The origins of the Matachines dance reach back to sixteenth-century Europe. In Spain, it came to represent the conflict between Christians and Moors and was known as the morisca. Brought by colonizers to New Spain, it was used to convert Indigenous peoples to Christianity. The dance merged with local traditions and evolved into new forms. Today, different styles are performed in México and the United States, yet some core features remain: the crossing from one line to the other, feathered headdresses, decorated rattles, and the steady rhythm of the fiddle, guitar, or drum.
In Monterrey, an industrial city 150 miles from the Texas border, it feels like the dance has always been around—a Catholic ritual with Indigenous roots and a reminder of the mixed identity of those who live here. While Evangelicalism has grown in Nuevo León in recent years, the state is still close to eighty percent Catholic.
Much like in other parts of México, every November Matachines make their way through the city, joining long processions that lead to the Basílica de Guadalupe, a temple dedicated to the Virgin Mary, or Our Lady of Guadalupe. Even at rush hour, cars let the Matachines go through, a sign of the locals’ respect for the devotion of the dancers and their commitment to honoring the Virgen.
The Matachinas del Sagrado Corazón was founded in November 2014 after twenty women who exercised at the same park decided to make a pilgrimage to the Basílica together. Among them was Verónica Moncayo, who was making an offering for a friend in need. As they stood outside the Basílica watching the Matachines, Moncayo turned to her friend Claudia Buenrostro and said, “I’ve always wanted to do this.” Buenrostro said she felt the same. This casual exchange led to the formation of a group rooted in faith and sisterhood.
The Matachines dance was traditionally performed in México by men, though in some communities groups of danzantes included women. Today, all-female groups of Matachinas are increasingly common. In Monterrey alone, there are several active groups of Matachinas, including the Danza de la Parroquia de San Francisco de Asís from Colonia Del Prado and the Apostolado de Danza Ángeles de Paz, composed of retired employees from the Mexican Institute of Social Security.
From the beginning, the women wanted to become more than an informal dance group. They wanted an identity—to have a name and a surname that would reflect their devotion to the Sacred Heart. Their home parish, Parroquia del Espíritu Santo, had a well-established devotion to the Sacred Heart, a Catholic practice that celebrates the love of Jesus Christ for all humanity and encourages followers to love as he does.
Within months, they secured approval from parish authorities and the Association of the Sacred Heart. They also found a teacher. “One of the women interested in joining said her sister knew someone who could teach us the steps,” Buenrostro recalls. “In less than two hours, we had his phone number.”
The group became official during a homily at Parroquia del Espíritu Santo, when the priest called the women forward. The parish set forth some requirements: the Matachinas were to attend First Friday Masses, all members were to be consecrated to the Sacred Heart, and they had to keep a record of their performances. Father Luis Chávez urged the founders to commit to at least two years as coordinators, giving the group time to grow. Soon, the membership surpassed fifty women.
The Matachinas del Sagrado Corazón say their shared devotion provided spiritual grounding and a well-defined organizational structure. The group functions as an apostolate with rotating coordinators and agreed-upon guidelines. Each year, new leaders emerge, ensuring that both the responsibility and the privilege of guiding the group are passed on.
The Matachines dance carries centuries of heritage. Members of this group recognize that they are stepping into a longstanding legacy of religious dancing, and they do so with purpose. They claim to follow ancient biblical traditions of sacred movements, like King David, who famously danced before God with gratitude and joy. The ritual connects them with all the faithful performers who came before them.
“Our essence has always been spiritual,” says one of the current coordinators. “People sometimes see this as only folklore, but for us, it’s all about faith.”
For the women, participation in the group is an extension of their faith. “Dancing is praying,” Moncayo emphasizes.
Every week they gather in a parish room to practice. Before dancing, they form a circle and they pray, marking the beginning of the ritual. While the physical demands can be intense—the headdress alone weighs over a kilo, and the dances can last for hours—the women say every step is part of their devoted offering.
Each element of their regalia carries meaning. The chimal or feathered headdress is their crown—it points heavenward and must never touch the ground. In one dancer’s words, “When we put this on, we become visible symbols of faith.”
The women designed their distinctive costumes themselves. The vest, adorned with embroidered sacred hearts, cannot be worn while eating or speaking thoughtlessly. A complete outfit costs approximately four thousand pesos, a significant sacrifice for many members, yet one they make willingly.
“Only twice have I felt what true joy is,” Buenrostro says, reflecting on the experience. “We can be happy, we can be content, but joy … joy is something else. It’s feeling in your heart that you’re doing something right.”
Qué bonita que nuestras tradiciones trasciendan mil bendiciones y gracias