reflections on a Christian life

One of the holidays that seems to be surviving, even thriving during the current sacred versus secular tug of war is Halloween.  While we are deleting references to Christmas from the public calendars (Frosty the Snowman has replaced Santa as the acceptable winter icon for decorating school windows), Halloween is alive and well in the public plaza.   This week the inflatable pumpkins, ghosts and Frankenstein monsters are rising to life on neighborhood lawns.  Meanwhile, we evangelicals, being skeptical of the lineage of All Hallows Eve, have decided to explore our agrarian roots through the promotion of the sanitized alternative of Harvest parties.

If Christmas decorations occupied an entire corner of our attic, Halloween was a distant second in the volume allotted (Easter was relegated to a couple book boxes of multicolored baskets filled with green shredded paper).  The Halloween paraphernalia was stored in a large trunk in the walk-in cedar closet.  During the summer we would sneak up the narrow stairs to check out the stash that was baking up there under the shingles.  We would do an inventory of the swords, horned Viking helmets, cowboy hats, bed sheets with eyeholes cut out, and assorted plastic masks with their disintegrating rubber band straps.

Our family had a lot of fun with Halloween.  We kids would hit the neighborhood streets from after school until dinner time, running from house to house in sweaty masks which would cut your tongue if you stuck it in the slit for your mouth- and surviving street crossings in spite of our impaired visibility.  We probably took in a lower haul than most since our parents insisted that we use the walkway for each house rather than cutting across the lawns and flowerbeds (a rule we dutifully obeyed even when out on our own).

In the evening, we usually had a family party, which even included my grandparents decked out in costumes and masks.  We’d do some bobbing for apples or our dad would trick us into trying to claim a quarter in the middle of a pile of flour by touching it with our nose (guess what would happen when you got close).  Then we would drive around town calling on church friends, shooing away any evening trick-or-treaters, and barging into their living room before they could figure out who we were.  The evening climax was listening to grandma tell the story about the farmer who was haunted by his severed big toe which he had cooked up in his pea soup in the desire to include a little meat flavor.

We also loved a good spook house.  One summer our mom helped us set up a walk-through spook house in our basement, complete with creepy stuff for all the senses.  We had the kids enter via the steps from the access door, crawl blindfolded under a card table draped with a wet sheet (bats on the walls) and into the maze of our unfinished basement with the converted coal furnace that looked more sinister than the one in Kevin Buckman’s house.  They would walk past the skunk hole (limburger cheese), stick their hand in a bowl of cats eyes (peeled grapes) or brains (cooked macaroni), and then be transported past Niagara Falls (water running in the utility sink).  Every now and then they could take the blindfold off to gaze at the mummy, or the fiery furnace (we’d open the coal door for that).  The first time we set up the spook house, we couldn’t even get the friends we had hired as guides to go through it until we agreed to drop the blindfolds.

Maybe the church became more suspicious or just more protective, maybe the culture was becoming more dangerous and had less perspective concerning the reality of the spiritual battle- but by the time my kids were ready for Halloween festivities, it became apparent that it was best to keep a low profile regarding such revelry.   It was decided that the nursery school at our church would hold a Harvest party.  The children were encouraged to dress as pilgrims, scarecrows, or superheroes (don’t know how they fit in).  My son chose to go as a witch one year and a skeleton the next.  I don’t think any of the other kids picked up on it.

After a realizing that the harvest theme was a dud with the teens, the para church groups figured out that they could increase their appeal by running their own spook houses and herd the group into a room at the end for an evangelistic message (scaring the heck out of them?).  I guess the end justifies the means.

How should we handle this increasingly lavish yet polarizing holiday?  I can’t tell you what is right or best for you and your church or family- it depends on your experiences, environment, foibles and sensitivities.  But if you are going to give out tracts, give a treat as well- and if you gave out nickels thirty years ago, you should switch to quarters.

We’re not into the inflatables and head stones on our lawn, but one of my youngest’s favorite movies is “The Nightmare before Christmas”.