Dia de los Muertos, is one of the ways this is done in the Hispanic culture. It is commonly known as the "day of the dead". Tucson has a long history of Hispanic culture. Being a border town, the history continues and grows. Much like my memory of Memorial Day growing up in a small northwestern town in Pennsylvania, where we took potted plants and planted them at family members grave sites, in loving memory of that person, the Hispanics celebrate the rituals attached to Dia de los Muertos.
The difference is in how they do it. They may also take flowers to a grave site, or they may not know where that grave site is and/or they build an "altar" to that person or persons. The altar can be simple or elaborate.
This is a simple one at San Xavier Mission on Dia de los Muertos, 2013. People put pictures of their loved ones and things that they loved while walking their earthly path. There is a bowl of beans for a loved one who loved beans. One man shared with me that he puts a bottle of Tequila on his altar, in memory of his father who loved his Tequila.
Very early in October, all over the Latin American countries and many cities in the United States, bakeries offer the delicious Pan de Muerto, Day of the Dead bread. It is made with flour, butter, sugar, eggs, orange peel, anise and yeast. The bread is decorated with strips of dough; simulating bones and at the top, you will see a small round piece of dough that symbolizes teardrops. These breads are placed on the altars as ofrendas or offerings, and are also often taken to the graves of their loved ones.
Yesterday, I experienced another way that the people of Tucson, Mexico and even further away from the United States, come to honor and celebrate the life of loved ones. Many come, not of this culture, and not really knowing anyone personally, but come to honor the life that was.
It is a pilgrimage to the beautiful and historic San Xavier Mission -- Tucson's White Dove of the Desert to honor those who have died in the desert during the past 12 months while attempting to enter the United States illegally. This day is not about how they came or why they came, it is about the fact that the desert is a cruel path to walk for the dream of citizenship or an opportunity to provide more for your family than what you were able in your own country. It is about the agony of death in the desert, the fear and loneliness that must have been felt. As I waited for Ron and the group who were making this pilgrimage I noticed a circle with white crosses. I discovered that this is the crosses from previous years. That is a lot of crosses, with more to come.
About 50 people walked 8 miles yesterday in solidarity with those who had lost their lives in the desert. That is a mere fraction of the miles these people travel, in their attempt. Each person walking carried a cross or crosses with the name of the deceased to symbolize the person who had died. Most were unknown. Alma, a woman from our church, who is Hispanic walked in thin rubber flip flops, because she knows that is all many of those who are found had on their feet.
As we stood around that circle, a woman read off the names of those who had names and the person with that cross placed it around the circle. And then, those without names were placed around the circle. A Franciscan priest from San Xavier went around the circle with Holy Water, blessing each soul who had been placed there.
It was a more solemn occasion than the way most celebrations of Dia de los Muertos are. How can we celebrate a life we have never known? For those who had loved ones there, maybe someone put something on the altar in front of the Mission. For those without a name, what do we know about them? Can you imagine seeing your loved one leave home and never see them again. And worse yet, you never know what has happened to them. You don't know if they are dead or alive and every year when you hear about this pilgrimage in Tucson on Dia de los Muertos, you wonder if your loved one's cross is being placed in that circle.
I was quite emotional as I saw the pilgrims approaching. I was choked up as Ron embraced me with his crosses in his hands. I am not like him. I cannot go out into the desert and help the migrants. I cannot walk those eight miles on Dia de los Muertos. My heart breaks when I think about each and everyone of these people who come like so many before them through the desert or like my ancestors and yours who reached the shores of Manhattan and saw the Statue of Liberty and thought about the words engraved on her base,
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door. "
Maybe instead of building walls on our borders and watching people die of thirst, of hunger or from the elements of the weather, we could put a new Statue of Liberty on our borders and welcome the huddled masses who yearn to breathe free.
Until then, I guess I will wait for Ron at these memorial services and I will pray that the day will come when all will be welcome and there will be no borders on any land in any country of this world. I will pray that the day will come when no one will cross the desert in hopes of a better life...they will be welcomed anywhere at any time.
