The Day of the Dead and the Giver of Life
A few days ago on my Instagram Stories, I shared a post I had come across about the Day of the Dead. I was attempting to learn and appreciate more about this Mexican holiday, but it turns out, I didn’t take the time to get all the information. The post I shared (which I’ve since taken down) made this holiday seem light-hearted, harmless, and joyful. And to be honest, I failed to do my research. My friend, Cynthia, kindly responded to me with additional information, showing me that there was more to the story.
We moved our conversation to email, and Cynthia sent me facts as well as her stories and opinions about the Day of the Dead. I realized how little I knew–and how easy it can be to believe things are harmless, when in reality, we are fighting a very real spiritual battle.
Cynthia’s words were so helpful and eye-opening, and I asked her if I could share them with you here. In the following post, she offers personal experiences, facts about the Day of the Dead, her own opinions, and then a closing story to help us to recognize the spiritual forces of evil trying to take us down. But, as she writes below, “Of course, Jesus wins. His light breaks through the darkness.”
I pray these words written by Cynthia Ramirez de Rodiles will encourage and equip us as the Church to fight the taker of life and better honor the Giver of Life.
What stories have I been told? What story am I telling?
I, probably like you, have been sitting with this question or a version of this question a lot these days. It is a time in which we are all being invited to listen, tell, and retell certain stories. Maybe some for the first time, others, again and again.
In a certain sense it is a heavy work, once the telling of the story is finished. What next? What do I do with this story? How will this intertwine or change my own?
I want to share a few stories with you about Day of the Dead. Please take them as that–stories. I have my strong opinions, which I will also share. But as to what that means for you, that’s not for me to decide. But I can share, and I feel that it’s a good time to do so.
Prayer, Jealousy, and Rain
"This will be worth 50% of your grade." I could not believe it. If I chose not to participate, I would fail the course. Fail! I am not a straight-A student, but in high school, I did pretty well. I was working hard to brighten my chances to study at a Christian liberal arts school in the United States. Failing literature wasn’t going to help me. What was most surprising, though, is that this course felt irrelevant. It was not literature at all!
In my private school, we had about 40 classrooms, 30 to 40 students each, all high school (10th, 11th, and 12th grade). We had one month to decide on, plan, and execute the great ofrenda, hoping to win the school-wide award. An ofrenda is a collection of objects, decorations, and food traditionally laid out on a blanket on the floor or in the home for the dead during celebrations. It is a ritual display that can be very elaborate. Some classrooms chose to bring or give worth to (worship, remember, highlight) dead people like famous actors, musicians, or politicians, others to ideas that were considered dead like true love and peace, others to food or random objects in an almost cynical take on life, and a few chose to go with traditional "to my grandparents."
The great contest was set for Friday night, 7 p.m. The week before, materials started arriving and the structures began. By Friday morning, some structures as tall as three or four meters were prepared. There was art, food, music, flowers, and written assignments justifying each selection. A whole bunch of eager teenagers ready for a party on a beautiful yet dark, chaotic day roamed around the school.
In the first "test" of my faith, I decided not to participate. My two best friends had recently trusted Jesus, and I could not justify worshipping the God of life and also giving in to this cultural expectation. We had spent time reading scripture and praying about our response. The whole class knew those friends had joined my "religion." We just couldn't do it. I sat awkwardly in the corner during class, in silence and contemplating if it was really worth it. I honestly wasn't sure. I was missing out. It looked fun.
My friends and I felt nudged to fast. It was the first time in my life I really sensed that maybe if we fasted, something would happen. I just wasn't sure what I wanted to happen or what could happen. We showed up early to pray and fasted for about three days, clearly not knowing what we were doing. It was simply out of a deep sense that this event was not honoring to the Giver of Life. We prayed that God would give us opportunities to share the gospel. We bought tracks. We prepared.
About 15 minutes before the great event was to open, we got a random phone call. In a surprising (should not have been so surprising) turn of events, a great storm came to the school.
