Halloween
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
In just 7 or 8 hours from now there will be lots of little kids and big kids walking around dressed as goblins or vampires or maybe even the political figures we love to hate. They’ll be led by parents with flashlights or maybe they’ll be off on their own, plotting some toilet-papering adventures for some unsuspecting victim. I hope that victim will not be me.
It only happens once every 7 years or so that Halloween falls on a Sunday and that always seems kind of odd. Sunday I associate with light and goodness. Halloween I associate with darkness and mischief. They just don’t seem to fit together that well.
Halloween has a long and very rich history, growing out of a Celtic holiday celebrating the harvest and the beginning of the darker half of the year. The emphasis of the day, of course, and especially the emphasis of the night of Halloween—is darkness. The Celts saw it as a time when the boundary separating the spirit world and the material world grew very thin and spirits could pass easily from one world to the next.
Tonight Jack-o-lanterns will glow in the dark with leering mouths. Bats, spiders, and black cats will abound in the decorations we hang. Our costumes may express the things we fear: darkness, monsters, death. In a way Halloween is a safe time for us to give expression to what we dread or revile. And in a deeper way it may give expression to what we fear may be lurking deep within ourselves.
Then tomorrow follows on the heels of the celebration of the dark when we turn toward the light and celebrate the Saints of the past and the present.
It’s the turning from dark to light that I’d like to explore in this sermon.
Our readings feature turnings from darkness to light.
Biblical scholars aren’t 100% sure, but it seems that our Old Testament selection from the prophet called Habakkuk was probably written right around the time of the Babylonian invasion of Judah, the Southern Kingdom. The prophet begins the book—and our excerpt of it—by railing against God for all the violence he witnesses, and all the destruction that has come upon his people. He complains to God that “the law becomes slack and justice never prevails.”
He is really lamenting the silence of God in the face of his and his people’s pleas for help. He’s complaining that God seems not to be listening to the people and helping them through their time of great suffering and dread.
I think most of us can remember times in our lives, too, when it seemed that God was silent or uncaring or too busy to listen to us.
Yet today’s reading ends with a note of hope—God assures the prophet that God has a vision—an intent—for restoring justice to the people.
And we hear an even stronger note of hope at the end of the book as the prophet turns and makes a strong statement of faith in God’s power to save. Listen to this beautiful assertion from the very end of Habakkuk:
“Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vines; though the produce of the olive fails and the fields yield no food; though the flock is cut off from the fold and there is no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will exult in the God of my salvation. God, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, and makes me tread upon the heights.” [Hab 3:17-19]
Habakkuk begins in the darkness of despair and turns toward the light of hope and faith. And his assertions are really moving—he is doing what the Apostle Paul would say is “giving thanks in all things.” He says, “even though the worst is happening, I will be glad because I know God is ALWAYS behind me, giving me strength.” That is quite the statement of faith, and that kind of outlook comes only from long experience in this life and from hindsight--looking backward to see God at work, even in the worst of times.
And much the same turn from darkness to light is made in our gospel story today, too. We see Zacchaeus the tax-collector, certainly a crook and a busybody, climbing a tree to get a better look at Jesus. Jesus sees him and tells him to get down from the tree: Jesus will be staying with him at his house. The holier-than-thou types who saw the interchange were quick to criticize Jesus, saying, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” [As if they weren’t sinners themselves . . .]
And what happens after that? Zacchaeus stood there and went through the speediest repentance and reformation you can imagine: he promised to give half his possessions to the poor, and to repay anyone whom he has defrauded four times over.
He turns from a life in the darkness of cheating and extortion to a life in the light of repentance and restitution. And why? That’s not made clear, but maybe it’s because in the pure presence of the Light from Light, who can choose to remain in the dark?
Jesus ends the story with the comment that Zacchaeus’ change of heart was just what he was after: “The Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”
Time after time in our own lives we have opportunity to turn from the darkness into the light. To respond to the voice of Jesus, who came to seek us out when we’re lost in the dark. Like the woman portrayed on our bulletin cover, we are called to risk turning the corner in so many ways, in order to move from the dark to the light. And to climb the stairway to heaven.
No darkness is ever permanent. There is a tiny glimmer of light somewhere in the dark, and we’re invited to turn toward it, to seek it out, over and over. It’s never too late to turn toward the light. Never.
There are innumerable chances God puts in our path for us to turn and choose the light. Here are just some of the ways we may turn: Changing the way we treat our spouse or children, making time in a busy schedule to connect deeply with someone, being kind to people even if you don’t feel like it, seeking healing for personal issues that may dog us, making time for prayer each day, taking the path of honesty in our business dealings, refusing to gossip, turning the corner to deeper generosity. The Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.
And so this evening, when we darken the house and light the jack-o-lantern; when we dish out candy to goblins and ghouls; when we lace the front porch with fake spider webs, may we remember those times when we ourselves have been in situations of real darkness, and may we remember how a door opened, and light shone out for us, and we were beckoned out of that dark place. We were sought out, and saved.
God, our Strength and our Beacon, calls us out of the dark. And we needn’t be afraid anymore. All we have to do is turn.
Amen.
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