Last Sunday, the usually vacant road out of Alangasí teemed with traffic, and we weren’t going anywhere in our borrowed Explorer. Suddenly, we were met by a procession of folk-dancers, drummers, and flute players—all with masks, colorful panchos, and those fedora hats characteristic of the Andes. A towering representation of an Inca warrior led the throng up the Valle de los Chillos into the village plaza, lying in the shadow of the twin spires of the Catholic church. Following the Inca warrior and his court was another procession led by a priest, accompanied by towering representations of Jesus and the Holy Virgin. In minutes, Alangasi was transformed from a sleepy village of the Ecuadorian sierra into a vibrant display of music, dance, cuisine, religion, and culture, virtually identical to this video from 2012. (cont’d below)
Unknowingly, we had driven straight into the most important annual celebration of Alangasí: The Feast of Corpus Christi, as a shopkeeper informed me. Celebrated by the Roman Catholic Church 60 days after Easter Sunday, The Corpus Christi festival we experienced was the finest example I’ve seen of the unique blend of the Catholic-colonial and the Inca-ancestral. A minimal understanding of Andean culture and history would be nonexistent without some awareness of this combination. This was something that the ethnographer in me was not going to miss. So Brenna and the boys got out of the car to witness the parade, and I made a hasty retreat back to the farm, so that I could park and walk up to the plaza.
In a previous life, and prior to having children, Brenna and I were Church of Christ missionaries in Ecuador, and our church attendance was rather limited to our denomination by a mandate from our supervisors. Being young, naïve, and rebellious to authority, that arrangement didn’t last beyond 12 months. On this extended trip, we have no such external limitations. We were determined not only to introduce Ecuador to our children, but to experience and learn from the culture in a way that was not possible before. Although primarily Roman Catholic, Ecuador’s religious diversity has increased, and as Christians on an increasingly-ecumenical trajectory, we looked forward to the opportunity to visit different religious traditions during our stay. For some reason, on this particular Sunday, we decided we needed a little more cultural affinity, so we made plans to attend an evangelical church about 10 minutes away, in the Quito suburb of El Tingo. But because of the impassable road, that was just “not meant to be,” as the controller in me has had to learn to say. So, striving to adopt the flâneur’s approach to travel, we just rolled with the Feast of Corpus Christi, seeking not only a cultural experience, but a spiritual one.
The procession circled the plaza for at least 30 minutes, until the church bells tolled, signaling the beginning of mass. We filed into the crowded sanctuary, standing toward the back. The worshippers sang a beautiful rendition of the Lord’s Prayer, set to the tune of Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence” and accompanied by guitar and pan flute. The priest gave a short homily and then administered Eucharist, before the worshippers exited to the plaza to enjoy hornados—roast pig (head included). So there we sat, enjoying our hornados, as bottle rockets exploded overhead. The festival lasted all day.
Through some reading this week, I’ve learned that in Andean society, the Feast of Corpus Christi, which celebrates the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ and his real presence in the Eucharist, coincides with the Inca celebration of Inti Raymi, or “Festival of the Sun.” In short, what we were witnessing was a complete syncretism of Christianity and pagan harvest festival. Predating the Spanish Conquest, Inti Raymi falls on the Winter Solstice of the southern hemisphere—the shortest day of the year. Inti Raymi is characterized by the diablo huma, or devil head (huma being the Quichua word for head). This creature represents not the Satan figure of the Bible, but a completely different persona from Inca legend who represents both the positive and negative forces of nature. The word diablo, or “devil” in Spanish, simply reflects the blending of the festival with Catholicism, yet seemingly empty of theological connotations.
At one time in my life, I would have been scandalized by such a pagan-infused representation of Christianity, and this would have justified in part my decision to be a Church of Christ missionary in Latin America. (It’s easier, I think, for foreign missionaries to spot syncretism in another culture than in one’s own.) In the last week, however, I’ve been reflecting on the nature of religious syncretism, particularly the blending of Christianity and culture. Rather than trying to distinguish between “pure” religion and its “folk” variations (not saying that discussion isn’t important), I’ve been pondering what virtues are cultivated by how a community practices religion within the context of its culture. And so I offer the following claim:
In its blending of Biblical interpretation with nationalistic exceptionalism, consumerism, and pragmatism, American evangelical syncretism is much more problematic to the cultivation of praiseworthy virtues than the dancing devils in the Corpus Christi harvest festival of Alangasí.
Allow me to expand:
I believe religious syncretism is likely inevitable. I doubt there is a “pure” expression of Christianity, or any other religion, for that matter. Culture plays too large a role in how we make meaning of the world for religion to be immune from cultural influences. Of course, in evangelical America, we can point to syncretistic elements that are routinely practiced during Halloween and the “high holidays” of Christmas and Easter, such as the Christmas tree and the Easter Bunny (bunnies represent fertility, for obvious reasons). Less obvious might be the presence of bridesmaids at a wedding ceremony, the origin of which points to the desire to deflect evil spirits (or the evil eye) away from the bride, as I learned in my undergraduate anthropology class with Monte Cox. But this is low-hanging fruit, and of little consequence to the virtues. Deeper, and more troubling, are the manifestations of religious ideology within contemporary American evangelicalism that promote largely unquestioned practices of exceptionalism—that America’s actions in the world are inherently just; consumerism—consider this recent critique of a “Christian Corporation;” and pragmatism—if an action or belief works (for church growth or financial success), it must be right (or the Truth).
I find it interesting that in Andean society, religious syncretism is transparent and even celebrated, whereas in American society, it is obscured or denied. A Quito newspaper article about the Corpus Christi festival quotes a festival organizer as saying, “It’s very important to maintain our living traditions. We are a blend of Inca and Spanish, and we can’t negate our ancestral customs.” In contrast, I suggest that when we operate with cultural blinders, we are more enslaved to those cultural influences we do not see.
In closing, my limited experience of the Corpus Christi festival doesn’t qualify me to comment on the virtues the practice cultivates. I can offer no “thick description” here. But I can say that I left with a feeling of reverence. Not of the Sunday school type that urges children to be quiet in the church service. But the kind that inspires awe before the mysteries of the Eucharist and of the harvest. The resurrected body of Christ is the first-fruits of the eternal harvest, a demonstration of the Creator’s redemption of all creation. And once again, the earth gave of its fruit this year, and the people rejoiced, and ate good food.
The CampSight 