I was blessed to spend part of my sabbatical in 1997 in a small village outside of Morelia Michoacan in Mexico. As Dia de los Muertos approached the family where I was staying went into Morelia to the flower markets and got buckets full of flowers. The evening of November 1st we dressed in our finest clothes and walked the flowers, mounds of food and drink, and small things that had been precious in life to their beloved dead, into the graveyard. The whole village set up chairs around graves and someone parked their pickup truck nearby so that we could have music from the radio. Through the evening folks visited the graves of their beloved dead and the beloved dead of others, and told their stories. Late in the evening I had a sleeping child in my lap (I had become an honorary madrina, godmother) as the party and stories and music continued well into the wee hours of the morning. This night in 2015, once again all over Mexico (and many places where there are folk of Mexican and Mesoamerican descent like my own country, the USA) folk are honoring their beloved dead. For many branches of my Christian family, today is also All Saints Day, a time to remember those in their local and wider faith community who have died. Christian Churches all over the world read names, bring photos, light candles, give thanks for the lives of those who have died. Blessings on all these celebrations, blessings on the remembering, the story telling, the love that continues through the rituals and sharing.
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