Source: Jonathan's Corner
I remember, from when I was a little boy, that I asked
my parents some question about Halloween, and I was told that I would be
welcome to dress up, but not as something occult or macabre, like a witch or a
zombie. My Mom helped me put together several homemade costumes, and my parents
accompanied me for years of trick-or-treating. I was, in essence, invited to
celebrate Halloween as a secular holiday (in time, it became my second favorite
holiday), but not to celebrate ghoulishness.
Some readers may see this as needless
legalism about something harmless. A few Christians who have concerns about
Halloween might wonder if I was being invited to participate in something
un-Christian. But back in the eighties, where it was considered superstition to
believe that witches really existed, my parents took seriously something that
more people take seriously today: not everything about Halloween is trivial or
In retrospect, I am quite grateful for
this decision, and I respect it, much as I appreciate their decision to limit
my time watching television, while encouraging me to play outside, read books,
and tinker with mechanical things. (I do not own a television now, and I am
glad not to have one.)
Not, in particular, that I feel any guilt
about dressing up as my favorite TV character (MacGyver), or creating homemade
costumes, one of which won an award. But there seemed to be, if not absolute
innocence, at least a grey area. There are many things I disagreed (and
disagree) with my parents about, but I really saw no need to reconsider what my
parents taught me here. Even if I was trying to smoke Halloween without
inhaling anything macabre, there seemed to be a reasonable case for this
attempt to "smoke, but not inhale." I believed that I was succeeding
in taking Halloween à la carte and dressing up without participating
in anything either my parents or I would have objected to.
But something has changed. Even though it
has again become fashionable for adults (as well as children) to dress up as
Halloween, I am finding that I have concerns about what exactly it is that is
fashionable. It seemed to be the sort of thing you could least give the benefit
of the doubt, but that seems a harder benefit to give now. There are other
things going on in this occult awakening; I would like to look at herbs.
Perhaps people have thought of herbs simply as a seasoning for cooks to use.
This is no longer true. It is no longer enough to say that people also see
herbs as a natural alternative to chemically manufactured medicines, even if
that is no doubt true. Herbs are part of a picture that is changing with a
magical awakening. Seeing ads for herbs for witches' use and growing witches' gardens
is the tip of an iceberg. Herbs are microcosm of a picture that is changing.
Before I go on, let me be very clear about
something, as I am going to be talking a fair bit about herbs.
There is an old Orthodox saying that talks
about spending Church money: "If you have two small coins, you use one to
buy bread for the offering, and you use the other to buy flowers for the
altar." The point isn't really about herbs, but it is entirely appropriate
that herbs come to mind even when making a point that isn't really about herbs.
A great many of the holiest things in Orthodoxy come from herbs: flowers to
adorn the icons regularly, adorning the whole Church along with other herbs for
the greatest festivities; herbal aromatic resins making incense; olive oil, mingled
possibly with herbs, for every sacred anointing, wood as the most fitting
material for icons, and bread and wine for the greatest and holiest rite there
is. There is one rite labelled as the rite for the blessing of herbs, but herbs
are blessed on a number of other occasions as well. Nature, including herbs,
keeps coming up in the liturgy.
But you really cannot understand what this
means until you come to the tale of herbs, if you remember that trees are
herbs. I am thinking about two trees in particular.
One of these two trees was set in the
center of a garden of unequalled splendor, and our first mother looked at its
fruit with greedy spiritual lust, saw what the fruit could do, and then ate
from it. She experienced a thrill of almost indescribable ecstasy, which
quickly vanished into horror, despair, and misery. She had been created
immortal, believed the words, "You shall be like gods," found that
what was created godlike about her was slipping through her fingers, and felt
the seed of death already working in her heart.
That is how our first mother fell. Her
husband did no better, and Orthodox writers blame now one, now the other, but I
am interested in something besides assigning blame.
That is not the last tree to bear fruit,
nor is it the end of the story. The wound that came by the first tree had its
answer and healing from the second tree. First there was a new Eve, who
triumphed where the first had failed. Then the new Adam, fully God, fully man,
whose life was a journey to not a living tree in paradise but a dead tree in a
desolate place: for the Cross has been considered a tree from ancient times.
But this last tree is ultimately transfigured to be the Tree of Life. We were
forbidden to eat from the first tree. But the Tree of Life has its own fruit,
and we are commanded to eat from its fruit.
Every herb that is part of the Church's
blessings is an outpouring of that last herb, the Cross. We can and should feed
on herbs. But it matters a great deal which herb we are feeding on. And Halloween
has the taste of the fruit of the first tree.
I am concerned about the history of Halloween, up
to a point. It is said that various pagan customs in a fight
against Christianity, are at the root of almost every Halloween custom we have
today—Christianity was shaped by martyrs who chose to be killed rather than
offer just a pinch of incense in pagan sacrifice, and some have said that
people would intimidate Christians by threatening offensive acts of vandalism
unless they gave them food to use in pagan sacrifice, and that when we say
"Trick or treat," we are carrying on a custom that began with a
rather vile form of extortion.
