Holy Week experience drew me into the perplexing world where tourists meet the sacred.

The Borderlands of Religion and Tourism

This book investigates the relationship between religion and tourism in the American context.[3] It aims more specifically to explore a few of the ways that modern people imagine religion and its role in their modern world. A close study of tourism as a typically modern pursuit has much to tell us about how modern people think about religion and about the role of religion in modernity.[4]

In fact, religious adherents have more in common with tourists than one might imagine. Four defining aspects of tourism in particular indicate its close relationship to religious life. First, tourists and religious practitioners alike demonstrate a concern for space and maintain deep attachments to special places.[5] The places that attract tourists and those that religious people regard as sacred both gain their special character from the respective cultural practices of tourists and religious believers. Often, these practices overlap in ways that make it difficult to distinguish between the touristic and the religious. For example, observations I made at several pilgrimage destinations in Mexico first alerted me to a confluence of religious pilgrims' and tourists' practices. I noticed at places like Tepeyac in Mexico City, where the Virgin of Guadalupe resides, that many of the pilgrims often participate in what can be described as touristic practices: posing for photos, buying souvenirs, and visiting other attractions in the vicinity.[6] In addition, many of these pilgrims rely on the services of the travel industry, which caters to all sorts of travelers but especially to tourists, for transportation and communication systems, food and lodging, and banking and retail services. Similarly, tourists often participate in religious practices when they visit places of religion. They actively join in liturgical exercises, they stand shoulder to shoulder in line with pilgrims and other religious folk to view or touch sacred objects, and they find themselves emotionally overwhelmed by the charismatic power of religious spaces and moments.

The result is a simultaneity of places, both touristic and religious. In other words, pleasure travelers and religious adherents make distinct places out of a shared space; members of each group make the space into either a religious site or a tourist destination according to their respective practices and their interpretations of the significance of the space. At the same time, however, they often move easily between touristic and religious interpretations of a single site as they shift from tourist to worshiper and vice versa. At Saint Patrick's Cathedral in New York City, for example, parishioners and other local residents commingle with tourists in the cavernous spaces of the church's interior. Parishioners participate in the sacramental life of the Church community, while tourists come to experience "the largest decorated gothic-style Catholic Cathedral in the United States[, which] has been recognized throughout its history as a center of Catholic life in this country."[7] At Saint Patrick's, local worshipers can join any of the fifty-three masses performed every week in the cathedral, go to confession, or pray before one of the many shrines that line the perimeter of the place. Tourists, on the other hand, tend to gaze at the architecture or photograph the decor before stopping by the cramped gift shop to pick up a few commemorative trinkets. If a religious service happens to be in progress, tourists typically remain passive spectators of the liturgical performances. Usually, however, a number of visitors submit to their own religious proclivities and take part in the sacramental exercises. They join the local parishioners in mass or kneel in prayer at one of the chapels before reassuming their touristic personas. Indeed, at Saint Patrick's Cathedral and thousands of other places throughout the Americas and around the world, visitors encounter spaces that slide easily between the touristic and the religious.

The practices that produce and maintain these sorts of places, whether they be touristic, religious, or some hybrid of the two, also generate a second defining aspect of tourism that relates directly to religion: an articulation of identities. In fact, the making of place always involves the making of identities, and, conversely, the construction of identity always involves the construction of place. Thus place and identity emerge together in a relationship of reciprocal meaningfulness.

This inextricable convergence of place and identity holds true for both places of religion and places of tourism. Washington, D.C., for instance, ranks among the most obvious examples of places that provide touristic bolstering of identity for citizens of the United States. As parts of a city planned and built self-consciously as the symbolic center of American democracy, the spaces of Washington have been the clearest material articulations of American identity from the early years of the republic to the present. Thomas Jefferson anticipated this when he described "the true character of the national metropolis" in terms of what he considered to be the root ideals of a national identity; he regarded Washington as "the only monument of human rights, and the sole repository of the sacred fire of freedom and self-government."[8] These symbolic meanings did not subside in the subsequent centuries. Today there are a great variety of places within the space of Washington that generate and reinforce visitors' understandings of a national identity. These include the Capitol, the White House, the various memorials (for example, the Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, and Vietnam Veterans memorials), the many museums dedicated to national themes, and the historic places where key events in the nation's past took place (for example, Ford's Theatre and the spot on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial where Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his "I Have a Dream" speech). In experiencing these places, visitors reinforce them as places of significance while at the same time strengthening their own sense of an American national identity.[9] Moreover, new permutations of that identity continue to emerge as events alter the meanings of particular places. For instance, in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, the Pentagon has acquired a new significance in the national self-understanding, a significance that visitors reinforce as they seek to view the place of tragedy.

