Halloween/All Saints

Halloween just ain't what it used to be. On this annual fright night, we had the usual visitation by sugar deficient fairy princesses, pirates, and Draculas, but by 8:00 everything was quiet as a tomb, to use a good Halloween metaphor. No soaped windows, no water balloons at passing cars, not even my personal favorite, the old "dog-poop-in-a-burning-paper-bag" trick. How in the world are today's children going to learn to be destructive and manipulative and scary if they wimp out for a couple of Mars bars and popcorn balls? Where are they going to learn about "ghoulies and ghosties and things that go 'bump' in the night"? Oh, well; "Each generation gets weaker and wiser", as the Good Book says.*



Actually, I don't play the curmudgeon role very well. I'm delighted that our children are learning to have a good time without invading the lives of other people any more than a knock on the door. I'm delighted to see parents out walking with the little beggars, not just as guards but participants. I'm even delighted with the secularization of Halloween with the month-long display of yard decorations, drug store costumes, and even alternative parties.



My delight stems from the hope that all this will, in some measure, keep us tied to the deeper truth of Halloween/All Hallows Eve and it's connection with All Saints Day. Just about every culture has an All Hallow's event in some shape or fashion, an opportunity to respect with grace and gratitude those whose lives have enriched our own. There's really no harm in the children playfully focusing on ghosts and goblins and graveyards, for in our death-denying world it's a window into the next, but my point is that there is more to All Hallows Eve than that.

Those of you who know me will not be surprised to learn that I keep a record, a book, of every baptism, wedding and funeral I've performed over the past 47 years. Last night, as I sat waiting for our Trick or Treat crowd, I took that book down and spent some time remembering those whom I've buried. There were hundreds of names: names of old friends and family members whom I remember very well, many only names I simply can't remember, one or two or three names of folks I honestly didn't particularly care for when they were living, but most all of them dear friends whose faces and lives immediately came to my mind. I don't mean this to sound morbid or gruesome, and I hope it doesn't seem that way, but it was such a good experience for me, one of the more rewarding pleasures of having been around a while.

A special memory was of my first burial service, for an 86 year old Presbyterian lady, though I have no idea of why I, a brand spanking new Episcopal cleric, had that privilege. At any rate, we had the service in Markwood's Funeral Home in Keyser, WV, then proceeded to the grave site on the side of a fairly steep hill. It had been raining for days, so the funeral home had a hard time getting the casket up the slippery and muddy trail. When all was settled and the mourners gathered, I stepped up for my role but realized I was almost too close, slipped in the mud as I tried to step back, and came within inches of joining that Presbyterian lady in the grave.

There are lots of funny stories about church services, especially funerals and wedding, that have accumulated over the years, but we'll have to wait for my memoirs (to be published posthumously!) to get those details. For now, let's return to this week's All Saints Day event, for when we gather this evening in St. James we'll remember, by name, all those in our "parish family" who have died this year, as well as others specifically requested, and as their names are read the tower bell will be tolled.

For some, this may seem like an especially gruesome exercise, but for others of us it's a potent expression of our need to remember. As I was writing this, I noticed that the current issue of the National Geographic magazine's cover story is on memory: why we remember, why we forget. I suspect it will be a pretty thorough review of the current state of neurological knowledge, and I'm looking forward to reading it.



I'm also sure that the more important story of memory and Halloween and All Saints Day is the one told by theologians and poets, the one we'll sing about in church tonight, and the one heard best by Spiderman and Raggedy Ann, both of whom came to our house last night.

* Actually, the Bible says no such thing, even though it does sound rather, well, biblical. It was probably made up by a grandmother somewhere who was trying to offer encouraging comfort to frustrated parents. When people would ask me where that phrase is in the Bible, I always told them it was in the Book of Heziakiah, chapter 2, verse 4. As Yogi said, "You can look it up."