Dia de los Muertos: Living and Laughing with Death
A Sermon By The Rev. Susan Manker-Seale
October 31, 2004
Some of us here today, maybe more than others, are feeling Death’s presence close beside them. Some have been holding the hand of death at the bedside of a beloved friend. Some have been threatening Death to stay away, stay away from their beloved as they undergo surgery. Some feel the constant companionship of Death, if companionship it can be called, as they watch their loved one struggle in the last months of illness. Death is always present, we know that, but never so tangibly as when our, or a loved one’s, dying time is near.
For some of us here today, right now, the well is a little dry, the well of hope, the well of laughter out of which comes the strength to heal ourselves. So we come here to be with each other, to find solace in community, and hope and renewed joy in life. We come so that the vibrant life of the people here can and will refill our wells and enable us to once again live and laugh with Death, who is always present and always will be.
Today I carry the death of my younger cousin Carl, who suffered the ravages of pancreatic cancer, discovered only a short time after his father’s death last year. He died two Sundays ago. And I carry the death of Virginia Frogge, a woman I grew up with in the Phoenix church, friend of my parents and all of us children, who always knew we were part of her family and so we were. She died last month. And I carry, along with many of you, the death last Monday of Muriel White, a woman of unending humor and strength, who helped found this congregation and so, whose legacy we celebrate each Sunday as we gather to worship.
I must admit my well is a little dry, as it is for some of you.
But… watching the children carry the Dia de los Muertos coffin today, and hearing their squeals of laughter as they throw candy and paper flowers to all of us--that refills my well. Seeing this beautiful altar with all its colors and the treasured mementos of people we have loved and who have died, but not in our hearts--that, too, refills my well. The beautiful music…! And I just love seeing everybody! Don’t you love seeing everyone? That’s why we come, to see each other, and to know we are not alone.
We come today, on Dia de los Muertos, to, maybe, thumb our noses just a little bit at Death, to say, “I’m not afraid of you, Death!” The Mexican tradition of the Day of the Dead allows us to say just that. It allows us to make fun of that part of us which hurts the deepest and creates the most fear. So we bake pan de muerto, bread of the dead, and eat sugar skulls, if we can find them here in Tucson, and let our children play with a coffin. Somewhat like Halloween, only a little more real than vampires and devils. Dia de los Muertos is about us and our ancestors, real families and real deaths.
When Death has us by the hand, it’s not something we laugh about, nor want to make fun of. Not usually. We almost never tell stories of the deaths of our family members and close friends with a laugh. They are told with tender smiles, broken hearts, wistful memories, but not laughter. Laughter comes only when we start to tell stories of someone’s life. It is a way we remember our family and friends with respect and love. Memorial services can be as full of laughter as they are of tears, even more so, as we share the joy that was a dear one’s gift of life to us all. The fun of Dia de los Muertos makes this distinction, blending laughter and making fun of death with the respect and love that is due our ancestors and the places their memories hold in our lives.
Our healing comes with both tears and the big belly laugh that is the most holy laugh of the Buddha, so they say. We cry in the presence of death, and feel our despair, but we take back our power with laughter. We shore up our lives with smiles. Humor keeps us going and keeps us sane.
Here on this altar we have displayed the pictures and cherished mementos of people we loved who have died. There are names written on slips of paper. Together we have made an altar of beauty to remember our loved ones. Their memories bring us tears, and when they do, we sometimes feel again that loss of hope. But their memories also bring us smiles and laughs, if we allow them to, and then our hope returns and our joy in life. Just as when we gather here, trailing Death by the hand, in search of renewal and reaffirmation and love.
Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Northwest Tucson