After a very brief discussion in our morning staff devotion concerning the origins of Halloween, I set out intently to scribble a quick rebuttal to the argument that Christians ought not participate in Halloween activities. Admittedly, my intentions were, at first, ill-motivated. I was frustrated by how easily Christians have been sold on the idea that Halloween is a pagan holiday. For me, it’s a knee-jerk thing—a perpetual reminder of Christendom’s distance from its own history. Even worse, it’s a seasonal recollection of how particular mainstream “Christian” perspectives have seemingly claimed the last word on the topic.

But after a moment of reflection, I thought, “How could Christians not think this way? Look at what Halloween has become.” Indeed, it is not what it once was. And as a pastor, it’s on me to help the Christians in my care to navigate the holiday.

That said, I humbly give space to friends—people I care about deeply—who insist Halloween ought not be celebrated and so they avoid it altogether. These are people I respect. And I would never want them to feel as though I was insulting their piety, especially when I’m certain it’s genuine. Genuine piety flows from faith. It marks and avoids in one’s life according to personal Christian discernment and conviction. So, how does that translate to Halloween? Well, if one chooses to abstain from Halloween festivities, let it be out of devotion, not dread. And if another chooses to participate, let it be from the same source of knowledge and confident discernment.

So, it’s from that particular vantage that I think it’s at least worth pausing to make an honest historical distinction, along with a few observations.

First of all, I’m no expert. But I’m also no historical slouch. I assure you that Halloween, or All Hallows’ Eve, is not a pagan festival that was “Christianized” by the Church. It is a distinctly Christian observance that was later paganized by culture. Its roots lie not in Samhain or Druidic rituals, but in the Church’s longstanding rhythm of commemorating the faithfully departed—those who rest in Christ and await the resurrection of all flesh. Even in English, the name itself says as much. Hallow means “holy.” And then, of course, “een” is a smooshed version of “evening.” With that, Halloween is All Hallows’ Eve, a date marking the night before All Saints’ Day.

As I mentioned before, I think most of the confusion among Christians comes when modernity gets too far away from genuine history. In the early centuries of the faith, Christians took great care to remember martyrs and saints, setting aside days to honor their witness. Those days are still celebrated. (For the record, I’ve crafted an overture for our forthcoming LCMS Convention, hoping we could add Charlie Kirk to the Synod’s calendar.) In the meantime, at one point very early on—like, in the second century if I’m not mistaken—these types of remembrances coalesced into a single day. November 1st became a day when the Church celebrated (all on the same day) all who’d gone before us in faith. As with any holy day, the evening prior was marked with vigil activity. This idea is similar to one of your favorites—Christmas Eve. Such celebrations were not superstitious, but sanctified.

Of course, centuries later, as is almost always the case, secularism loosened the Church’s grip on the calendar, and the evening before All Saints’ Day began to slip from its meaning. Even worse, history’s revisionists felt almost obligated to swap out a few details here and there, replacing them with pagan ones, lest the Christian calendar be allowed to dominate everything. When they did this, as they so often do, they kept the day but emptied it of its substance. Right around the end of the 19th century, this kicked into high gear, especially in a consumer-driven America.

Still, that doesn’t change the fact that, as far back as the Reformation (and maybe even earlier), particularly in places like Scotland and Ireland, the custom of “guising” was a well-established practice on All Hallows’ Eve. Essentially, children would dress in costumes. They’d wear homemade masks or paint their faces. They’d go door to door reciting Bible verses and singing songs. From what I know, the idea of trick-or-treating is a twist on that practice. It began as children performing small acts of kindness in exchange for food or coins, which, as I recall, were later given to the poor. As far as I know, it’s only when Americans took hold of Halloween that door-to-door activities became more associated with mischief. In other words, give me a treat or I’ll give you a trick.

In the end, while everyone has their opinions on Halloween, it sure seems to me that the point of its celebration and eventual activities from very early on was partly festive and partly symbolic. It was a playful remembrance of those who died in the faith. It even encouraged children to imitate them through guising and good deeds, inviting the whole community into the observance by going door to door.