A third aspect of touristic practices that relates to both place and identity has to do with aesthetics. Tourism involves a thoroughgoing aestheticization of the world. Tourists everywhere regard much of what they encounter in terms of the beautiful, the uplifting, the edifying. In fact, the historical rise of tourism closely parallels the history of modern aesthetics. The nineteenth-century notion of the sublime, in particular, inspired largely by the work of Immanuel Kant, informed much touristic experience at a time when railroads and other developments greatly expanded the numbers of pleasure travelers.[10] Today's tourists continue to seek aesthetically pleasing experiences in their travels.

For contemporary travelers, authenticity reigns as a primary aesthetic concern. In fact, the desire for authentic experience provides a central discursive framework for the practice of tourism. Most tourists pursue authentic experience in one form or another, whether they seek the exotic otherness of cultures tucked away in the isolated terrains of distant lands or they desire nothing more than a day in the sun and sand at a crowded beach. Either way, the success of their travels will be measured to some degree according to their expectations for what they consider to be a genuinely authentic experience outside the bounds of their ordinary lives.[11]

The touristic concern for authenticity also frames travelers' experiences of religion. In places like Chimayó, the famous pilgrimage destination in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains northeast of Santa Fe, New Mexico, visitors insist on experiencing authentic religious practices. Most visitors to Chimayó are not satisfied with merely viewing the scenic setting or praying in the colonial-style church. Instead, their desire for authentic experience demands that they obtain for themselves some of the sacred dirt from El Posito, the "sacred sand pit" inside the adobe mission. Whether or not they believe in (or are in need of) its miraculous curative powers, nearly everyone who comes to the shrine seeks to claim a bit of Chimayó's dirt to rub on their bodies and to take with them when they return home. Without the authentic dirt right from the pit, their visits to the santuário would seem less than complete and might leave them feeling a bit unfulfilled.

The desire for aesthetically pleasing and authentic experiences leads inevitably to a fourth defining aspect of tourism: commercialization. Tourists are exemplary modern consumers, and no experience or place or object or culture escapes their voracious appetites. Consequently, all things, all places, all experiences become potential commodities in the tourist economy. Religion is no exception. All across America and around the world, people perform their religions for the benefit of tourist audiences and sell their religious goods as souvenirs to the visitors who desire a commemorative token of their experiences. Religion may deal with the extramundane, but paying the bills at many places of religion also necessitates a concern for serving the mundane desires of tourist visitors.[12]

Tourists who visit places of religion bring with them these four characteristics of tourism: the making of distinctive places; the articulation of particular identities; the desire for aesthetically pleasing experiences; and the commodification of objects, experiences, and even people. Religious people likewise demonstrate these same characteristics to some extent in the modern practice of their religions. Hence distinguishing between the religious and the touristic in the modern world can sometimes seem a futile task.

The futility of drawing clear boundaries between religion and tourism became evident in New York City in the days and months following the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. Ground Zero, the site of the fallen World Trade Center towers, quickly became one of the most visited places in the city, but did people go there as tourists or as pilgrims?[13] The touristic aspects of the place rapidly took form after city officials recognized the need to accommodate the crowds of visitors by installing viewing platforms. Visitors sought the best views for their photographs, and tour guides quickly incorporated the site into their offerings; in fact, all sorts of vendors rapidly capitalized on the appeal of the place. Yet the touristic elements did not diminish the religious experience. Very few visitors to Ground Zero in the months following September 11 could resist the overwhelming emotional gravity of the place; prayers and offerings of condolence and remembrance were common at the site.[14] Indeed, the World Trade Center site remains a borderland of religion and tourism. Visitors there reconfigure their sense of identity in the wake of a collective trauma that they commemorate with intense emotional involvement. At the same time, however, they participate in an economy of images and experiences that holds Ground Zero in its commercial clutches and encourages visitors to leave their dollars with the purveyors of the sacred place.

