Halloween Is Not the Devil’s Holiday: Uncovering Its Deeply Catholic Roots

Halloween Is Not the Devil’s Holiday: Uncovering Its Deeply Catholic Roots

Every October, as jack-o’-lanterns flicker on porches and children don costumes, a familiar chorus rises from certain corners of the Christian world: “Halloween is the devil’s holiday!” Sermons warn of occult doorways, tracts decry pagan corruption, and anxious parents pull their kids from trick-or-treating lest they unwittingly pledge allegiance to darkness. The accusation is emotionally charged and culturally persistent, yet it collapses under even modest historical scrutiny. Halloween is not a satanic invention, a pagan survival, or a modern marketing ploy co-opted by evil. It is, at its core, a Catholic feast—one whose origins lie in the Church’s ancient calendar, whose customs grew from medieval piety, and whose very name announces its sacred purpose: All Hallows’ Eve, the vigil of All Saints’ Day.

In this post, we will walk through the liturgical, historical, and cultural evidence that demonstrates Halloween’s Catholic identity. We will trace the feast from seventh-century Rome to the Celtic missions, from medieval Christendom to the American parish festival. Along the way we will dismantle the most common objections—pagan continuity, jack-o’-lantern demons, costume witchcraft—and show how each supposed “pagan” element was baptized, reoriented, and pressed into the service of the Gospel. By the end, the reader will see Halloween not as a compromise with the world but as a triumph of the Church’s missionary genius: the same impulse that turned pagan temples into basilicas and winter solstice fires into Christmas lights.

 I. The Liturgical Anchor: All Hallows’ Eve

The word “Halloween” is a contraction of “All Hallows’ Even,” meaning the evening before All Hallows’ (or All Saints’) Day. In the traditional Catholic calendar, major feasts begin at sunset the previous day—hence Christmas Eve, Easter Vigil, and All Hallows’ Eve. The Roman Martyrology still lists November 1 as the Solemnity of All Saints, a first-class feast instituted to honor “all the saints in heaven, known and unknown.” Its vigil, October 31, is therefore inseparable from the feast it prepares.

The establishment of All Saints’ Day is usually dated to 609 or 610, when Pope Boniface IV consecrated the Pantheon in Rome—formerly a temple to “all gods” (pagan divinities)—as the Basilica of Saint Mary and All Martyrs. On May 13 of that year, Boniface processed with twenty-eight wagonloads of martyrs’ bones from the catacombs and deposited them beneath the altar. The anniversary of this dedication became a yearly commemoration of all martyrs. By the mid-eighth century, Pope Gregory III moved the feast to November 1 and expanded it to include not only martyrs but all saints. Gregory IV extended the observance to the universal Church in 835. From that moment forward, October 31 became the vigil.

Liturgical documents confirm the vigil’s antiquity. The Leonine Sacramentary (c. 600) contains a Mass “in natale sanctae Mariae et omnium martyrum” for May 13. The Gelasian Sacramentary (c. 750) already shows Masses for November 1 under the title “In natali omnium sanctorum.” By the ninth century, the vigil Mass “Ad vesperas sanctae Dei genetricis Mariae et omnium martyrum” appears in Carolingian missals. These texts are not pagan holdovers; they are Latin prayers addressed to the Triune God, invoking the intercession of the Blessed Virgin and the entire heavenly court.

The vigil character of October 31 shaped its popular customs. Medieval Christians kept vigils with prayer, fasting, and almsgiving—practices that spilled into the streets. Bells tolled at dusk to call the faithful to Vespers; families visited cemeteries to light candles on graves; the poor went door-to-door begging “soul cakes” in exchange for prayers for the dead. Every one of these practices is documented in Church records long before any supposed pagan revival.

 II. The Celtic Question: Samhain and Christian Mission

Critics frequently claim Halloween derives from Samhain, a Celtic harvest festival marking the end of summer. Samhain (pronounced “SOW-in”) did exist; Irish annals record it as one of four seasonal quarter-days. Folklore describes bonfires, feasting, and a thinning of boundaries between worlds. Modern pagans and some evangelical writers leap from these fragments to the conclusion that Halloween is “Samhain lite.”

