November 2, All Souls Day, is a significant and popular feast on the Catholic calendar.In Spanish, the common name is “el día de los muertos” (the day of the dead). The day before, All Saints Day, Nov. 1, is listed as a holy day of obligation on the universal Church calendar. All Souls Day is not.
Despite this disciplinary distinction in Church law, November 2 still claims a strong grip on the hearts of many of the faithful. Catholics honor the memory of all the great men and women who make up the communion of saints by attending Mass on the first of November, then the following day, motivated by mourning as well as sweet remembrances, return to the Church or take a ride to the cemeteries to honor their dear ones who have preceded them in death.
I traditionally offer Mass at the cemetery on All Souls Day. Before going, I must calculate the traffic congestion driving into and around the cemetery because of the number of families visiting the resting places of their ancestors and dearly departed. A place that normally offers a silent oasis to stroll among grave markers and mausoleums becomes crowded with parades of cars looking for parking and improvised processions of families meandering around the cemetery searching for their loved one’s resting place among the trees and statues planted like stern sentinels keeping watch over the living and deceased.
During this past year’s commemoration of All Souls Day, a couple of brightly colored Harley-Davidson bikes embellished one family gathering. Folding chairs and balloons festooned the tomb of their deceased family member. Laughter and music overflowed from the spot, defying or perhaps, hiding, the still sorrowful longings to see and touch the one whose memory drew each of them to the cemetery on that holy day.
As I passed by, a voice rose up from the group and asked me to pray for someone in the party who presumably needed it. Another voice countered that the author of the prior voice needed it more. I assured both with a chuckle and an extended hand.
Many of these gatherings brought the traditional bright orange marigold — cempasúchil in the language of Mexico. The bright orange flowers were spread on graves, set out in bouquets, and adorned crosses, canvas canopies, and cars.
Some groups were large, crowded, and noisy. Any music lofting from their circle was presumably the favorite of those who now rested below their feet. Others were quiet groups, softly reciting the Hail Mary while squeezing rosary beads between their fingers.
This annual celebration that tugs so tightly at the hearts of many Catholics speaks to a fundamental Catholic insight. Tradition and the acquired customs passed on from generation to generation are not just the accumulated knowledge or ideas of the past. Tradition is a participation in the lives of those who have preceded us. We demean traditions and diminish ourselves if we choose to see the past and the knowledge of previous ages only through the lens of what is personally useful and valuable, all else being dispensable and irrelevant.
The rambunctious Catholic author, G.K. Chesterton described Catholic orthodoxy as the “democracy of the dead.” The accumulated experience, wisdom and knowledge of those who preceded us should weigh heavily upon us, because numerically they outnumber the meager numbers of the present. This prominent Catholic apologist from England provided a broader democratic insight into Catholic tradition and teachings. As part of their teaching role with the faithful living in the present, bishops, priests, and deacons give voice to the rich and abundant fellowship that is already encircling the timeless throne of the Lamb of God.
The raucous humanity squeezed into the two millennia of Catholic history discloses the ongoing revelation of the Incarnation, bringing the divine to light even in the most messy of human circumstances. More than the treasure trove of ideas and thoughts developed over the centuries of Christianity, we honor their lives. Our orthodox harmony in faith brings us into communion with the litany of saints, the cloud of witnesses.
In that living mystical communion we are part of the one body of Christ revealed through time yet already dwelling in eternity. In some measure, the lively gatherings around the tombs of the dearly departed reflect this fond fellowship that refuses death’s verdict. In Christ, all are alive.
This lesson learned through the simple folksy family customs of faith and affection on All Souls Day, is one that should inform any Catholic education. The lessons of history, mathematics, science, and literature came from someone and from somewhere. Knowledge itself is a shared resource. It is fundamentally social and relational. Every student’s “a-ha” moment of understanding or discovery is never solitary or singular; it is part of the long narrative that is human history. Though time and place may separate one generation from the next, and one community here from another community there, we depend on one another and learn from one another.
All Saints Day on Nov. 1 and All Souls Day on Nov. 2 remind us of the fabric of humanity upon which the ideas, the discoveries, and the revelations that we come to know as knowledge and information are found. When knowledge and information get disconnected from the women and men who taught us, then we lose a sense of responsibility, a responsibility to those who taught us and a responsibility to those who will eventually learn from us. We run the risk of seeing knowledge and information only from the naively arrogant point of view of its usefulness or profitability for us.
A vivid sense of Catholic tradition endows us with a wider perspective from which to judge and discern the knowledge and skills that have been imparted to us. G.K. Chesterton spoke of orthodoxy and tradition as the great “democracy of the dead.” Looking at the festive gatherings around the grave markers of those from whom we learned so much, we recognize and celebrate the great communion of saints to which we all belong.