“Whom shall I send?” Considering the call of Isaiah (Narrative Lectionary for Pentecost 26C; Isaiah 6)

The second prophet whose words are included in the Narrative Lectionary for this year is Isaiah. (Last week we heard the story of Jonah.) Isaiah is foundational both for the developing Israelite identity, in the dying years of the northern kingdom,  and also for the later formation of Christian identity, in the early decades of the movement that Jesus initiated. 

The Narrative Lectionary proposes that this Sunday we read the story of Isaiah’s call whilst he was in the temple (Isa 6:1–8), and it pairs that story with the call of Simon Peter beside the Sea of Galilee, as Luke reports it (Luke 5:8–10). I think this pairing is made because when Isaiah heard the seraphim singing in the temple, he cried out “woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips”, and when Simon Peter was struck by the power of Jesus by then Sea of Galilee, saying “get away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!”. Both men responded in fear.

The book of Isaiah is generally considered to have three main parts; most scholars believe that these three sections originate from three different periods during the history of Israel. The first section (chs. 1–39) is located in Judah in the eighth century BCE, as the final decades of the northern kingdom of Israel play out. Two decades after conquering the north, the Assyrians attempted to gain control of the southern kingdom, but that effort failed. These events provide the context for the activity of Isaiah and the oracles include in chapters 1–39.

The second section of Isaiah (chs. 40–55) dates from the time of exile for the southern kingdom, after the people of Judah had been conquered by the Babylonians in 587 BCE; it offers words of hope as the people look to a return to the land. Then, the third section (chs. 56–66) is dated to a time when the exiles had returned to Judah, sometime after 520 BCE. By convention, the three parts are known as First Isaiah, Second Isaiah, and Third Isaiah.

The opening verse of the book of Isaiah says that Isaiah son of Amoz saw a vision concerning Judah and Jerusalem “in the days of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah, kings of Judah” (Isa 1:1). That places his prophetic activity over a period of some decades in the latter part of the 8th century BCE. Amos and Hosea had been active a little before Isaiah, but they were in the northern kingdom. Isaiah was a contemporary of Micah in the southern kingdom; both prophets would have known about the attacks on towns in Judah by the Assyrian king Sennacherib in 701 (see 2 Kings 18–19; Micah 1:10–16; Isa 7:17; 8:1–4, 5–8).

A Byzantine representation of the vision of Isaiah,
including the six-winged seraphim

As Isaiah was based in the southern kingdom, the account of his call (6:1–13) takes place in the temple in Jerusalem, where Isaiah “saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple” (6:1). This location, as well as a number of subsequent passages, suggest that Isaiah served as a “court prophet” to various southern kings; in particular, we see Isaiah providing prophetic advice to Ahaz (7:1–17) and Hezekiah (37:1–38; 39:1–8; 39:3–8). 

The call narrative is dated quite specifically (“in the year that King Uzziah died”, 6:1), suggesting that Isaiah began his activity right at the end of Uzziah’s reign, around 740 BCE in our modern dating. The prophet, initially reluctant (6:5), eventually accepts the call (“here I am; send me!”, 6:8). This is where the Narrative Lectionary portion ends; but that is a cruel cut, because it actually removes from the worship selection the actual content of that call. It is as if the lectionary wants us to focus on the fact of a call, and not worry about the content of that call. In my mind, that’s not a helpful interpretive strategy.

The narrative of Isaiah tells us that the soon-to-be prophet hears a most difficult charge given to him: “Go and say to this people: ‘Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand.’ Make the mind of this people dull, and stop their ears, and shut their eyes, so that they may not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and comprehend with their minds, and turn and be healed” (6:9–10). It’s a charge that we hear at a couple of key places in the New Testament: when Jesus is teaching beside the Sea of Galilee at the start of his public activity (Mark 4:10 and parallels) and in a quotation by Paul during a debate while he was in a house in Rome at the end of his public activity (Acts 28:26–27).

The call of Isaiah is not the first thing we learn about this prophet in the book which bears his name. In the opening oracle (1:1–31), we meet a prophet who fearlessly berates Judah as a “sinful nation, people laden with iniquity, offspring who do evil, children who deal corruptly, who have forsaken the Lord, who have despised the Holy One of Israel, who are utterly estranged!” (1:4). Justice and righteousness have disappeared (1:21–22); the rulers “do not defend the orphan, and the widow’s cause does not come before them” (1:23). The covenant with the Lord has been seriously damaged. The prophet speaks clearly to issue a challenge to his contemporaries: God is displeased with them! No wonder his call stated quite clearly that people would not listen and not understand. He was required to speak hard words.

