Obon – the Japanese ritual that keeps the bond between the living and the departed alive

There are places in the world where people go to the cemetery only when someone dies. And there are places where, every year, those who have passed are expected to return home.

In Japan, one of the most beloved rituals of summer is Obona celebration dedicated to the ancestors, held—depending on the region—around mid‑August.

For a few days, the boundary between the living and the dead seems to grow thinner.

Families clean the household altars, light lanterns, prepare offerings of fruit and flowers, visit graves, and spend time together, as if those who are no longer here still continued, in some way, to be part of the family.

The origin of the ritual lies in Buddhist tradition.

Legend speaks of Buddha’s disciple Maudgalyāyana (Mokuren in Japanese), who wished to help his mother after her death. Following Buddha’s advice, he made offerings to the monks, and through this gesture, his mother’s spirit found liberation. The joy of their reunion was so great that he began to dance.

From this story emerged one of Japan’s most well‑known traditional dances, Bon Odori, still danced today during the festival.

But Obon is more than a religious commemoration.

It is a ritual of continuity.

In many homes, people light mukaebi, the welcoming fires said to guide the ancestors back home. At the end of the celebration, they light okuribi, the fires or lanterns that accompany them symbolically back to the world of spirits.

In some regions, people let glowing lanterns float down rivers or out to sea. Seen from afar, they look like small lights slowly drifting away. For those who take part in the ritual, they are a final gesture of accompaniment.

Religious historian Helen Hardacre, who studied Japanese religious practices, notes that the relationship with ancestors is not perceived as a definitive rupture, but as a continuity. The departed remain present in the memory and life of the family, and annual rituals keep this bond alive.

Anthropologist Robert J. Smith, in his studies on the Japanese family, shows that such ceremonies are not only spiritual. They strengthen ties between generations and bring together family members who, perhaps, spend the rest of the year scattered across different cities.

Seen from the outside, Obon looks like a festival. There are dances, lanterns, music, and streets full of people.

But behind these images lies a very old idea. That people do not disappear completely when they die.

They continue to exist in the stories we tell about them, in the gestures we repeat, and in the place they hold in our hearts.

Perhaps this is why the ritual moves even those who do not belong to Japanese culture. Because no matter where we live, almost all of us would like to believe that the most important bonds do not end with death.

And that, from time to time, it is worth lighting a small flame. Not because someone needs it. But because we need to remember.

Three questions for you

Is there someone dear to you whose presence you still feel in the way you live or make decisions?

Do you have a gesture or a ritual through which you remember, from time to time, those who are no longer here?

If you were to light a candle today for someone from your past, who would it be for?

---

Rituals - Practices of presence