Historical rigor demands more. First, Samhain was not a pan-Celtic Satan-fest. Irish sources—annals, law texts, sagas—mention it primarily as a time for assemblies, horse races, and royal judgments. Supernatural elements appear in later Christian-era tales (e.g., the Táin cycle), but these are literary motifs, not liturgical prescriptions. Second, the Church did not “baptize” Samhain; she evangelized the people who kept it. When St. Patrick kindled the Paschal fire on Slane in 433, he was not negotiating with druids—he was proclaiming Christ’s victory over every power.

The November 1 date for All Saints was chosen in Rome, not Ireland. Gregory III and Gregory IV were continental popes responding to Frankish and Roman needs, not Celtic pressure. Irish monasteries adopted the Roman date in the ordinary course of liturgical unification. The Book of Armagh (c. 807) already lists “Félire na Naomh Uile” (Feast of All Saints) on November 1. The earliest Irish reference to a vigil on October 31 comes from the tenth-century Martyrology of Tallaght, which simply says “Vigil of All Saints.”

What about the bonfires? Medieval Irish Christians lit fires on All Hallows’ Eve to honor the light of the saints, not to ward off spirits. The twelfth-century Leabhar Breac explains that “fires were kindled in Ireland to the glory of God and in honor of the saints.” Costumes? Monks and nuns sometimes processed in albs or as biblical figures during mystery plays—dramatic catechesis, not disguise to fool demons. Jack-o’-lanterns? Irish Catholics carved turnips with crosses or the Holy Face to carry in All Saints processions; the practice migrated to America with pumpkins.

The Samhain theory requires us to believe that a marginalized pagan festival survived a millennium of monastic Christianity only to reassert itself in the Catholic Middle Ages—precisely when the Church was at the height of her cultural power. The timeline is impossible. Samhain’s folklore was recorded by Christian scribes; its customs were reinterpreted through a Catholic lens. The Church did not adopt Samhain; she absorbed the Irish imagination and redirected it toward heaven.

 III. Medieval Piety: Soul Cakes, Poor Souls, and the Dance of Death

By the High Middle Ages, All Hallows’ Eve had become a communal preparation for the double feast of All Saints (November 1) and All Souls (November 2). The doctrine of purgatory—formally defined at Lyons II (1274) and Florence (1439)—gave theological urgency to praying for the dead. October 31 became a night of intercession.

The custom of “souling” is documented in English parish accounts from the thirteenth century. Poor adults and children went door-to-door singing:

A soul cake, a soul cake,  Have mercy on all Christian souls for a soul cake.

In return, households gave small wheat cakes stamped with a cross. The 1593 Churchwardens’ Accounts of St. Peter’s, Cornwall, record payment “to the soulers on All Hallows Even.” The prayer was explicit: each cake represented a suffrage for the departed. Shakespeare alludes to the practice in The Two Gentlemen of Verona (c. 1593): “I am sent with broom before, / To sweep the dust behind the door”—a line echoing the souler’s rhyme.

Cemeteries stayed open late. Families cleaned graves, left flowers, and lit beeswax candles whose flames symbolized the soul’s ascent. The 1422 will of London merchant John Borell bequeaths “twenty pounds of wax to be made into tapers to burn on the graves of my parents on All Hallows’ Eve.” Far from fearing the dead, Catholics invited them to the banquet of prayer.

Mystery plays and morality pageants filled town squares. The Danse Macabre—first painted in the Cemetery of the Innocents, Paris, in 1424—showed Death leading pope, emperor, and peasant in a chain, reminding all to prepare for judgment. Children dressed as saints, angels, or souls in purgatory acted out these dramas. A 1486 ordinance from York mandates “the pageant of All Hallows with the souls in purgatory” to be performed “on the eve thereof.”

These customs were not fringe; they were mainstream Catholic devotion. Indulgences were attached to souling and cemetery visits. The 1476 Manipulus Curatorum of Guido of Monte Rochen instructs priests to encourage the faithful “to go about on the vigil of All Saints offering prayers for the dead.” The Church saw no danger—only opportunity to catechize through joy.