The main substance of this oracle involves a criticism of the worship practices in the Temple (“bringing offerings is futile; incense is an abomination to me; new moon and sabbath and calling of convocation—I cannot endure solemn assemblies with iniquity; your new moons and your appointed festivals my soul hates”, 1:10–15). You can imagine how the priests in the temple would have felt about this message! They would have been among those unable to hear, or see, or perceive what Isaiah was declaring to be “the word of the Lord”.

Instead of these rituals, Isaiah states that God demands that the people “wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow” (1:15–16). They need not only to hear and understand; they need to act. This is how repentance works, in transforming lives, in completely changing patterns of behaviour.

The prophet foreshadows, then, some good news: God will countenance repentance and a return to the covenant: “Zion shall be redeemed by justice, and those in her who repent, by righteousness” (1:27). However, he remains firm that if there is no repentance, the familiar prophetic indication of divine punishment will result: “rebels and sinners shall be destroyed together, and those who forsake the Lord shall be consumed” (1:28). Thus, the dual themes of punishment and forgiveness are sounded early; they recur throughout the rest of this section of the book. It was, undoubtedly, a hard message to hear and come to grips with, for the comfortable and privileged in Israelite society. 

There are many well-known oracles in the ensuing chapters of First Isaiah. There is a striking vision of when “nations shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more” (2:1–4; the same oracle appears in Micah 4:1–4). Would that the leaders of the nation had heard and understood this message! 

Next, the concept of the faithful remnant is introduced (4:2–6; see also 10:19–23; 11:10–11, 16; 28:5). This is followed by the story of the nation in God’s “love-song concerning his vineyard” (5:1–7). A love-song, we might think, would be good listening, an enjoyable tale. Sure enough, in the song, “my beloved” undertakes all the activity required to establish and nurture the vineyard. All bodes well.

Suddenly, however, the song takes a turn; only wild grapes were produced—and so, with typical Hebraic wordplays, the song turns to judgement: “he expected justice (mishpat) but saw bloodshed (mispach); righteousness (tsedakah) but heard a cry (seakah)” (5:7). Then  follows a searing denunciation of the ills of society: the excesses of a debaucherous elite, contributing to the oppressive state of the lowly (5:8–23). As a result, the Lord threatens invasion of the land (5:24–30); “he will raise a signal for a nation far away, and whistle for a people at the ends of the earth; here they come, swiftly, speedily!” (5:26). The threat from Assyria looms large in this oracle. Again, the prophet speaks hard words to a people seemingly unable to comprehend what he says.

In this section of Isaiah there is mention made of a group of disciples of the prophet (8:16–22), as well as the children of the prophet, who serve as “signs and portents in Israel from the Lord of hosts, who dwells on Mount Zion” (8:18). These children are named as Shear-jashub, meaning “a remnant shall return” (7:3), and Maher-shalal-hash-baz, meaning “the spoil speeds, the prey hastens” (8:3). Names, as is often the case within Hebrew Scripture, are potent symbols, describing the reality of the times.

Both names provide testimony to the fate that lies in store for Judah: the planned attack by Assyria will fail (7:4–9), and “the wealth of Damascus and the spoil of Samaria will be carried away by the king of Assyria” (8:4). The mother of these two sons, unnamed, is simply “the prophetess”, who “conceived and bore a son” for Isaiah (8:3)—although married to the prophet Isaiah, might she have been a prophet in her own right? 

That’s how she is understood in some later traditions; for instance, there is an assumption that she was involved with her husband in naming their children—with names that reflect prophetic insight. Added to this is the fact that Isaiah refers, not simply to his “wife”, but to “the prophetess”, suggesting that she stands alongside her husband in declaring “the word of the Lord” to a recalcitrant people.

So when we hear the shortened version of the call of this prophet, and ponder, perhaps, our own call, let us also recall the difficult message he was given to proclaim to the people (along with his wife), and the integrity and commitment he showed in delivering it. 