Probably like you, I’ve heard others say that Halloween guising was meant to ward off evil spirits. But I’ve never actually read that anywhere—at least not from any sources I trust. But the sources I do trust insist that the costuming aspect of Halloween was definitely meant to teach, not terrify. Maybe that’s the real issue for most. What had been a night of remembrance became, in many ways, a night of make-believe that eventually turned south.

But remember, that’s on the world, not on the Christians.

Besides, this is nothing new. The same twistings have occurred with Christmas. Many of the trappings surrounding December 25th were eventually layered with cultural practices. And for as outlandish as elves and flying reindeer might be, Christians never abandoned the celebration. If anything, we started having just as much fun with it as anyone else. Why? Because we’re not joyless people who don’t know how to have fun. But also, because we know better. The day itself was never about any of that nonsense. Christian piety, born from genuine discernment, can separate letters to Santa from faith in the Savior. We know Christmas was, and remains, a commemoration of the incarnation of Christ, the Light entering the darkness. In the same way, Halloween’s Christian roots and message of victory over death don’t have to be surrendered simply because the world has tried to paint them in a different shade.

With that, I’m one to say that Christians must never give ground on what’s theirs by right. It’s why we have every right to speak about topics such as human sexuality and life—topics that plenty among us insist are political and not Christological. I disagree. We own those topics, and plenty more. When it comes to Halloween, I’ll stand by the conviction that the core of the observance remains Christian, and at a bare minimum, to hand it over in wholesale form as “pagan” is to completely misunderstand not only the day’s name, but the story it tells—a story that begins, not with Druids, but with disciples.

I suppose I’ll leave it at that.

Well, maybe not. One more thing.

I just searched and discovered an article I plan to add to my Halloween folder, if only because I appreciate its tactic. I get the sense that the author, like me, tries to observe everything through the lens of the Gospel.

Anyway, it’s an article from 1996 by James B. Jordan entitled “Concerning Halloween.” Essentially, Jordan turns the tables on the culture. He insists Halloween is not a night to fear, but, like everything else in this world, should be viewed through the lens of Christ’s triumph. Essentially, he argues that wearing costumes and laughing at the grotesque is not an imitation of evil, not even historically. Instead, it was done deliberately to mock evil. He compares it to the gargoyles carved onto medieval churches. Are they glorifying devilish monsters? Not at all. They were caricatures designed to jeer at the devil’s defeat. Jordan believes history shows that Halloween was an in-your-face opportunity for Christians to mock the impotence of hell. When Christians dressed like scary monsters, they were participating in an already centuries-old taunt against the grave, reminding the world that death and the devil have lost their sting.

I can get on board with that. The devil is a punk, and I have no problem mocking him.

Thinking back to what I wrote before, maybe what Jordan examined is the actual source of the “warding off of evil spirits” many of us have heard before. I’ll have to look into it further. Either way, while I can’t say I align with every detail of Jordan’s article, I do appreciate how he reclaims the evening as an echo of Easter’s laughter in the face of a defeated foe. That’s good stuff.

And who’s to say that, since Halloween isn’t going anywhere, this isn’t what we should be teaching our children about it?

I suppose a crucial point here is that Christians need not fear Halloween. But we’re also not to let ourselves be naively baptized into its cultural excesses. Like anything in this world, community or cultural celebrations offer both opportunity and caution. Still, Christians ought not be pietists. A particular cultural woe of any day is not necessarily the be-all and end-all reason to forbid something that sits in the realm of Christian freedom, especially when in reality, it was ours to begin with—and even more so when we know the light of Christ will forever pierce every shadowed night. In Jesus, for the discerning Christian, the costumes and candles, the knocking at doors, the sweets and the laughter, these all echo faintly of something born of a much better history than what most of us have been told.

So, I guess what I’m saying is, by all means, carve a pumpkin, greet the costumed neighbors, give out some candy—but do it as one who knows what the world has forgotten. Like so many other things this world tries to bend into misshapen ungodliness, All Hallows’ Eve belongs to us. It’s ours. And we can observe it accordingly without feeling as though we’ve wandered into forbidden spaces.

That’s my two cents on the topic. Take it or leave it. It’s certainly not anything I intend to impose on anyone else.