 IV. The Reformation Fracture and the American Revival

The Protestant Reformation disrupted these traditions. Luther’s Ninety-Five Theses appeared on All Saints’ Eve, 1517—an ironic coincidence, since the indulgence trade he attacked was tied to All Souls devotions. English reformers banned souling, destroyed mystery-play stages, and suppressed All Souls’ Day. The 1552 Book of Common Prayer reduced All Saints to a minor observance and eliminated the vigil entirely.

Yet Catholic immigrants kept the customs alive. In Maryland, founded as a Catholic colony, All Hallows’ Eve processions continued into the eighteenth century. The 1764 journal of Jesuit missionary Joseph Mosley records “the children of the parish going about with lanterns for the souls in purgatory.” When Irish famine refugees arrived in the 1840s, they brought turnip lanterns, soul-cake rhymes, and a fierce devotion to the saints. American bishops encouraged the revival. The 1884 Catholic World editorialized: “Let us reclaim All Hallows’ Eve from the grasp of the worldly and restore it to its proper character as a preparation for the feast of All Saints.”

Parish Halloween parties became standard by the 1920s. The 1935 Manual for Catholic Action recommends “All Saints’ masquerades where children dress as their patron saints, followed by games and refreshments.” Photographs from Chicago’s Holy Name Cathedral show hundreds of children in Francis of Assisi robes, Joan of Arc armor, and Thérèse of Lisieux veils—costumes that taught hagiography, not witchcraft.

 V. Dismantling the Objections

Objection 1: “Trick-or-treating is pagan begging.”  

Souling predates any supposed druidic precedent by centuries. The transaction is prayer for food—an act of mercy rooted in Matthew 25.

Objection 2: “Costumes glorify witches and demons.”  

Historically, children dressed as saints and angels. Modern secular costumes are a deviation, not the origin. Catholic families reclaim the practice by choosing holy figures.

Objection 3: “Jack-o’-lanterns ward off evil spirits.”  

Irish Catholics carved crosses into turnips to symbolize Christ’s victory. The folklore of “Stingy Jack” is a moral tale warning against greed, not a demon summoning.

Objection 4: “The Church adopted pagan dates to lure converts.”  

The November 1 date was set in Rome for liturgical reasons. Missionaries used local imagery—fire, harvest, community—but always subordinated it to Christ.

Objection 5: “Halloween glorifies death.”  

Catholicism confronts death head-on. The skull on a Carmelite habit, the memento mori in art, the Dies Irae—all remind us that Christ has conquered the grave.

 VI. A Catholic Halloween: Practical Restoration

Families can reclaim the feast:

1. Attend Vigil Mass – Many parishes offer an evening Mass on October 31.

2. Dress as Saints – Host a “Saints and Heroes” party; award prizes for best hagiography presentation.

3. Soul Cakes – Bake currant buns stamped with a cross; distribute while praying the Eternal Rest.

4. Cemetery Visit – Light candles at graves and sing the Salve Regina.

5. All Saints Litany – Process through the house with holy water and icons.

 Conclusion

Halloween is not the devil’s holiday; it is the Church’s. From the Roman Pantheon to the Irish crossroads, from medieval soul cakes to American parish halls, every thread of the celebration traces back to Catholic doctrine: the communion of saints, the efficacy of prayer for the dead, the triumph of light over darkness. The secular carnival that now dominates October 31 is a johnny-come-lately distortion, not the essence. When Catholics celebrate All Hallows’ Eve with prayer, charity, and holy joy, they participate in a tradition older than the Reformation, deeper than folklore, and more powerful than any accusation. The saints are marching in, and the Church militant is ready to welcome them.

 Sources

- Roman Martyrology (2004 edition)

- Boniface IV, Epistola ad Mellitum (601)

- Gregory III, Decretale ad Bonifacium (732)

- Gelasian Sacramentary (Vat. Reg. lat. 316)

- Martyrology of Tallaght (c. 830)

- Leabhar Breac (c. 1410)

- York Mystery Plays ordinances (1486)

- Guido of Monte Rochen, Manipulus Curatorum (1476)

- St. Peter’s Cornwall Churchwardens’ Accounts (1593)

- Joseph Mosley, SJ, Journal (1764)

- Catholic World (November 1884)

- Manual for Catholic Action (1935)

Catholics Reclaiming Halloween

Catholics Reclaiming Halloween: A Celebration of Faith and Light

Halloween, with its spooky decorations, eerie costumes, and focus on death and the macabre, has become a widely celebrated secular holiday. However, for many Catholics, Halloween holds a deeper, more spiritual significance that is often overshadowed by the commercialized and secular aspects of the holiday. In recent years, there has been a growing movement among Catholics to reclaim Halloween and restore its original meaning as a celebration of faith, light, and the triumph of good over evil.

