Pilgrims visiting the open-air masses of Pope Benedict XVI this weekend will not gain entry unless they have first obtained a “Pilgrim Pack” via their diocese’s “Pilgrim Leader”. This can be had in exchange for a £25 “contribution”.
When Pope John Paul II visited in 1982, my grandmother camped out all night in Manchester’s Heaton Park. She returned with a handbag of prayer cards, rosary beads, bottles of “holy water” and a “souvenir photo”. It was no surprise. Growing up I was surrounded by Catholic iconography. There was the wood-mounted photo of John Paul II given to me in 1979 when I was six years old. There was also a luminous figurine of the Virgin Mary in my grandmother’s bedroom, where I slept when I stayed. Whenever I woke up in the middle of the night I would raise my head and see it, the eerie glow-in-the-dark reminder of the religion whose god was watching me all the time. As the light crept through the gap in the curtains more was revealed – the obligatory picture of Jesus exposing his sacred heart – or the small porcelain figurine of the eternally weeping Mary. There were also coils of rosary beads, a wooden crucifix, various prayer cards on the dresser to St. Jude, patron saint of lost causes, and nickel medals featuring Padre Pio and St. Christopher.
If my grandmother was alive today, I doubt she would be surprised by the Pilgrim Packs, but I suspect she would be shocked at how widespread and diverse the Catholic souvenir industry has become. It is no longer the preserve of the back-of-church gift table, the stall holders set up outside such pilgrimages, or those legions of shop-keepers working the holy-tourist souvenir mile around any holy site. Thanks to the internet, the sale of Catholic tat is now a global business opportunity.
All these stores trade on the religion, helping to extend and maintain Catholic brand loyalty in the process. In many cases, it means a greater opportunity to exploit the vulnerable, with some sites selling items such as the St Peregrine cancer kit, which surely has to take the prize for most distasteful. There are many who, suffering serious illness or misfortune, find themselves turning to two things in search of a miracle cure – religion and the internet. Some will make the trek to sites like Lourdes to be blessed in the holy waters. But if one can’t make it all that way, plenty of sites offer online salvation. A bottle of Lourdes holy water can be sent by first-class post. If there are no results with the holy water, there’s always the apparition mug with Lourdes water mints. Or, there are the miraculous medals to which many a miracle has been attributed.
Thanks to Sullivan, the path is clear for the creation of a new Catholic saint, an event the Church’s PR team must view as the ultimate marketing opportunity – just think of all the tat you could sell at a beatification. And what better way to market your product than a tour of the saint’s homeland by the head of your organisation, paid for by the British taxpayer? Among all the criticism of the state visit, perhaps this has been overlooked – the head of a multinational business is coming to town to peddle his wares, and we’re picking up the bill.