Nup to the Cup, yet again

Racing happens around the year around Australia. At least 168 horses were killed on Australian racetracks in the last racing year. This equates to one horse suffering a painful, life-ending injury in the name of gambling profits every two days. This is almost entirely made up of the deaths made public from official race day reports.

Countless other horses are taken away from the racetrack and killed behind the scenes when it is clear they cannot (or were chosen not to) be saved. Fifty-one of these deaths occurred past the winning post, meaning many horses were suffering injuries whilst being beaten and pushed beyond their limits to the finish line.

Whilst the racing industry is spending big bucks on advertisments aimed at luring back Australia’s trust in the Melbourne Cup and spruiking new Spring Carnival safety measures, the thousands of other horses forced onto racetracks across the rest of the year are being forgotten. Those are the horses who make up the vast majority of deaths on track and nothing is being done to protect them, simply because they are not Melbourne Cup runners who attract the media spotlight.

On Derby Day just a few days ago, at the Flemington Racecourse and Victoria Racing Club, two horses, Traffic Warden and Oxford Blue, were found to be bleeding from the lungs after the race. Two other horses, Hurry Curry and Ziggy Rose, were both panicking so badly that they were unable to be loaded into the barriers. Another horse, Bodyguard, was found lame, and Scary was found suffering cardiac arrhythmia. This happens with regularity on racecourses around Australia.

Lots of money is gambled on horses. A recent study calculated that turnover in Australia was $29.144 billion. This was an increase of $1.910 billion or 7 per cent from 2020–2021. A study entitled Household, Income and Labour Dynamics in Australia (HILDA) Survey, from 2015, estimated that nearly one million Australians regularly gambled on horse and dog racing. Most race bettors were men, and aged between 30 and 64. Their typical monthly expenditure on race betting amounted to $1,300 each over the year. Some 400,000 experienced one or more gambling-related problems.

In a typical month, the survey report commented, 41 cents in every dollar spent on race betting by regular race bettors came from a person with moderate to severe gambling problems. The Australian Institute of Health and Welfare states that in Australia about $25 billion was lost on legal forms of gambling in 2018–19. 

Harm from gambling is not only about losing money or financial problems, gambling harm can also include: health problems including emotional, psychological distress or physical issues — issues with relationships with family or friends — problems with work or study — cultural problems — and criminal activity.

According to the Vic Health report Drinking cultures and social occasions: Alcohol harms in the context of major sporting events, there is a significant rise in acute alcohol intoxication, assault, and motor vehicle accidents on Melbourne Cup Day. This is especially noted in men and young people. Police have also recorded that family incidents of assault ‘were significantly elevated on Melbourne Cup.’ Celebrations on Melbourne Cup Day put a strain on the public health system in Victoria. Ambulance attendances, emergency department presentations and hospital admissions due to intoxication and assault rise in the days leading up to Melbourne Cup and on the day itself.

In 2021, the amount spent in betting on the Melbourne Cup was $221.6 million. Total spending on the race averaged out at almost $180 for each adult in Australia; this includes both bets placed as well as money spent workplaces around the nation for their social events relating to the day.

*****

I have drawn the text and statistics above from various sources, including:

https://nuptothecup.org

https://aifs.gov.au/research/research-snapshots/race-betting-australia#:~:text=Race%2520betting%2520participation,-Nearly%2520one%2520million&text=They%2520represented%25205.6%2525%2520of%2520Australian,%252C%2520aka%2520“pokies”).

https://www.dss.gov.au/communities-and-vulnerable-people-programs-services/gambling#:~:text=health%20problems%20including%20emotional%2C%20psychological,cultural%20problems

The last laugh is on Jonah (Narrative Lectionary for Pentecost 25C; Jonah 1, 3)

This Sunday the Narrative Lectionary will move us on from the narratives of the Samuel—Kings cycle, into the books of the prophets. There are six different prophets ahead: this Sunday, Jonah, followed by Isaiah, Jeremiah, Daniel, Joel, and then the anonymous prophet whose words form the final section of the scroll of Isaiah.

Jonah is a curiously enticing character; he is almost an anti-prophet in the way that he runs away from the call of God and then, when he finally submits and preaches repentance, he resents the fact that they do repent! Whether Jonah was an actual historical figure is hotly debated; but never mind, for the four chapters of this book tell a rollicking good tale, that makes us suspect that it was, in fact, “just a story”, rather than actual history. 