The Origins of Halloween

Halloween, or All Hallows' Eve, has its roots in the ancient Christian tradition of honoring saints and martyrs. The word "Halloween" itself is derived from "All Hallows' Eve," the night before All Saints' Day, which is celebrated on November 1st. All Saints' Day is a solemn holy day dedicated to remembering and honoring all the saints, known and unknown, who have attained heaven. The following day, November 2nd, is All Souls' Day, a day to pray for the souls of the departed who are still in purgatory. see: Sacerdotus: Halloween "Hallow's Evening"

The Secularization of Halloween

Over the centuries, Halloween has evolved from a religious observance into a secular holiday characterized by costumes, trick-or-treating, and haunted houses. The focus has shifted from honoring the saints and praying for the dead to celebrating death, fear, and evil imagery. While these secular traditions can be fun and entertaining, they often overshadow the spiritual significance of the holiday.

Reclaiming Halloween: A Catholic Perspective

For Catholics, reclaiming Halloween means returning to its roots and emphasizing the spiritual aspects of the holiday. Here are some ways Catholics can celebrate Halloween in a way that honors their faith:

1. Celebrate All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day: Attend Mass on these holy days and participate in special prayers and devotions for the saints and the souls in purgatory. These observances remind us of the communion of saints and the hope of eternal life.

2. Host a Saints' Party: Instead of traditional Halloween parties, consider hosting a Saints' Party where children and adults can dress up as their favorite saints. This can be a fun and educational way to learn about the lives of the saints and their contributions to the Church.

3. Create a Prayer Space: Set up a prayer space in your home with images of saints, candles, and other religious items. Use this space to pray for the souls of the departed and to reflect on the lives of the saints.

4. Participate in a Trunk-or-Treat: Many Catholic parishes organize trunk-or-treat events where families can decorate their car trunks with religious themes and hand out treats. This provides a safe and faith-filled alternative to traditional trick-or-treating.

5. Light a Candle for the Departed: On All Souls' Day, light a candle in memory of loved ones who have passed away. This simple act of remembrance can be a powerful way to honor their memory and pray for their souls.

6. Educate Others: Share the true meaning of Halloween with friends and family. Explain the origins of the holiday and the importance of All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day. By educating others, you can help shift the focus from the secular to the spiritual.

Conclusion

Reclaiming Halloween as a Catholic celebration is about more than just avoiding spooky decorations and costumes. It's about embracing the true meaning of the holiday and using it as an opportunity to deepen our faith and connect with the communion of saints. By focusing on the spiritual aspects of Halloween, Catholics can transform the holiday into a celebration of light, hope, and the triumph of good over evil. So, this Halloween, let's take back the night and celebrate it in a way that honors our faith and brings us closer to God.

Taking Back Halloween

Reclaiming All Hallows’ Eve: How the Catholic Church is Taking Back Halloween

By a Faithful Observer of the Liturgical Calendar  

 I. A Night That Was Never Ours to Lose

Every October, the pumpkin spice lattes appear, the plastic skeletons dangle from porches, and the same tired debate erupts: “Halloween is pagan!” “No, it’s Catholic!” “Actually, it’s just a candy grab!” The truth is simpler and far more interesting. Halloween—properly All Hallows’ Eve—is Catholic down to its bones. The vigil of All Saints’ Day, it was once the Church’s front porch to the greatest feast of the liturgical year. Somewhere along the way, the porch got redecorated with witches and superheroes, and the saints were asked to wait in the vestibule.

