Accidental Pagan

    Halloween will be here soon. My memories of Halloween are all positive--carving pumpkins, making (because we couldn't afford) costumes, trick or treating. Going myself as a child, my biggest worries were that big kids would steal my candy, the paper grocery bag that held the candy would give way from the rain or snow, or that some of the homes would give those disgusting Banana Bike taffies. When I was a little old for trick or treating, I was assigned the duty of taking my younger brother and sister. I stood back so it would not look like I was trying to get candy, but I secretly hoped the residents would notice me standing there and give me some. There were some sketchy houses in Missoula even back then, and I would make Roddy and Robyn throw away the candy from those places.

      The days of letting kids trick or treat unsupervised were over by the time we had ours and our first home in Kalispell was not on the best side of town so, once again, I stood on the sidewalk waiting for kids. This time I was not hoping they would share some of the candy, I was already planning which treats would be my commission for parental supervision. Carving pumpkins. Coming up with costumes. Handing out candy. None of these are evil. The memories are sweet.

    When my sister moved to Kalispell, I got to continue family traditions with her kids in the form of Aunt Connie day. Although there were Halloween alternative parties by then, carnivals held at churches or schools, those were not usually on Halloween night, so I took Alex and Amanda trick or treating in our over-dark, under-served neighborhood. Since the lots are large on our street and there are no streetlights on our end, few kids come, so the residents tend to lavish candy on whoever shows up. Besides, it was a good chance to catch up with my neighbors and show off my niece and nephew, who actually got store bought costumes. I enjoyed the visits because Halloween, thankfully, is not a drinking holiday. Although, when we lived in Helena, I found out every holiday was a drinking holiday.   

     This is an area where Christians are free to disagree. It is similar to the meat sacrificed to idols dilemma of Paul's day, except Paul was not writing about pagan customs from hundreds of years before, long forgotten by Roman culture. This meat, if it was halfway fresh, had just been sacrificed to a false god by someone who might have just passed you on the street. To those intimidated by the idol connection, eating it was sinful, to those who recognized the impotence of idols, it was just cheap steak.

    I find it hard to believe the devil has nothing more important to do than watch kids in costumes get candy. Satan's power is neither that trivial nor that omnipresent. He has rulers to sway, media to influence, pronouns to prefer. And there are holidays much more suited to sin--Carnival in South America, Mardi Gras in New Orleans, the Harley rally in Sturgis--where the themes are to get rowdy, drunk and, at least partially, naked. Same theme any day in Las Vegas. Big cities don't require a holiday to get rowdy, they have raves where monkeypox is one of the more benign things that gets spread. Demons would probably feel right at home there.

     Cremation has pagan origins, yet I don't know anyone who had a loved one cremated out of pagan beliefs. Most of our holidays have some connection with pagan practices, but if I have to go back hundreds of years to be offended by them, I would just as soon skip the trip. Whether I am standing under the mistletoe, saying bless you when someone sneezes, helping my granddaughters hunt Easter eggs, or handing out candy to trick-or-treaters, I am not afraid of becoming an accidental pagan.

Drop the Mic

     I recently attended a memorial service that many of us expected to be stressful. There is always stress when suicide is involved and this was complicated by a recent divorce. We requested lots of prayer for the memorial, which was basically refreshments and pictures of the departed. I was so glad they did not have an open mic. Letting people share remembrances, done right, gives a fuller picture of the one who has died. The problem is, there is no control of the done right part. The open mic is frequently used to share off color stories, inside jokes that most of those attending don't understand, and sometimes things that have nothing to do with the person who died. Some people just love the sound of their own voice. And even sharing happy memories of the deceased can be painful for families who experienced a whole different version of that person.

    What is shared at memorials should be a balance between not speaking ill of the dead and reality. My Dad attended a funeral for a coworker, a known philanderer who was only still married because his wife had the patience of a saint. When the preacher glowingly described him as a devoted husband and family man, Dad thought he was at the wrong funeral. My friend Evelyn had left an abusive husband who had, among other things, charged her rent for the privilege of living with him. She had been separated from him for more than a decade before he died. But her children, including the one so afraid of her father that she sometimes wet her pants, expected Evelyn to get up and say something good about him at his memorial. What she managed to come up with was that he taught their children to work hard--she left out the part where they were terrified not to. 

    I enjoyed the service where the pastor shared that among the dying woman's eulogy instructions, he was told to "cut the crap". Perhaps I liked her directness because she sounded like me, we even shared the same first name. On the other hand, at a service in our church a year ago, one of the daughters took so long in her eulogy of her father, her brother had to physically move her away from the microphone. Another hazard of an open mic, is that a trashy person might use the opportunity to air grievances against the deceased or his family. My favorite version of sharing at a memorial, is when a family member reads what others have prepared ahead of time. Few people would be willing to put a questionable story in writing and, even if they did, the reader could leave it out. And, if people are anything like me, their written stories are shorter because writing takes longer than talking.

    Knowing there were already some hard feelings among the mourners at Saturday's service, an open mic could have lead to open hostility. It was an answer to my prayers that they chose to drop the mic.