The Narrative Lectionary guides us to read and listen to two chapters of this four-chapter book, with the final chapter as an optional addition to the reading. Having all three prose chapters of the story read in worship means that the whole story is conveyed—from Jonah’s flight away from God’s call (1:1–3) through to the final dialogue between these two characters, set beside a withered bush, in which Jonah’s anger is met with God’s reproof (4:9–11). This omits, of course, the poetic offering of ch.2, in which Jonah sings (in the belly of the great fish) of his fear of the ocean, and of his trust in God (2:2–9).

Jonah is addressed by God at the very start of the book: “go at once to that great city” (1:2). The large city in this book is identified immediately as Nineveh (1:2; 3:1–10); it was the capital of Assyria (2 Ki 19:36; Isa 37:37) and we learn at the end of the story of Jonah that it had a huge population of more than 120,000 people. The story thus appears to be set during the period of Assyrian ascendancy, in the 8th century BCE. But many of the literary characteristics of this book reflect a later period, perhaps even a post-exilic time.

It is true that 2 Kings 14:25 mentions that God speaks through “Jonah son of Amittai, the prophet” during the time of Jeroboam II (about 793–753 B.C.), but this was a time before Nineveh was the capital of Assyria. There is no other indication that this individual was the prophet whose story is told in the book of Jonah, for it does not provide any specific dating; nor does the mention of Jonah in 2 Kings indicate how he exercised his prophetic role.

The charge that Jonah is given is a stock standard prophetic charge: “go to Nineveh, that great city, and cry out against it; for their wickedness has come up before me” (1:2). It’s worth comparing that with the message of judgement that is proclaimed by many other prophets. Amos begins, “the Lord roars from Zion, and utters his voice from Jerusalem … for three transgressions of Damascus, and for four, I will not revoke the punishment”, Amos 1:2–3). Isaiah is charged to “go and say to this people: ‘Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand.’ Make the mind of this people dull, and stop their ears, and shut their eyes” (Isa 6:9–13).

Jeremiah is given the double-edged message, “today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant” (Jer 1:9–10), while Ezekiel is informed that he is being sent to speak “to a nation of rebels who have rebelled against me; they and their ancestors have transgressed against me to this very day; the descendants are impudent and stubborn” (Ezek 2:3–4). Quite ominously, the prophet is warned, “their blood I will require at your hand” (3:18–21).

The opening message to Nineveh from the prophet Nahum is fierce: “jealous and avenging God is the Lord; the Lord is avenging and wrathful; the Lord takes vengeance on his adversaries and rages against his enemies” (Nah 1:2–3). His task is not guaranteed to win him any friends. Likewise, Habakkuk is given an oracle of intense doom: “Look at the proud! their spirit is not right in them, but the righteous live by their faith … wealth is treacherous; the arrogant do not endure; they open their throats wide as Sheol; like Death they never have enough” (Hab 2:2–5). And Zephaniah, in similar fashion, forsees a disaster of cosmic proportions: “I will utterly sweep away everything

from the face of the earth, says the Lord; I will sweep away humans and animals; I will sweep away the birds of the air and the fish of the sea” (Zeph 1:2–6). The call to be a prophet is a fiercely challenging call!

The response of Jonah—fleeing from the presence of the Lord—is also like the response of some of those prophets. An initial reluctance to accept the charge is most famously expressed by Isaiah (“woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips”, Isa 6:5) and the young Jeremiah (“truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy”, Jer 1:6).

In this regard they follow the pattern already expressed in the story of Moses, who responds to God’s call with a string of objections: “who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” (Exod 3:11); “if they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what shall I say to them?” (Exod 3:13); then “suppose they do not believe me or listen to me” (Exod 4:1); and finally “O my Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor even now that you have spoken to your servant; but I am slow of speech and slow of tongue” (Exod 4:10). To which God, rather exasperatedly, retorts with “go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you are to speak” (Exod 4:12). No excuse will ever deflect the Lord God!

However, whilst other prophets ultimately accede to the divine pressure to take up the challenge and declare the judgement of the Lord to a sinful people, Jonah holds fast to his reticence—when commanded to go northeast to Nineveh, he immediately flees in the opposite direction, boarding a ship that was headed west across the Mediterranean Sea, to Tarshish, “away from the presence of the Lord” (Jon 1:3). 