But the porch is being reclaimed. From Rome to rural parishes, from TikTok catechists to Vatican-approved exorcists, the Catholic Church is taking back Halloween—not with pitchforks and holy water (though those have their place), but with candles, hymns, and an unapologetic invitation: Come home. The vigil is yours.

 II. The Historical Receipt

Let’s start with the paper trail. The word “Halloween” is a contraction of “All Hallows’ Even,” the eve of All Hallows’ (Saints’) Day. The feast itself traces to the dedication of the Pantheon in Rome on May 13, 609, when Pope Boniface IV consecrated the former temple to “St. Mary and All Martyrs.” By the 8th century, Pope Gregory III moved the celebration to November 1, likely to Christianize existing harvest festivals in northern Europe. Gregory IV extended it universally in 835.

The vigil—October 31—followed naturally. Medieval Catholics kept All Hallows’ Eve with prayer, fasting, and the ringing of church bells to remind the living to pray for the dead. “Soul cakes” were baked and distributed: a pastry for a Pater Noster. Children went door-to-door not for Snickers but for prayer. The dead were the evening’s VIPs; the saints were the headliners the next morning.

The Reformation dimmed the lights. Puritans in England and later America despised the “popish” focus on saints and purgatory. Halloween survived in Catholic strongholds—Ireland, Bavaria, Mexico—but in the Anglosphere it drifted into folk custom: bonfires, turnip lanterns, guising. By the 20th century, American commercialism had sanded off the last explicitly Christian edges. The vigil became a children’s costume parade sponsored by candy companies.

Rome never forgot. The 1969 Calendar of the Roman Rite retained November 1 as a solemnity and November 2 (All Souls’) as a day of obligatory prayer for the dead. The vigil, though not a liturgical day in the strict sense, remained the cultural hinge between the two.

 III. The Modern Reclamation Project

The push to “take back” Halloween began in earnest in the 1990s, but it has accelerated since the 2010s. Three forces converged:

1. Liturgical renewal post-Vatican II  

2. The internet’s ability to bypass gatekeepers  

3. A generation of young Catholics hungry for identity

 A. From the Pulpit to the Pumpkin Patch

In 2006, the U.S. bishops’ conference issued no directive, but individual dioceses began experimenting. The Archdiocese of Detroit hosted “Saints and S’mores” block parties. Orange County’s Christ Cathedral turned its parking lot into a “Holyween” festival with bounce houses shaped like Noah’s Ark. The formula: costumes must depict a saint, a virtue, or a biblical figure; candy remains non-negotiable.

By 2015, the trend had a name—“Holyween”—coined by Fr. Eduardo “Lalo” García in Spain. His parish in Seville replaced horror movies with a candlelit rosary procession through the cemetery. The event went viral on YouTube; within three years, over 200 Spanish parishes replicated it.

Rome noticed. In 2018, the Dicastery for Laity, Family and Life tweeted (yes, tweeted):  

> “All Hallows’ Eve is not the devil’s night. It is the Church’s vigil. Light a candle for the dead. Dress as the saint you wish to imitate. Holyween”

The tweet garnered 42,000 retweets and a ratio of zero. Even the trads liked it.

 B. The Influencer Saints

Catholic TikTok—derided as an oxymoron—became the unexpected vanguard. Accounts like @frmikeschmitz, @catholic.chemist, and @sister_therese exploded with “What Saint Should You Dress As?” quizzes. One video—Sr. Bethany Madonna teaching kids to carve the Chi-Rho into pumpkins—racked up 3.2 million views.

The aesthetic matters. Gone are the bed-sheet ghosts; in are the velvet mantles and cardboard mitres. A cottage industry of “saint costume kits” now ships from Etsy shops run by homeschool moms in Wisconsin. The most popular: St. Joan of Arc (armor sold separately), St. Francis (habit + stuffed wolf), and the sleeper hit, Bl. Carlo Acutis in a red hoodie.

 C. The Exorcist Seal of Approval

In 2021, Fr. Chad Ripperger—former exorcist, Thomist, and unofficial patron of Catholic Twitter—released a 45-minute YouTube talk titled “Halloween and the Demonic.” He didn’t call for abolition; he called for re-consecration. “The devil,” he said, “hates a fair fight. Give him All Saints’ instead of All Scares.”

