
Haunted by love
All Saints acknowledges how relationships outlast death
[Episcopal News Service] One Halloween, long before I became consciously Christian, I took a train from London to Edinburgh, Scotland. At twilight, maybe 10 miles from our destination, the train passed through fields lit by huge bonfires. It was an arresting and beautiful sight.I later learned that the tradition of building bonfires on the evening of Oct. 31 dates back to the ancient Celts, who believed that on this evening the boundaries between our world and the next weaken. They built fires to ward off dangerous spirits and welcome friendly ones.
In Edinburgh, I checked into my hotel and went out to explore. It turned out that I was just in time for a tour of "haunted Edinburgh."
We visited ancient buildings where plague victims had been walled up alive, abandoned orphanages said to be haunted by the ghosts of children and, of course, graveyards, where tour guides dressed in sheets popped out from behind headstones and tried to frighten us by making scary noises. I faced off with one of the "ghosts" and made scary noises back. The ghost giggled, and my fellow tour members laughed. The tour was odd but educational and enjoyable, a mix of grim history and good clean fun.
Many cultures believe that Oct. 31 opens a doorway between worlds. Secular American Halloween celebrations acknowledge their roots in this tradition with costumes of creatures not usually seen at other times of year, although consumption of candy is a far greater motivation than communion with the departed. And many churches observe the Feast of All Saints, when we thank and pray for the "cloud of witnesses" who have gone before us, on Nov. 1. On All Saints, we acknowledge that the church stretches through time and includes many members we can no longer see, and we remember and honor our love for them.
My Episcopal parish observes All Saints by encouraging members of the congregation to bring mementos of dead loved ones and place them on the altar. There are always many photographs and many slips of papers with the names of people to be included in our prayers. Sometimes there are special objects: a beloved vase, a time-worn letter or card, a cherished piece of jewelry.
The year after my cousin Scott died, I put a toy plastic wrench on the altar. Scott had loved working with his hands and had a formidable tool collection; at his funeral, the family handed out toy tools as reminders of him.
Some Christians condemn Halloween as demonic, welcoming no ghost but the Holy Spirit. It seems to me, though, that All Saints and its many cousins acknowledge that human relationships outlive human bodies and that, after we have lost someone, we are inevitably haunted by love. This makes the thinning of the veil a joyous occasion, not a frightening one. My father died this past March, and I've been thinking about ways I might honor him at All Saints. A university friend of mine who teaches a course on grief and mourning encourages her students to make their own altars decorated with things the deceased loved, an idea drawing much of its inspiration from the Day of the Dead, a famous Mexican festival from this time of year that is a joyous and colorful family reunion for both the living and the dead.
My husband and I have one of my father's bookcases, with some of his cherished objects on top of it; I'll probably add flowers on Nov. 1. I'll certainly bring a picture of him to church for our All Saints celebration, and I may take a day trip to a nearby lake he loved.
We'd hoped that he'd get to see it one last time, but he died first. I'll see it for him. I'll remember how much we loved each other. The day will be haunting and haunted, but not unhappy.
And when I die? On All Saints, play my favorite music, eat chocolate in my honor, tell stories about me and know how much I loved the ones I left behind.
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