Hallowed Ground

Cookie Monster

Dear Friend,

I’m tucked in my living room at the moment, sitting on the settee with a cup of tea on the table beside me.  The rain is falling though we had a small break in the clouds two hours ago.  I was hoping the day would manage more blue sky before it started to get dark.  Not happening.  

Not that the rain bothers me much.  You can’t live on the pacific coast for 40 odd years and still have issues with rain, but tomorrow is Halloween: the combination of rain and candy harvesting can be difficult.  Am I allowed to confess to trick or treating, or is that too pagan for you?  Having been in the church most of my life, I’ve worn many hats in the church’s approach to Halloween.  From ignoring the holiday to harvest parties, candy drives to bouncy houses, volunteer burnout to neighborhood prayer walks, I’ve been there.  (Except the whole judgement/ hell house thing.  Never done that - not sorry.)  I most prefer the approach that gets me chocolate, but I’m shallow that way. Possibly apostate…

I was blessed to grow up in a small town, the population in the 1970’s was between 7 000 – 10 000 souls.  We didn’t have a lot of options for Halloween back then, things were basic.  Spending money on costumes was unheard of, normal children raided their parent’s closets and imagination filled in any missing details. 

My parents were from the old country, immigrating to Canada in the late 60’s, they never really left the 2nd world war behind.  If your parents were European, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  Your school lunches didn’t look like your friends', you had sensible shoes and it wasn’t a euphemism, and your family didn’t have a set of dishes.  As such, my mother grew up celebrating Guy Fawkes Day not Halloween.  She recounts tales going door to door to ask for “a penny for the guy”  to construct an effigy of the man, that would later be hurled onto a community bonfire as fireworks were set off. Granted, the practice seems perplexing, there is a deadly and complicated history to it but I assure you the memories are recounted fondly. 

I can say that costuming was not her strong suit, yet she managed to come up with costumes for 1-6 children over 33 years.  She wasn’t an amateur by any means.  Perhaps it is fair to say she started slowly.   The older children in my family remember the year my oldest sister couldn’t think of a costume.  My mother, suggested she dress as Madame Defarge from Tale of Two Cities.  In an uncharacteristically dark reenactment, my parents rigged my sister up with a head on a spike:  a Javex bottle wearing my mother’s wig mounted on the broom handle.  This was to give the less literate town members clear clues as to my sister’s identity.  We lived in a time when neighbors spoke directly to each child that came to their door and children were expected to answer.  My sister’s explanation of her costume started out strong, but as the evening progressed, she became discouraged by the interesting responses her outfit was garnering from the adults.  As if an 11 year old dressed as the physical embodiment of the blood lust of the French Revolution was something out of the ordinary. 

Our route Halloween night was simple, along our back street to visit the couple who gave you two dice to roll when you came to the door.  The number on the dice equaled the number of candies you could take from the candy bowl.  From there to the Bool's house, then up main street for a chat with Mr. and Mrs. Long.  Continue up the road and hang a left into the rec centre parking lot.  There, the firemen provided a free hot dog and a can of Crush to all who came to the serving window.  We would receive our hot dog joyfully and proceed to the bonfire,  tended by community minded men who kept our world safe.  Children wearing garbage bags were cautioned to stay away from sparks, while those wearing sheets were liberated by Dad’s who ripped the eye-holes so heads could be free from restrictive flammable fabric.  I clearly remember the heat from the fire, the thrill of being up late and the extravagance of an entire can of pop to myself.  It was childhood magic.

I wish I could go back and thank those volunteers.  Appreciation is a slow growing crop, I regret not being able to thank them face to face as an adult. A belated thank you, to the men and women who served in my town during those years.  You gave me the opportunity to experience childhood joy. You built into my heart a sense of community that haunts my urban world to this day. 

So my friend, I’m praying for you as you encounter Halloween this week.   That you glorify God and build your neighborhood, eat sugar and smile at strangers and thank the Lord for the grace that saved you and set you free from fear.

xoxKaren