My church in
Texas tried something different one Halloween.
Rather than having each parent drive the country roads around the
village of Dawn as their costumed kids pursued their trick-or-treat mission,
the church would take all the kids in its big van. We announced the plan in Sunday school. Both parents and kids seemed to like the
idea. Dads wouldn’t have to leave the
fields early and moms could make sure dinner was ready when dad came in. The kids liked the idea of being out after
dark with their friends. Since the homes
they would visit were miles apart, they would have plenty of time to scrutinize
their candy haul and maybe trade something they didn’t like for something they
did.
The Sunday
before Halloween we asked parents to sign permission forms allowing us to take
their children. Mid-afternoon Halloween
I realized we didn’t have the forms for “the Alexander” children, two girls and
a boy. I took a set over to the
Alexander place. I walked past several carved
pumpkins and knocked on the door—festooned as it was with cobwebs, black crepe
paper runners, and construction-paper bats.
Mrs. Alexander opened the door; she was dressed as a witch. I hope I stifled my surprise but I’m not sure
I managed. Spooky music played as she
signed the papers. This family was into
Halloween.
Now, let’s jump
forward about five weeks. It’s nearing Christmas. Most Thursday evenings I led a program called
Kids for Christ; we studied a Bible story, had refreshments, and did a simple
craft project. This evening we were
making Christmas tree ornaments. I
noticed the Alexander boy seemed unenthused about his ornament. I asked if something was wrong. “We don’t have a Christmas tree,” he
said. “Ah, well,” I said, “you probably
just don’t have it yet. You can use your
ornament when your parents put up the tree.”
“No,” his younger sister said, “we never have a tree.” “Our parents don’t believe in Christmas
trees,” the oldest sister said solemnly.
The next day, I
called the home to tell Mrs. Alexander I hoped they hadn’t been offended by my
having their kids make ornaments. “No,
we weren’t offended,” she said, “We’ll just hang the ornaments somewhere
else.” Prompted by curiosity, I said, “The
children didn’t explain much about why you don’t have a tree.” She said bluntly,
“The Bible says they’re wrong.” She then mentioned a verse in Isaiah she felt
settled the case.
Of course, I
knew there were no Christmas trees in the eighth century before Christ, so
Isaiah wasn’t writing about them. Back
at the office I read the verse. It turns
out the prophet was condemning the practice of hewing down trees to make
idols. I didn’t mention that to the
Alexander’s—some arguments are not worth winning—and they kept coming to the
church despite my Yuletide arboreal heresy.
It’s known
“Christmas” trees were used in sixteenth-century Latvia; but they were likely used
well before this. (The claim Martin
Luther—about whom we’ve heard so much lately—invented the Christmas tree is not
reliable.) Families were using decorated evergreen trees in their homes for
centuries before the birth of Christ to symbolize the hope of life surviving
the bleak winter. Under the leadership
of missionaries to northern European tribes, the practice was “baptized” and used
to remind people of the new life Christ brought the first Christmas. Not every Christian leader approved but
theirs was a losing battle.
But I digress.
After my
conversation with Mrs. Alexander, I thought of how I knew several Christians
who strenuously objected to Halloween with its witches, demons, and devils but
thought nothing of having a Christmas tree in their home. Now, here were Christian parents who relished
Halloween—a holiday populated by the denizens of the night—and eschewed the Christmas
tree because they thought it pagan. Christians
can be peculiar and I don’t mean in the First Peter 2:9 (KJV) sense.
When I was a
kid, Halloween was a holiday for dressing up and getting lots of candy. I remember having a skeleton costume I used for
several years but I don’t remember dressing as anything else, though I’m sure I
did. As I recall, costumes based on TV
characters seemed limited to Zorro or Superman—no one dressed like Matt Dillon,
Perry Mason or Annie Oakley (she was an Ohioan, you know). Product licensing was around but seemed
limited to lunch boxes and a few toys.