The escape of Jonah from the command of the Lord may be deeply troubling; but the narrative spins the story into burlesque, as “the Lord hurled a great wind upon the sea”, all the cargo on the ship is thrown overboard, and then Jonah (blissfully sleeping, apparently unaware of the great storm—as if!) is interrogated by the sailors, and eventually offers himself as a sacrifice to save the boat (1:12). 

The sailors try in vain to save the ship; realising that this is futile, they throw Jonah into the sea—and immediately “the sea ceased from its raging” (1:15). Then, adding further incredulity to the unbelievable narrative, “the Lord provided a large fish to swallow up Jonah” (1:17). The three days and three nights that he spends “in the belly of the fish” before he is vomited onto dry land (2:10) add to the comic exaggeration.

The psalm that Jonah prays from inside the fish (2:1–9) and the successful venture to Nineveh, where even the king “removed his robe, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in ashes” (3:1–10) apparently demonstrate that Jonah should have obeyed the command of the Lord in the first place. However, Jonah’s response continues the exaggerated response of a burlesque character; “this was displeasing to Jonah, and he became angry” (4:1).

Jonah’s resentment and his plea for God to take his life (4:2–4) and his patient waiting for God to act (4:5) lead to yet another comic-book scene, as a bush grows and then is eaten by a worm and Jonah is assaulted by “a sultry east wind” (4:6–8). The closing words of the book pose a rhetorical question to Jonah (4:9–11) which infers that God has every right to be concerned about the lives of pagans in Nineveh. The last laugh is on Jonah; indeed, he has given his readers many good laughs throughout the whole story!

The “other” three days: on remembering, celebrating, and contextualising (Halloween, All Saints, and All Souls)

Today, 1 November, we are in the middle of a special sequence of days, which in traditional Roman Catholic piety form a triduum (simply meaning, “three days”). This current sequence of three days is the “other” three days—standing in the shadow of the Great Three Days of Easter (Good Friday—Holy Saturday—Easter Sunday). Whilst the three days of Easter celebrate new life (the Triduum of Life), this “other” three days has been called the Triduum of Death.

Why, death? Well, the explanation lies in the three particular days that are included: All Hallows’ Eve, All Saints’ Day, and All Souls’ Day. All three have to do with life beyond this life as we know it, in one form or another—that is, they are dealing with death and those who have died.

All Hallows’ Eve is best known to us as Halloween; it falls, every year, on 31 October, round about six months after Easter Sunday. Unlike Easter, however, this is not a “moveable feast”, following the pattern of the lunar cycle (which does not lineup with our solar-based calendar). Halloween falls, each and every year, on the very last day of October.

It needs to be said that the contemporary commercialised celebration of Halloween is a long way from its origins in medieval Christian piety. And so it also needs to be emphasised that Halloween is not a pagan festival. It has its origins deep in Christian history and tradition.

The English word ‘Halloween’ is a shortening of All Hallows’ Eve(n), which long ago began this series of three holy days, designed to enable the faithful to remember the saints of old (All Saints’ Day on 1 November) and the faithful who have died, “the souls of the faithful departed” (All Souls’ Day on 2 November). These three days, Halloween—All Saints’ Day—All Souls’ Day, belong together—as the “other” Christian triduum (like Good Friday—Holy Saturday—Easter Sunday).

How long ago this sequence began is not clear, as local customs varied. There is evidence that some days had been identified as the time to remember individual saints or groups of saints in some locations in the 7th to 9th centuries. By around 800, churches in Northumbria and Ireland apparently remembered “all saints” on 1 November.

In the online resources of the Northumbria Community, there is a good statement about the significance of this time. (Elizabeth and I use the resources of the Northumbria Community as the basis for our daily devotional, with Morning Prayer and Evening Compline serving to mark each day and night and provide a faith-focus at those moments which, it is intended, will carry through the full 24-hour cycle each day and night.)

The Northumbria Community resource says: “The old belief was that there was danger and vulnerability at this time of transition, which was neither in one year nor the next. Spiritual barriers could be dissolved. Inevitably, looking back led to the remembrance of those who had died and gone before; and, as the dark, cold days were awaited, protection was sought against the evil spirits that were bound to be abroad until spring returned. These old beliefs were never quite eradicated by the coming of Christianity, but lingered as a persistent superstition, a residual folk memory.” See

https://www.northumbriacommunity.org/saints/celtic-new-year-all-hallows-eve-and-all-saints-tide-october-31stnovember-1st/

By the 12th century, All Saints’ and All Souls’ had become holy days of obligation in the medieval churches, and various rituals developed for each day. Baking and sharing cakes for the souls of baptised people is evidenced in some European countries in the 15th century; this may be the origins of trick-or-treat. Lighting candles in homes on these days was done in Ireland in the 19th century—another element which is reflected in current Halloween practices.

