If Saint Paul were to write a letter to the Maltese, he would surely have to repeat what he once wrote to the Philippians: “their god is the belly” (Phil 3:19) . It is striking how every liturgical season has its own foods and, above all, its own sweets. Let’s be clear: this is something found in many cultures, especially Mediterranean ones. Yet on these two tiny islands, where diabetes is the national health problem, one can only marvel at how—perhaps because we were ruled by so many—we’ve inherited a bit of everyone’s culinary and confectionary traditions. Even for this time of year, besides Saint Martin’s bags filled with nuts and fruits, we also have the għadam tal-mejtin (“bones of the dead”)—neither dry nor soft, but certainly disappearing faster than the smallest real bone could ever decompose!
Apparently, we love the taste of figolli so much—especially the homemade ones—that we can’t bear to wait a whole year for them. Some people even freeze them, so that during the leaner months they can profit from the abundance that almost overwhelms us at Easter, particularly if we kept Lent without sweets. But after all, the għadam tal-mejtin are really figolli too: instead of the shape of a lamb (or any other form devoid of meaning), they take the shape of a bone.
Yet this link between Easter and All Souls’ Day—fossilised, so to speak, in bones and figolli—is not merely a charming coincidence. It has deeper theological roots touching the very heart of our faith. Spread almost evenly through the year, these two celebrations remind us of the belief we profess every Sunday in the Creed. Besides proclaiming our faith in the resurrection of Jesus, according to the Scriptures, after his bitter passion and cruel death on the cross for our salvation, we also profess that we believe in the resurrection of the dead. And this is no casual addition, inserted merely to give composers another movement to set to music. It is an essential part of our Easter faith, because just as Christ died and rose again with the same body—now glorified—so we too, at the end of time, shall share in this glory and in the eternal joy of God with our whole selves, composed not only of soul but also of body.
No one can say exactly what will remain of our bodies by that day, whose hour is hidden, and surely we would all wish for a body somewhat better and less frail than the one we have now. Yet yes, we too shall share the same destiny as Christ. Indeed, this is precisely why Christ became man: to take upon himself what is ours, so that we might share in what is his.
Therefore, while it is good to practise moderation in our sweets and to allow God’s plan to unfold without hastening too eagerly the hour of our death, it is also good that, with every bite of these “bones” we enjoy at this time, we remember our loved ones and commend them to the Lord—that he may soon let them taste the sweetness of his presence. And why not? Let us also remind ourselves of that sweet and blessed hope in which we believe.