Only later did Hollywood realize there might be money in My Little Pony
shampoo or Walking Dead moisturizer. I
had given up trick-or-treating by 1962 when The
Beverly Hillbillies began its climb to the top of the Nielsen ratings;
still, I doubt anyone ever dressed up as Jethro Bowdin or certainly not Elly
May Clampett (it was cold and, more important, no father would have allowed
it). Someday historians will be able to create a year-to-year gauge of what was
popular in our culture by examining the Halloween costumes sold. I’m sure we will see Wonder Woman, Star Lord,
Groot, and even Pennywise at our door this Tuesday.
But I digress.
I attended
Sunday school regularly, even won a couple lapel pins for my faithfulness. On average, I sat with my parents in some
church for at least fifty Sundays every year (we often attended church on
vacation). Not once do I recall a lesson or a sermon on the evils of
Halloween. The Sunday school even
sponsored Halloween parties—complete with costume contests and bobbing for
apples. I never won since a skeleton at Halloween is hardly creative and never
joined in the bobbing since I hate water in my nose. Still, it was fun. And it was a “Halloween Party,” not a “Fall
Festival,” not a “Harvest Jamboree,” not a “Hallow-Him Party,” not even an “Eve-of-All-Saints
Day” party.
I was a young
adult before I knew some churches and Christian leaders condemned Halloween as
a day to honor Satan. I don’t deny there
are devil-worshippers in our culture but very few others would imagine they
were honoring Satan on Halloween; no more than they would imagine they were
honoring the Sun god on “Sunday.” But we Christians are a quirky lot so
we have folks who get nervous about the holiday.
But our
quirkiness doesn’t stop there.
If you’re
married, look at your left hand. Chances
are you’re wearing a wedding ring. We
see them all around us. But if the
English Puritans had had their way, you might not be wearing a ring. They believed wedding rings were a vestige of
popery and the hated “Romanism.” In
fact, when the Scottish king James VI was on his way to London to receive the
English crown as King James I, he was confronted by a band of petition-carrying
Puritans who demanded, among other things, the removal of the ring ceremony
from the Book of Common Prayer. James, who hated to be bullied by religious
types, refused. To placate the Puritans,
he eventually promised them a new translation of the Bible and we all know how
that turned out.
But many
Puritans were so disappointed at the king’s refusal to make the changes they
demanded, they took off to the new world to create “a city on a hill,” a model
Christian community which would be the envy of everyone back home. In “new” England the Sabbath would be
honored, clergy would dress in simple attire; and, I suppose, there would be no
wedding rings. They imagined being invited back to do the same thing for “old”
England. And we all know how that turned out.
Now, this
raises a question: Are you embarrassed
or ashamed of what happened after those Puritans and other Europeans invaded
North America? Who isn’t? You might want to stop wearing that wedding
ring—a trigger for the invasion. Take it
off. Put it in a drawer. Never be seen wearing it again. And good luck
explaining your noble rational to your spouse.
But I digress.
The problem
isn’t our quirkiness; it’s how our idiosyncrasies
blind us to what is really important.
If you don’t want to celebrate Halloween, that’s fine. Just be sure you don’t end up honoring Satan
by your judgmental attitude toward Christians with Jack-o’-lanterns on their
porches. When we major on minors that
can happen.
I had an aunt
who loudly let it be known she wouldn’t have a Monopoly game in her
house. Her reason? The game contains a pair of dice. I
can only assume she feared, if she allowed a Monopoly game in the house, one
evening my cousins would be seized by an overwhelming urge to fall down on all
fours and start a game of craps.
Seriously, her church condemned all forms of gambling and she didn’t
want the gambler’s tools in her home.
I suppose she
was taking a stand for her faith but I’m not sure how effective my aunt’s
efforts were in raising pious children. My cousin and a female
friend once beat up a preacher for saying something they didn’t
like. Years later, my cousin remained unrepentant, even proud of
that act of violence. My cousin was one tough woman. We’re left to wonder if my aunt might have
done more to advance the faith by teaching her daughter self-control and
forgiveness.
No Bible verse
asked my aunt to give up playing any game—no matter how boring it might
be. A few decades into the second century some Christians began
insisting new believers be baptized in cold water. Baptisms on a
sunny Mediterranean beach could never be spiritual. Had he known,
Paul would have just shaken his head…and maybe reached for his pen.
