On Honoring Our Ancestors

Western tradition isn’t too keen on honoring the dead, or our ancestors who came before us. I remember when I first transitioned to Protestantism after being raised mostly Catholic, I would hear folks make a case that Catholics aren’t Christians because they “worship the saints”—a common yet ignorant claim of what it means to honor the faithful that came before us.

I admit, I made comments like these. I internalized the hyper-individualistic view of myself, my faith and ultimately, of salvation. I bought into the notion that following Jesus is simply a “personal” decision that I make “in my heart”—like if my following Jesus or my spiritual growth has absolutely nothing to do with the hundreds of people in my community, the countless amount of people who have influenced me or even those I, myself, have influenced. 

My perspective changed, however, after I was given the freedom to invite my culture, my upbringing and my identity as a Latina into dialogue with who I am as a person of faith. Naturally, this involved reflecting on the faith handed down to me from my abuelita, complete with the memories of me at St. Dominic Catholic Church in Miami where I was first baptized, where I first received the Eucharist, where I watched Abuela sing on the choir every Sunday. Instead of disconnecting myself from these important parts of my spirituality, I began to ask the Divine to illuminate these memories so that I may receive a more robust and integrated understanding of my faith.

And as always, God did. In fact, I was led to an overlooked passage in Scripture that energized me in my search for a faith passed down from generation to generation. Interestingly enough, it’s found in one of Paul’s letters to Timothy (vs. 1-7):

I’m grateful to God, whom I serve with a good conscience as my ancestors did. I constantly remember you in my prayers day and night.  When I remember your tears, I long to see you so that I can be filled with happiness.  I’m reminded of your authentic faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice. I’m sure that this faith is also inside you.

Paul begins his letter in gratitude for a faith served in good conscience, like that of his ancestors—like that of those who came before him. He then acknowledges Timothy’s faith—a faith birthed from his abuelita and his mama. A communal faith that takes seriously the impact of not just people who came before him, but the women who formed and shaped him. 

This past week we celebrated the Feast of All Saints which overlaps with the Mexican tradition of Dia de los Muertos. The church that I attend had a beautiful altar put in place, inviting members of the congregation to honor the dead in their lives. As I stood and looked at the pictures of mothers and fathers, spouses, aunts and uncles, even children, I was reminded of the power that is the cloud of witnesses that we are surrounded by—los muertos, los santos—those whose faith has shaped, formed, and energized us for the race set out before us, as the author of Hebrews claims.

We wouldn’t be who or what we are without their perseverance in finishing strong and passing the baton over to us. May we honor and remember our abuelitas, tias y mamas in the faith as we continue this race.