The Forerunners of Christ with Saints and Martyrs
by Fra Angelico (1395–1455)

I have had the experience, in churches today, of being caught up in a grand worship experience for All Saints’ Day, the middle of the three days (a number of these were memorable experiences where my wife Elizabeth Raine created and presided at the liturgy). We surrounded ourselves with the memory of saints of ancient and more recent times, and recalled with gratitude saints of the present times, particularly those important to the immediate locality or congregation.

In those times of worship, we joined in singing “for all the saints who from their labour rest—alleluia! alleluia!” (from a hymn by William Walsham How), and then “a world without saints forgets how to praise; in loving, in living, they prove it is true— their way of self-giving, Lord, leads us to you” (from a hymn by Jacob Friedrich).

It is sometimes claimed that Halloween originated as a response to existing pagan rituals—but we need some considered nuance as we reflect on this. A number of the current practices involved in Halloween certainly do show the strong influence of folk customs with pagan origins in a number of Celtic countries.

This is especially so in relation to Samhain in Ireland, marking the start of winter with a festival from sundown on 31 October to sundown on 1 November. This was a liminal time when the boundary between this world and the world beyond was thinned; at this time, it was thought, the spirits could more easily enter this world. The connection with the Christian days of All Saints’ and All Souls’ is thus clear to see.

However, this does not mean that we can simply (and simplistically) conclude that these days have pagan origins; rather, what we ought to recognise is that, like other Christian festivals, there has been a blurring of customs and practices and a linking of Christian patterns with pagan festivities.

This blurring and linking is a natural tendency that has taken place time after time in place after place. This is what historians and scholars of religion call syncretism—the merging and assimilating of traditions that were originally discrete, with separate origins. It can also be called eclecticism; but I prefer to see this more accurately as contextualisation, the shaping of a tradition in the light of the immediate social and cultural context.

For that is what Halloween did in the mists of the time when it was being created and shaped—existing practices of pagan neighbours were co-opted and adapted by faithful Christians. Then, the practices were extended with the introduction of days to remember All Saints and All Souls. (The same dynamic was at work in the ways that Easter was shaped, drawing on northern hemisphere Spring practices, and the way that Christmas also developed, drawing on northern hemisphere Winter Solstice practices—but these are stories for other times of the year!)

The same perspective can be applied to the ways that Halloween, in particular, is commemorated each year. Lamenting the commercialisation of a festival that was originally Christian is a poor strategy. (And, as noted, this commercialisation has already happened with Christmas—which is now peak selling period for so many businesses and peak holiday period for many families—and in a different way with Easter—which is now a second peak holiday period for so many families.)

This kind of commercialisation (Jack-o’-Lantern pumpkins, bright lanterns, all manner of costumes, the proliferation of sweets for Halloween, trick-or-treat, and more) is now well underway with Halloween. We won’t turn the clock back. People of faith can simply hold to Christian understandings and practices in the midst of the increasing changes being made in broader society. As we observe what is taking place around us, the best strategy, surely, is to inform ourselves of the origins of, and reasons for, the season, and to reflect on those matters that take us to the heart of our faith.

*****

To close, here is my poetic musing on this season in the life of the church:

Every year in the church we remember,

we remember the saints of old;

those who kept silence, those who spoke clearly,

monks and ascetics, sisters and nurses,

teachers and preachers, writers and poets,

mystics and prophets, all serving faithfully;

saints who were blessed in their lives,

saints who blessed others through their lives.

Every year in the church we remember,

we remember those souls now departed;

family, friends, acquaintances, strangers,

known and remembered, hallowed in death.

To commemorate all the faithful departed,

we mark this time as All Souls’ Day.

And the evening before All Saints’ Day,

it is best known as “Halloween”.

Hallowed, sanctified, sainted in memory,

recalled in remembrance, all saints and all souls.

Once in each year, that is our focus;

once in each year, year after year.