This explanation may or may not be true,
and my first thought—perhaps not the most Orthodox thought—was, "The
origin of something is not its present meaning." A standard illustration
is that shaking hands is a custom from the far past that was originally to
prevent another person from drawing a weapon—a bit like reaching for a can of
pepper spray. As such, it is a poor candidate for a friendly greeting. But it
really seems hard to believe that learning something like this is a reason to
try to avoid shaking hands. And the fact that a particular practice has an
origins Christians today might find vile is not decisive by itself. Even what
those origins were is hard to tell, as the historical data are incomplete and
But there is another concern. Let's set
aside murky questions about where Halloween comes from. There is the question
of what Halloween is now, which is far less
murky on several counts. Whatever the good, bad, known, or unknown roots of
Halloween may be, in its present form it is associated with magic or
ghoulishness—you're not barred from dressing up as something that is neither
associated with the occult or ghoulishness, but you're stretching things a
little. That much was true in my childhood. What was not true in my childhood
is that Halloween is quickly becoming a second national holiday. When I was
growing up, you could buy or rent costumes, but now there seem to be large,
heavily-funded Halloween stores. There were yard decorations—not just
pumpkins—during my childhood, and I remember putting up a package of imitation
spider web. Today there are, as before Christmas, large and elaborate yard
displays that are much more impressive than a snowman. But gone are the days
when my parents seemed quaint for saying that magic is real and to be avoided,
or just for taking magic seriously. Even a skeptic would need to be trying to
be obtuse to deny that a lot of people are trying to be magicians of some sort.
I am grateful to my parents for giving Halloween the
benefit of the doubt. There was really something special to me. But I am coming
to a point of saying that appearances do not always deceive, and that a
festival celebrating the spooky, a festival to dress up as zombies and witches
and decorate with the macabre, and so on may in fact be a spiritual force, an
appetizer, if you will, for the herb that gave our race the seed of death.
If one is trying to make an Orthodox
response to Halloween, there is one obvious response of keeping out of the
holiday and praying. Another Orthodox response to Halloween has been to have a
parish party for all the children, inviting them to dress up as their patron
saints. This decision may sound like a shallow change, but it shows wisdom and
theological beauty. Trying to be like your patron saint is not just a day's
make-believe, but a lifelong imitation and challenge. Your patron saint is to
look out for you, praying before God. This adaptation is well-chosen, and is in
the spirit of the original intent: "Halloween" abbreviates
"Hallowe'en", "All Hallows Eve", the evening of all
hallowed people, holy people, an evening that was in fact the beginning of All
Saints' Day. And perhaps there are others.
But perhaps the best response Orthodoxy is
not obvious if you are trying to think of something to do.
The spiritual world, in Orthodoxy, is
never really far; we can be insensitive to it but never escape it. Orthodoxy
provides not a single holiday each year but unfolding seasons and cycles of
spiritual discipline and life as they encounter all kinds of spiritual
realities. (Many people look for the spirit world to be closer at Halloween.)
Death is important in Orthodoxy. Orthodoxy is a mystery of life in death, and
to fail to be mindful of death is a profound spiritual failure. Even if
Halloween eclipses Christmas, the Orthodox concern is not that people are too
interested in death, but that people are not engaging death enough, and the
ways we are engaging death are not nearly deep enough. Nor is the line in the
living and the dead within the Church any terribly great chasm. But although
these things are present in the Orthodox Church—woven into its fabric—they all
rest in the protecting shade of the Tree of Life, and it is a protection that
they all need. The concern is not at all that people are getting interested in
spiritual phenomena, but that they are pursuing that interest in the wrong way,
tasting from the herb that is poison when they could be eating their fill from
the herb that is life and medicine and healing. It is a "treasure
hunting" that consists of digging around to find a few copper coins hidden
in a dark place... when there are piles of gold out in the open.
If Jack'o'lanterns have the origin I have
heard, then they are not a pagan custom, at least not in the sense that Druids
used them in worship. The candle is of Christian origin, and more specifically,
made to be a frightening mockery of the candles in Christian worship. In
Orthodoxy today, beeswax candles still illuminate icons, which have a spiritual
radiance shining through. (Heaven shines out through them.) They can take time
to connect with, but people can look at them and continue to see something for
years. I would have trouble finding new layers in a Jack'o'lantern over years,
and not only because they would go bad. It's not as deep a kind of thing. The
difference between the two is like the difference between one of Bach's fugues,
and Bart Simpson butchering an advertising jingle.
I do plan on dressing up for Halloween one last time.
Call it, if nothing else, a farewell, in addition to some more mundane reasons.
It has been a cherished holiday for years. But only in the shallowest sense am
I saying farewell to what I most valued about Halloween.
At Vespers, we chant, "The Lord is
King; he has put on majesty." This "put on" is a translation of
a Greek word, enduno (ενδυνο), a word of being equipped. The Epistle to the
Ephesians tells us to "put on" full Heavenly armor that includes the
breastplate of righteousness and the helmet of salvation. In Isaiah, it is God
who puts on the breastplate of righteousness and the helmet of salvation for
spiritual war. Not to put too fine a point it, but we have a command to put on
God's own armor, and that is not all. At baptism, one of the most memorable
parts is the verse chanted from Scripture, "As many as have been baptized
in Christ, have put on Christ."
At an ordination, the ordinand is clothed
in liturgical vestments that remain almost unchanged since Byzantine times when
they were court regalia. But this is not a costume that people pretend for a
day. The person is made into something new, and when the ordinand puts on the
garments, he puts on a new blessing and sacred service. But it is a fundamental
mistake to think that royal priesthood is only for those who are ordained and
"wear vestments": the bishop is called to put on the regalia of the
Byzantine Emperor, but the whole Church is called to put on Christ. This is no
mere costume but a transformation of the highest order.
Perhaps we need to give up our Halloween
costumes, to make room to put on something far greater: Christ himself. But
that is not simply something to do about Halloween: it is the work of a
lifetime and it includes the entirety of Christian practice. (Even if it might
be a good idea to simply pray over Halloween.)
With thanks to friends and family with
whom I have discussed this.