April 6, 2018 at 1:53 p.m.
REFLECTION
Dia de Los Muertos
Dia de Los Muertos
Nowhere in world religions is so much hope expressed in so few words. This part of our Catholic creed is a rich source of inspiration as we celebrate All Saints and All Souls Day in November.
Many seem to dread this month. Summer's lush life is spent. Autumn has displayed her gypsy costumes and now it seems as though life has been harvested from the earth. Soon, winter's deep sleep will fall quietly on the earth. The cycle of nature is completing its rhythm.
Those of us who live in the northern hemisphere can harvest much inspiration and meaning for our lives during this time. The quietness of the season is conducive to meditation and reflection as the earth lies fallow and birds begin their mysterious migration to other lands.
The seeds that fall on the earth this autumn will carry their delicate life through winter to the resurrection of spring. Our Catholic funeral liturgy speaks about life that is changed, not ended.
November is a time of reflection for me. I am drawn to meditating on profound mysteries of our faith: the communion of saints, the resurrection of the dead and the promise of life everlasting.
I owe some of my appreciation to the way the Mexican and Guatemalan communities celebrate Dia de Los Muertos, the Day of the Dead, a traditional Latin American holiday that honors their ancestors.
Far from somber, it is a day of festivity and celebration. Families, vendors and musicians pour out into streets and cemeteries to be with their beloved deceased. Tombstones are scrubbed clean, weeds are uprooted and brightly-colored cloths are laid over the graves. The favorite foods of those who died are placed on top, along with fresh-cut flowers. Candles burn day and night. The entire day is spent there, talking, eating and praying in communion with loved ones.
Children fly large kites as if the spirits of their ancestors were hovering above. Death is mocked as children share candies shaped like skulls and, in some communities, parades meander through crowded streets, carrying a coffin with a mock, smiling corpse in it. People laugh and taunt death, which they know is always close by.
It is a celebration of community, of communion with the dead, and a profession of faith. A wooden cross, a sign of Christian hope, marks the graves. During this time, monarch butterflies are flying through Mexico on migration to the mountains of Michoacan -- symbols of the souls of the dead coming home.
The celebration is brought into the home, as well. Small, wooden "altarcitos" are set up in a corner and adorned with bright cloth, candles, a cross, photos of the dead, fruit and bread and marigold flowers in a small vase.
This is a ritual I now celebrate at home. Each November on All Saints/All Souls Day, I create a small altar and put photos of deceased family and friends on it. I make a list of people I wish to remember in prayer and place it there. The list includes some people in the news and others who were assassinated because of their witness to the Gospel: for instance, Sister Dorothy Stang, assassinated in Brazil for her stand with indigenous people against the destruction of the Amazon forest; or modern-day martyrs in San Pedro Xocopilas Quiche, Guatemala.
Standing near this altar, I realize what the Celtic spirituality means by a "thin place" when describing some of their holy sites: Only a thin veil separates us from those who have gone on before us. I sense that I am standing in a thin place.
This November ritual is a reminder of those whose lives have intertwined with mine. It is a reminder of the gift we are to each other in this life. It strengthens my faith by drawing me deeper into the profound prayers and Scripture of the liturgies of All Saints/All Souls.
I celebrate the communion of the saints I have known: men and women, friends and family, who are not on any official list of saints but whose lives embodied the Gospel.
The November sky puts me in touch with how the Church's liturgical seasons of life and death are connected the sacramental seasons of nature. Harvest and homecoming are connected. Life and death are partners in the dance.
These special days can be reminders of life's brevity and the precious gift of time left to live it. It offers us the opportunity to focus on what's really important in our lives: our faith and the life shared with our families and friends.
This month, I am renewed in the hope expressed in the book of Revelation: "He will wipe away all tears from their eyes; there will be no more death, and no more mourning or sadness. The world of the past has gone. I am making the whole of creation new" (Rv 21:4-5).
(Father Broderick leads the Albany Diocese's Pueblo to People sister-parish program with parishes in South America.)[[In-content Ad]]
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