In a quick ten minutes all the ofrendas were ruined.
My first reaction was "Why God?" "We were going to share the gospel! My friends were so excited! They were new believers and it had taken so much effort to encourage them to try!" and quickly, oh so quickly, my thoughts turned to "Wow. What just happened?"
The next few days rumors started going around that we had "prayed" for the event's cancellation. Ha! Many things unfurled.
But what began unfurling in my heart was a newly understood awareness of the not-so-often-talked-about nature of God. God will not be mocked, and He is a jealous God. In my tiny little world, God chose this moment to reveal this to our tiny little group of believers. I imagined God saying, with a playful smirk, "Not this time. Just this once, remember who is in charge here."
Bedbugs, Bedbugs, Bedbugs—and My Breaking Point
"Welcome to our community!" I was so naive.
We run a community center in the heart of Mexico City, the neighborhood of Coyoacán, that includes a hostel for backpackers to come, live with us, and volunteer for several weeks at a time. It’s a special place of connection for people from all faiths and walks of life.
That day, a nice-looking couple from Poland just wanted a few days in Mexico City to learn more about our traditions. I was not prepared for this welcome to break me a few months later. Had I known, I would have quickly said, "You are NOT welcome in our community!"
What, do you think, is SO strong that we would close the doors to our little home? The answer is simple: bedbugs.
I will never know if they were aware of what they were doing, but the taker of life used this couple to break me down! In just two days, they managed to bring in the powers of darkness to our home in various ways, including our long-term fight against the bugs. And if I'm honest, something inside me died that night. Something was taken, extinguished, stretched.
During their first night in our place, the couple took random objects from all around the house, locked themselves in a room, and performed rituals in our place. They killed some animals, lit candles, and sang things. We did not hurt them in any way; they were just "participating in our culture." How do you tell people this is not a joke? How do you share that the devil is real and that he is the great deceiver? How do you convince them that their desire for deep encounters with spirituality will impact them for the rest of their lives? How do you open their eyes to what could be if that encounter was with the True Giver of Life instead?
I realize that bedbugs are part of hostel life, but we had not had them before. Yet they came that day, and we have worked hard to keep them away since that moment. Few things have broken me more than our continual fight against these bugs!
But it's really not about the bugs, ya'll. It's never about the "bugs."
After that night, our staff and guests had nightmares, heard voices and more for days, even weeks. All the things from the scary movies—but in real life. Our commitment to be a safe place was threatened. Even our atheist volunteer, who was on call that night, recognized this as scary witchcraft and chose to join in our intense prayer meetings and intentional oil-re-anointing moments room by room the following days. We called the leadership–my parents, mentors, and pastors. They came and prayed with us. They prayed for us.
“Of course, Jesus wins. His light breaks through the darkness, but it is not a clean, easy process.”
I will never know if God meant for me to be there that night so I could stop it, or if he meant us to be away so we could be humbled, once again.
Even though we asked the couple to leave right away, it took a lot of time to recover. We immediately threw everything away that we knew had been part of the ritual. And a few months later, we had to throw away all the furniture (except the beds) to start from scratch and give us a better chance of fighting the bugs off. Many months of prayer and worship helped our guests rest well again in our community. They were hard, hard months.
Most things that were there then are gone now, both physical and spiritual. And of course, Jesus wins. His light breaks through the darkness, but it is not a clean, easy process. It is NO JOKE.
Nightmares, Demons, and Hugs
As soon as I walked in, she screamed. "Get out of here! No!" I was not even close enough for her to see me, but my presence was felt–or better said, the presence of “Christ in me-the hope of glory”[1] was felt. Looking around the psychiatric ward at about 12 other people tied to their beds was already an intense experience for me, but getting yelled at with such hate was an added stressor I was not prepared for.
I was visiting a friend, the sister of a guy that spent a lot of time with us in our hostel community. She had tried to take her life again and had asked to see me. With trepidation, I took a Bible and all the courage and compassion I could muster.
