Good Friday Ritual Fades as Faith Declines in Mexico \ Newslooks \ Washington DC \ Mary Sidiqi \ Evening Edition \ In Atlixco, Mexico, a dramatic Good Friday ritual involving chains and cactus thorns is seeing fewer participants. Once drawing over 100 men, the tradition now sees just 35, amid declining Catholic identity in Mexico. Organizers say younger generations see the practice as too extreme or unnecessary.
Quick Looks
- Good Friday draws crowds to Atlixco for a Catholic penance ritual
- Men walk blindfolded, carrying chains and cactus embedded in their skin
- The painful ritual is meant as atonement for sins
- Participation has fallen from over 100 to just 35 people
- Organizers blame waning Catholic faith among younger generations
- The number of self-identified Catholics in Mexico dropped from 90% in 1990 to 78% by 2020
- Locals say young people find the ritual physically extreme and less spiritually relevant
- 68-year-old Vicente Valbuena says faith is fading, and “the physical toll is pretty tough”
- The tradition highlights broader generational shifts in religious observance across Latin America
Deep Look
In the heart of central Mexico, the quiet colonial town of Atlixco transforms each year on Good Friday into a powerful scene of faith, suffering, and devotion. It’s a place where the spiritual and physical collide in a dramatic ritual meant to mirror the passion and crucifixion of Jesus Christ — a tradition that, for decades, has defined both the religious and cultural identity of the town.
But in 2024, the ritual stands at a crossroads. What once drew over a hundred participants now sees just 35, and the steep decline is being seen as more than a numbers issue — it’s a generational reckoning with religion, culture, and identity in modern Mexico.
A Century-Old Ritual Rooted in Suffering
On Good Friday, as the midday sun scorches the cobblestone streets of Atlixco, a procession begins that is as haunting as it is holy. Blindfolded men, shirtless and barefoot, carry heavy chains — often over 70 pounds — on their backs. Embedded in their arms and legs are the painful spines of cactus plants, symbolizing the suffering of Christ on his journey to Calvary.
Participants move slowly, some struggling, some weeping, surrounded by thousands of spectators and family members. The pain is real. The suffering is visible. And yet, for those who walk, the motivation is deeply spiritual.
They are not actors. They are believers — men who voluntarily inflict pain upon themselves as a form of penance, often for personal sins, family hardships, or as a sacrificial offering for their loved ones.
“It’s my way of asking God for forgiveness,” said one longtime participant. “Each thorn, each step — it’s my prayer.”
A Shrinking Procession: From 100 to 35
In past decades, the Atlixco procession was a local cornerstone of Holy Week, attracting not just the devout but tourists, photographers, and anthropologists fascinated by the blend of Catholicism and indigenous penitential traditions. But as of this year, only 35 people committed to walk in the procession.
For Vicente Valbuena, a 68-year-old Atlixco businessman who has observed the event for most of his life, the reasons are clear.
“Young people, they’re losing their faith,” he said. “Also, the physical toll is pretty tough. Not many want to go through that anymore.”
It’s not just a local trend. Mexico’s religious composition is shifting nationwide.
The Decline of Catholicism in Mexico
In 1990, over 90% of Mexicans identified as Catholic, according to national census data. By 2020, that number had dropped to 78%, and among younger generations, the decline is even more pronounced.
A growing number of Mexicans — particularly urban and younger citizens — identify as non-religious or are shifting toward evangelical Christianity, spiritual pluralism, or simply disengaging from institutional religion altogether.
In major cities like Mexico City, Guadalajara, and Monterrey, churches report a steady decrease in attendance, baptisms, and participation in sacraments. Even in more traditional towns like Atlixco, that shift is now painfully visible during what used to be one of the most sacred days of the year.
Religious scholars point to a variety of reasons: globalization, digital culture, the abuse scandals within the Catholic Church, and the rise of individualized spirituality over formalized religious practice.
Pain, Purpose, and Perseverance: Why Some Still Walk
Despite the decline, for those who still participate in Atlixco’s ritual, the motivation is deeply personal and profound.
Some are honoring vows made in desperation — to save a child, to heal a marriage, to recover from illness. Others do it as an act of generational continuity, repeating what their fathers and grandfathers did.
The ritual isn’t about putting on a show; it’s about a raw, unfiltered expression of suffering as a form of redemption.
“It’s not just religion; it’s my identity,” said another walker, who first participated 12 years ago. “I was going through something terrible, and this was my way back.”
Many of the remaining participants are older, their bodies marked by years of sacrifice. Organizers worry that without younger men stepping forward, the tradition will vanish within a generation.
Can the Ritual Evolve to Survive?
Faced with declining numbers, local organizers and clergy have begun discussing ways to modernize or adapt the ritual to be more accessible. Some suggest easing the physical burden — reducing the number of cactus thorns, shortening the route, or eliminating the use of chains.
Others propose spiritual alternatives, such as silent prayer walks or symbolic acts of penance that don’t involve physical suffering.
But these ideas are controversial. For traditionalists, the pain is the point — an essential part of the sacrifice. Removing that, they argue, dilutes the meaning and turns the ritual into performance art rather than spiritual submission.
It’s a cultural crossroads. Adapt to survive, or hold firm to tradition and risk obsolescence?
Faith in Transition: A Microcosm of Latin America
Atlixco’s Good Friday ritual serves as a microcosm of a larger transformation happening across Latin America. Once a bastion of Catholicism, the region is undergoing a seismic shift in religious affiliation, ritual engagement, and spiritual identity.
In countries like Brazil, Argentina, and Chile, similar trends are underway: young people questioning tradition, elders struggling to keep the flame alive, and the Church attempting to reconcile with modernity.
This isn’t just about belief — it’s about how culture, ritual, and identity interweave. When a ritual like Atlixco’s fades, it’s not only a loss of faith but of shared history, community, and collective storytelling.
Looking Forward: Will the Chains Be Carried Again?
As Holy Week approaches each year, residents of Atlixco wonder how many will carry the chains next time. Will the procession shrink further? Will tourists come if the spectacle fades? Will the meaning endure, even if the form changes?
For now, those who continue walking — even as their numbers thin — carry not only the chains of penance, but also the weight of tradition, hoping someone younger might one day follow behind.
Good Friday Ritual
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