RECLAIMING THE SACREDNESS OF SPOOK
When pumpkins, ghouls, purple and orange lights, questionable candy, and overpriced coffee beverages roll out, we know that Halloween is upon us. A holiday that seems to disappear into the year until last-minute preparations come around becomes a day when everything seems to be missing a connection to God. Yet awareness of God, and of a whole supernatural world beyond our experience, has been present in Halloween and related practices in ages past. All things in what we know as “spooky season” can be connected to the life of faith, and it is about time that we reclaim the sacredness of spook. Among the skeletons, ghosts, and costumes of Halloween, we are reminded of the death that awaits us. Let the festive celebrations of the end of harvest become a way of reconnecting with God - a means of finding the living among the dead.
The slowing of life that coincides with the harvest season is a defining characteristic of the festivals that take place during this time: festivals that celebrate the fruit of the earth, remember those who we have lost, and remind us of our connection with the earth. Christians are really bad at celebrating harvest festivals. Most of our celebrations fall in the winter or spring seasons as we reflect on the coming of new growth and shy away from mortality. Allhallowtide (also known as Hallowmas), the period comprised of Halloween, All Saints’ Day, and All Souls’ Day, is the only major autumnal celebration that we have on the calendar. Even then, we rush through it because Advent is right around the corner. Our aversion to thoughts of death and the end of time is understandable, but it also means our faith in the promise of eternal life and joy is lacking.
The roots of our autumnal celebrations are not completely ours. As with many other feasts within the Church, our festivals contain many borrowed aspects from the cultures of the company of saints past. This does not lessen our celebrations; in fact, it helps us see God even more in the ordinary parts of our lives. Such is the case with Hallowmas. Hallowmas is a Christian offshoot from the Gaelic festival of Samhain, the festival of the harvest and beginning of winter. Samhain is the period of the year in which communities began a period of rest for the winter season. Our interactions with those who have departed this earthly life are an important part of our faith, and the holiday of Samhain is noted as being a period in which the veil between the afterlife and the present world was lifted. This idea carries over into the liturgies of All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day, in which we recognize that the veil between the heavenly realm and ours is no longer present, that we are supported by the communion of Saints, and can pray for and with those who have gone before us. Another better-known tradition is mumming. Mumming is the act in which people (usually children) would dress up in various costumes that depicted animals or other figures from mythology and go to houses reciting verses of prose or songs in exchange for food. This is the exact origin of trick-or-treating in which kids go around to houses in their neighborhood and hope to find the house that is giving out king-size candy bars, gummy bears, or anything but raisins or pretzels.
As pagan Gaelic practices began to fall out of tradition in the British Isles in response to Christian pressure, practices like mumming endured. Pope Boniface issued a statement that attempted to move the festivals to the late spring, but this was ineffective at reframing Samhain as a Christian holiday. It was not until later, when Pope Gregory moved the festival back to late autumn and called it “All Saints’ Day,” that the festivals began to morph into a Christian celebration. One thing remained constant throughout the changes that Samhain underwent: the theme of light coming close to being extinguished but never going out. In the darkness that surrounds death and the loss of those we love, light remains for us. The promise of comfort and peace for the departed helps to soften the very real hurt that we feel. We become the kids going trick-or-treating, filled with joy and probably a little too much sugar, going around and asking for something to bring us a little bit of comfort in times of darkness. The Christian liturgies for the feasts of All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day build on this idea of harvesting the meager light that seems to be left in our lives at points. Even when we get handed a box of raisins, God is waiting for us down the street with a king-size candy bar.
Death is terrible, but the Church reminds us that it is only the end of our earthly harvest cycle. Death is the beginning of our growth into the communion of Saints, many of whom the Church has not recognized. This is why we have been given a day to celebrate all those who have gone before us - All Saints’ Day. We are reminded through the liturgies for the dead that death returns us to the Lord for “whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s possession.”
A common struggle that Episcopalians and other Christians that follow a liturgical calendar face is the long, somewhat uneventful period of Ordinary Time that follows the emotional rollercoaster of Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Holy Week, and Easter. The period of Ordinary Time gives us a chance to hear and digest the real and demanding tasks that we are called to by Christ. Ordinary Time is our period of cultivation and growth, and Hallowmas serves as our period of harvest and preparation for the spiritual journey that awaits us in the rest of the liturgical year. The period of expectation that Advent brings tests our readiness for the coming of heaven, Christmas calls us to remember a love that valued us and our human nature, Epiphany reminds us that we are not lost in our trek to find God, and Passiontide brings the story of love full circle as we see the ending of life become a pathway to new growth. The things that we harvest within our own lives include the spiritual, monetary, and relational assets. These things come and go, but the Gospel reminds us that when dark days come, it means that new growth will have to follow.
From corn-themed bombs of corn syrup to the old clergy joke that “all the chocolate goes to the rector,” we can see God in all the small, oft-dismissed details of spooky season. The skeleton reminds us of how intricate we are and that we are worthy of taking time to rest and care for ourselves. The candy in children’s buckets shows us just what sweet gifts have been given to us. The costumes that might not make sense remind us that we do not need to become something we are not to knock on God’s door. The spooky becomes sacred, which allows us to appreciate the commercialized Halloween decor as icons in which we see God in the ordinary.
Contrary to what some might say or what waxy, uncertain-tasting candies might have us believe, Halloween is not unholy. The times we are in seem like a perpetual haunted house that we cannot get out of. Our lives of faith are terrifying at times and give us jump-scares; if we remember that these things are just another chance for us to see God in our lives, it becomes an opportunity to laugh and grow. Hallowmas takes the work we have done throughout the year and harvests it and prepares us for yet another period to rest and grow. We take the spooky and we reclaim the sacred (and yes, you can do it in your pajamas!).