When dealing with suicide or suicide attempts (which I am sad to say has been a big part of my story), I immediately feel vulnerable and softhearted. I enter a new space, like a hidden room in my house available only for emergencies, where my thoughts, beliefs, feelings, and bodily responses are allowed to crash against themselves in seemingly unordered ways. This visit was no different.
My friend was not herself. The Giver of Life was fighting for her life, even when she could not fight for herself–especially when she could not fight for herself. The taker of life was also fighting, fighting hard. Even after failing, he was fighting for her mind, her body, her soul. He told her what to do, she did it, it failed. I was a threat to that.
“I knew Jesus. I knew that He could do it. She knew the possibility of a ‘Jesus.’ But what we could both reason in our minds was nothing compared to the actual reality of the spiritual battle for her soul.”
The screaming was impossible to work through. Not sure it was the time, place, or situation in which I could sit there and "pray" the demon out of her, I gave her a hug and a Bible. I fought hard against the lies wanting to take root in my own mind. I stayed an excruciating 45 minutes. I thought about her choices of music, the traditions she got involved with, and her willingness to reach out to "whatever" to find meaning. I left her the Bible and reluctantly walked away and back to my car, not sure what I was expecting the outcome of my visit to have been.
I knew Jesus. I knew that He could do it. She knew the possibility of a "Jesus." But what we could both reason in our minds was nothing compared to the actual reality of the spiritual battle for her soul. Even in that encounter, I will never fully understand all that was going in where-my-eyes-could-not-see. Honestly, I am grateful my eyes were not fully opened.
Day of the Dead Facts
Day of the Dead is celebrated on November 1 (All Saints Day) and 2 (All Souls Day). It is not the same as the European All Saints Day tradition nor Halloween. But nowadays in Mexico, nobody is really sure what is what. It is a big melting pot of costumes, food, decorations, and belief systems. For the last few years, people have celebrated by eating candy, doing witchcraft, dressing up as princesses and as dead people, and carrying idols and pumpkins in the same public square.
There is a real religion in Latin America that worships "La Santa Muerte" (the Holy Death). It is a branch out of the Catholic Church, and there are images of the Holy Death that congregations worship, sing to, make covenants with, etc. Most drug cartels and human trafficking networks identify as worshippers of the Holy Death. I live walking distance from at least three churches dedicated to this. It is real and scary.
Day of the Dead is sometimes a nice moment for some families to remember their ancestors. It is a good day for the flower business, and it is a national holiday. Everything is closed. Graveyards are packed. Streets are dangerous. The movie, Coco, did a good job of showing some of this. But it only showed part of the story.
Also, Day of the Dead bread is delicious.
The Catholic Church's history (and Christian history as a whole) is dark and complicated in Latin America. Day of the Dead is not an exception.
Most Jesus-following evangelicals in Mexico choose not to participate. Many pray against it and spend that time doing charity work. Some newer churches with younger people are more open to participating in certain aspects of it. It is uncommon to see an "outreach" event in churches in Mexico connected to this holiday. Many people choose to stay home, mostly for safety reasons.
Suicide rates, sexual abuse, verbal and physical abuse, violence, and witchcraft significantly spike those days.
Day of the Dead implies a theology that Jesus-followers do not agree with. To mention a few: It encourages people on earth to try (and through the taker of life's many successful attempts, often achieve) communication with the dead. It also has a strong emphasis on the Catholic Church's view in Latin America of a purgatory and in some places still, the ability to "buy" your way into heaven. It welcomes idols and intercessors as a way to connect to and receive from the divine.
My Opinions
Art and culture are close friends. Art reflects and creates culture. In Day of the Dead art, a lot is revealed, inspired, encouraged, picked at, zoomed in on, glorified, challenged, described, etc. You can still appreciate and "read it" and be "moved by it" without responding to all of its invitations.
