The election of Cardinal Robert Prevost as Pope Leo XIV marks another chapter in Catholicism's grand theater of transformation. But beyond its theological significance lies a fascinating commercial ecosystem where devotion becomes consumption and spiritual pilgrimage fuels economic engines.

In times of religious grief, devotion and consumption aren’t opposing forces—they’re complementary expressions of how humans process moments of historical significance.

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Holy See, Holy Buy

A 69-year-old Chicagoan speaks his first words as pontiff, and 40,000 souls collectively witness divinity's earthbound representative. Yet this moment of spiritual gravitas simultaneously activates an intricate commercial apparatus that has been humming since Pope Francis drew his final breath on April 21, 2025.

More than 40,000 people convened in St. Peter’s Square to hear Pope Leo XIV formally address the world, and the ensuing pomp and circumstance is bound to attract even more traffic to the area. Within the next week, he will be formally installed during a ceremonial mass in either St. Peter’s Square or the Basilica, activating a wave of travel and retail spending. 

Within just 72 hours of the late pontiff's passing, searches for Rome-bound flights surged 250% according to Expedia.com, while accommodation queries jumped 35% among American faithful. This digital pilgrimage of intent expanded globally, with international searches climbing 125%—all before a single prayer card changed hands on St. Peter's Square. These numbers don’t account for the hordes of people taking trains and automobiles to the city to pay their respects. According to the BBC, authorities said 140,000 people lined the streets for the funeral procession alone. 

‍What we’re witnessing isn’t merely religious devotion but a particular form of experiential consumption… community through consumption, where shared experience becomes both the product and its own authentication.

This certainly isn’t a new trend. It is just one moment in a continual cycle in our global socioeconomic existence. After all, papal transition isn’t just a significant religious event; it’s a cultural and commercial one.

When Pope John Paul II died in April 2005, approximately 4 million mourners traveled to Rome to pay their respects, far exceeding officials’ initial estimate of 2 million. Local authorities had to build tent cities and repurpose sports stadiums for sleeping arrangements. The Vatican Museums brought in $12.4 million in excess revenue that quarter, with souvenir and ticket sales far exceeding annual averages .

The resulting influx of tourism drives a surge in demand for everything that commerce touches—hotels, restaurants, stores, museums, and even the plethora of tour companies—all of which rely on these traffic peaks to drum up new business and make for inevitable revenue fluctuations throughout the calendar year.

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The Reliquary Economy

And of course, there‘s the stuff. The onslaught of new merchandise and memorabilia designed to pay tribute to the late Pope Francis and commemorate the installation of Pope Leo XIV.

Within hours of Pope Francis’ death, a wave of new memorabilia appeared on online marketplaces, ranging from bobble heads to bumper stickers, keychains, and candles. In fact, so much merch began flooding on eBay, Mercari, and Facebook Marketplace that it prompted one site to create a listicle of “the more unique memorabilia” out on the interwebz. This also doesn’t account for the myriad street vendors selling their own assortment of merchandise, which range from rosaries to T-shirts.

It’s even fair to say the Vatican is a commercial institution, powering its existence with money constantly flowing in and out of the enterprise. For example, Pope John Paul II’s funeral in 2005 and the succeeding election of Pope Benedict XVI cost a collective $9 million. That same year, the Church brought in $12.4 million in revenues, largely tied to an increase in tourist traffic to its museums. In addition to standard ticket sales, revenue comes from tours, the sale of publications and, you guessed it, souvenirs. The Vatican releases commemorative products, such as stamps and coins, that align with a papal transition, making them coveted items for religious followers, collectors, and resellers alike. 

In 1978, when Pope John Paul I died just 33 days into his papacy, souvenir vendors had to reprint merchandise twice in six weeks. By contrast, in 2025, Shopify vendors selling Pope Francis memorial merch saw 12x jumps in conversion rates within the first 48 hours of his death.

The long-tail lift in tourism and commerce can continue for weeks, if not months, after the Vatican names a new pope. For example, the 2013 papal transition increased Vatican tourism revenue by 15%. Our collective desire to be present and actively participate in these critical moments in history drives our commercial desires. The 2013 election of Pope Francis also sparked a 300% increase in visits to Argentinian religious goods eCommerce sites, per MercadoLibre’s data at the time.

How can we prove that we were actually there to witness such a critical moment in history, without showing a small token to prove our actions and, in turn, our worth?

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Digital Pilgrimage: Participation Without Presence

For those who don’t have the time or money to travel to Rome, streaming and meme-ing from the couch has worked and will continue to work just fine—especially if they want to participate in the cultural moment without actually subscribing to the religion and its associated customs.

Immediately following Pope Francis's death, the Oscar-nominated drama Conclave saw a spike in interest across streaming platforms, especially Prime Video. Luminate Analytics reported that US streaming minutes of the film increased from 1.8 million on April 20 to 6.9 million on April 21. 

After Amazon made the film available for streaming, SambaTV data showed that approximately 740,000 US households watched Conclave through the following week. Across all US streaming platforms assessed by Nielsen, Conclave ranked number two among all films, second only to Netflix’s Havoc.

Since April 21, we’ve also seen a consistent wave of internet noise; monologues and dialogues centered on the legacy of Pope Francis, the cultural and economic impact of the Vatican, and most recently, the Chicago roots of Pope Leo XIV. Arguably, it is the installation of the new Pope that has turned every social media user into a Chicago cultural connoisseur, turning TV/film (The Bear being the lowest of low-hanging fruit), sports, and food references into papal puns.

Even religion isn’t safe from the meme-ification of culture. As Sean Monahan once said, “We all think in memes.” And as Edmond Lau so poignantly wrote in LORE, although memes were once seen “only as vehicles for humor or a dash of mischief, [they] have become a critical vehicle for communicating complex ideas, quickly.” 

Commerce as Continuous Conversion

Participating in this particular online discourse is our way of participating in history, and perhaps even processing the role that religious figures and institutions play in modern culture.

It’s a critical snapshot in time that, even if we do not belong to the Catholic religion, we feel an innate desire to leave our mark. To show we were there and that we were a part of it, even from afar. For some people, this involvement requires an hours-long pilgrimage to a foreign city. For some, it’s a commemorative coin. And for others, it’s sharing a communion-wafer-turns-deepdish meme on X.

In this light, the commerce of papal succession isn’t opportunism — it’s closer to an economic liturgy. Just as sacraments confer invisible grace through visible signs, commercial rituals surrounding death (especially the passing of a pope) perform a visible testament to invisible belief systems, making grief legible through merchandise, media, and mass mobilization.