San Antonio as a Place of Religion and Tourism

The extensive reach of tourism allows it to touch nearly every aspect of modern life and to encompass an untold number of sites. This study, however, concentrates on one particular place (or set of places): San Antonio, Texas. San Antonio may not seem at first glance to be the most obvious choice for pursuing the topic of religion and tourism, but its history as a place and its diverse mix of identities, as well as the importance of both religion and tourism to these, makes it an ideal locale for this project.

San Antonio, at least under that appellation, began as a religious place in the context of Spanish colonial expansion to secure the northern boundaries of New Spain.[15] Subsequently, its transformation from colonial outpost to modern city was accompanied by an increased emphasis on its attraction as a tourist destination; indeed, tourism ranks today as one of San Antonio's leading industries, contributing more than four billion dollars annually to the local economy.[16] Much of the city's touristic appeal lies in its self-conscious effort to celebrate its colonial past and the Hispanic flavor of its culture. Religious history is celebrated as a central characteristic of the city's heritage. More than a million visitors each year tour San Antonio's places of religion.

The meeting of tourism and religion in San Antonio occurs at multiple sites. Chief among these are the preserved and reconstructed buildings of the colonial missions, including the Alamo in the downtown area and the missions that are the main attractions of the San Antonio Missions National Historical Park on the south side of the city. Spanish missionaries in the eighteenth century oversaw the construction of these places as religious sites, and all but the Alamo continue to serve the sacramental needs of active Catholic communities of worship even today. At the same time, they rank among San Antonio's top tourist attractions, a distinction they have enjoyed at least since the opening decades of the nineteenth century. Consequently, San Antonio's former missions exemplify the borderland between religion and tourism.

My exploration of this borderland begins by recounting the production of San Antonio as a place. Chapter 1 starts with the precolonial, indigenous place of Yanaguana and then traces the colonists' efforts to make it into a religious place by establishing a series of missions along the San Antonio River. It then investigates the modern transformation of San Antonio following the end of colonial rule by focusing on how the city became a favorite tourist place. This opening chapter highlights the role of travel practices in making places. The history of San Antonio demonstrates in numerous ways that every stable place is built upon the instabilities of movement and travel.

The next two chapters address different perspectives on questions of identity, especially questions concerning places of religion and tourism. Chapter 2 considers the history of the Alamo as a tourist destination; it traces how tourists' interpretations of the Alamo contributed to their self-understanding and their sense of national identity. Chapter 3, on the other hand, discusses the preservation and reconstruction of San Antonio's other missions and how the retrieval of a romantic past serves to aestheticize identities, including those based on religious affiliation. Making the past attractive to tourist visitors also produces an attractive framework for shaping contemporary identities.

The last two chapters concentrate on the presentation of religion to tourists. Chapter 4 discusses the display of religion at San Antonio's 1968 world's fair. It also explains how this global event provided the impetus for further developing San Antonio's colonial missions as tourist destinations, culminating with the establishment of a national park a decade after the world's fair closed. Chapter 5 discusses how the National Park Service has transformed life at the missions. Specifically, it explores issues of identity at a national park that features religion as a main attraction. At the missions, identities must contend with underlying tensions between the national and the local as residents struggle with the presence of tourists at their places of worship. San Antonio's residents contend with tourists every day of the year. But they become tourists as well, both at home in the touristic spaces of their city and in their own travels to other destinations. Like the travelers who visit San Antonio's places of worship, many of the city's residents seek out distant sites of religion in their journeys, often traveling as both pilgrims and tourists. Indeed, San Antonio occupies just one node in a global matrix of sites that each expresses uniquely the intersections of religion and tourism. Despite their differences, these places all participate one way or another in the various discourses on the religious and the secular, on the traditional and the modern. Each in its own way has something to reveal about how modern people think about religion, about the role of the religious imagination in modern life and its place in discourses about modernity itself.