As a Jesus-follower, I do not want to participate in something that gives worth to anything but the true Giver of Life. It is not my desire to aid the attention and deceptive efforts that a holiday focused on death inspires in others.
“I believe that spiritual warfare is real and not something to be played with or played down.”
I am not sure that a day focused on death that is so full of syncretism is the best invitation for me to remember my family. We love birthdays and meaningful dates as markers for us to remember. I personally love the Jewish approach to grieving together, and we have instituted traditions around that.
In a time where the taker of life is working so hard, I want to intentionally be on the Giver of Life's team–especially when explaining what is true to children. I believe that spiritual warfare is real and not something to be played with or played down.
As a lover of culture and a missions-hearted person, I believe that there are ways in which God reveals himself to people all around the world. I know He redeems all things and is interested in meeting people where they are, speaking their language, and revealing himself uniquely to each culture. I also believe that part of that transformation is a renewed sense of what has been made wrong, what has been distorted that only Jesus can make right. Mexican history is full of darkness and brokenness. This is no different.
The taker of life has won lots of little battles in our history and in our friends’ lives. But ultimately, only God will win this war, and it will include dismantling false kingdoms.
I eat the bread and enjoy it. But I don't set it out for my dead grandma to enjoy. The flowers are gorgeous, but not just on that day, all year round!
Eating a chocolate shaped like a skull is not inspiring to me. There are real skulls of thousands of babies sacrificed to false gods in the pyramids 20 minutes from where I live that I "visit" every time a tourist comes to town. Usually, I stop to get coffee and try to skip that part. I wish skulls were not such a huge part of our Mexican history. I have no interest in the ways in which eating one "normalizes" it. (I know this sounds super extreme. But a quick dive at history puts it in perspective.)
I try not to judge others, and I have Jesus-following friends that choose to participate in various ways. My boundary lies in what traditions enter my home and my faith community. And I am sure that when I have kids I will work very hard to celebrate the Giver of Life with them and all that that entails!
One more story...
Tattoos, Catrina, and Jesus
"I am going to quit smoking this week!" he said, matter of factly. In amazement, and after hearing many, many things in our weekly reflection times with backpackers, we encouraged him and said, "Do it!" To our surprise, he said yes. A week later, he had quit smoking. Young German soldiers are committed people, for sure.
A week later, we were so moved by his announcement, "I am going to find God!" What do you answer to that when you hear it in response to your highs and lows of the week? He found a book (New Testament) titled How to Find God, and we had nothing to do with it. It was his heart. He shifted inside. He opened something. He looked up. He changed his gaze. His object of affection and contemplation changed. He was willing. And of course, God showed up.
The wonderful thing about this story is that he had come to Mexico for Day of the Dead celebrations. For three months, he met every Monday with his tattoo artist for four hours to work on his new Day of the Dead-inspired look (which ended up covering both arms, all of his chest and some of his back). Catrinas everywhere[2] flowers, ghosts, witches, skulls. So many skulls. Pretty ones, too.
After his journey through Scripture and when He was finally ready to say "Jesus, I believe," he asked, "So, now what do I do with all my tattoos?" As he literally tattooed signs of death on his body, his heart was opening to Jesus.
He came to celebrate death and was given life instead.
[1] Colossians 1:27
[2] La Catrina is a tall female skeleton brought to life by artist José Guadalupe Posada in the early 1900s. It represents the goddess of death and is believed to have been worshipped by the Aztecs.
Cynthia Ramirez de Rodiles and her husband, Carlos, run a ministry center in Mexico City that includes a guesthouse for backpackers, seekers, and various start-ups. They give young adults and ministry leaders a safe place to explore and pursue their calling in God’s mission. Their team coaches and empowers Latinos with strategy building, communications, and networking to achieve greater impact in their communities. Learn more on their website, including how you can donate to financially support their ministry.
Photos courtesy of Cynthia Ramirez de Rodiles