The talk was viewed 1.1 million times. Parishes began offering “Ripperger-approved” alternatives:  

- Vigil Mass at 5 p.m. followed by eucharistic adoration until midnight  

- Cemetery processions with the Dies Irae sung in chant  

- Blessing of costumes (yes, the priest sprinkles holy water on the cardboard sword)

 IV. Global Variations on a Theme

The reclamation is not monochrome.

 Mexico: Día de los Muertos, Catholicized

The Synod on Synodality’s 2023 working document cited Mexico’s fusion of Allhallowtide and indigenous ancestor veneration as a model of inculturation. Ofrendas now routinely include images of the Sacred Heart alongside sugar skulls.

 Philippines: Pangangaluluwa

Children dressed as souls in purgatory go door-to-door singing traditional Tagalog hymns asking for prayers. The custom, nearly extinct in the 1980s, has been revived by the CBCP’s youth ministry.

 Poland: Zaduszki Processions

Kraków’s annual “Night of the Saints” sees 40,000 pilgrims walk from church to church, each station dedicated to a different saint. Local police close the streets; Uber surges, but no one complains.

 V. The Theology Beneath the Tinsel

Why does any of this matter? Because Halloween, properly understood, is a dress rehearsal for the eschatological drama.

- Memento mori: The jack-o’-lantern began as a turnip carved to hold a coal, guiding souls. It is the original paschal candle.  

- Communion of saints: Costumes are not escapism; they are imitatio Christi in miniature.  

- Purgatory: The vigil reminds us that death is not the end, but the corridor. Praying for the dead is the original social justice.

As Benedict XVI wrote in Spe Salvi (§48):  

> “The belief that love can reach into the afterlife… is a faith capable of turning the world upside down.”

Halloween, reclaimed, turns the world right side up.

 VI. Practical Guide: How Your Parish Can Join the Movement

1. Rename the Event  

   Drop “Trunk-or-Treat.” Call it “All Hallows’ Eve Vigil” or “Saints’ Block Party.”

2. Costume Rules (Enforced with Charity)  

   - Saints, angels, biblical figures, virtues (e.g., “Humility” in sackcloth)  

   - No demons, no serial killers, no “sexy nun” (obviously)  

   - Provide a “Saint Swap” table for kids who show up as Spider-Man.

3. Liturgical Anchors  

   - 4:30 p.m. Vigil Mass for All Saints (anticipated)  

   - 6:00 p.m. Rosary walk through the cemetery  

   - 7:30 p.m. Bonfire with soul-cake distribution and storytelling (lives of the saints, not ghost stories)

4. Soul Cakes Recipe (Medieval, Tested)  

   ```

   2 cups flour  

   1 cup sugar  

   1 tsp nutmeg  

   1 tsp cinnamon  

   ½ cup butter  

   ½ cup milk  

   2 eggs  

   Cross the tops with a knife. Bake 15 min at 350°F.

   ```

5. Digital Integration  

   Live-stream the procession. Tag Holyween. Watch the algorithm do the evangelization.

 VII. Pushback and How to Answer It

“You’re baptizing paganism!”  

The Church has been baptizing culture since Peter preached in the Areopagus. Samhain’s bonfires become paschal fires; the harvest feast becomes the banquet of heaven.

“Kids just want candy!”  

Give them candy and a saint card. The stomach is a gateway to the soul.

“It’s cultural appropriation to police costumes.”  

Catholicism is a culture. Reclaiming your own vigil isn’t appropriation; it’s repatriation.

 VIII. A Personal Testimony

Last year, I took my skeptical eight-year-old to our parish’s first Holyween. He wanted to be a ninja. We compromised: St. Ignatius of Loyola, covert Jesuit operative. He carried a cardboard sword inscribed Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam. At the bonfire, an elderly widow pressed a soul cake into his hand and whispered, “That’s for my husband in purgatory.” My son—cape askew, face smeared with cinnamon—nodded solemnly. The ninja had become a soldier of Christ without noticing the transition.

That is the quiet genius of the reclamation: it doesn’t scold; it seduces. The saints are cooler than superheroes because they’re real. Heaven is scarier than hell because it’s permanent. And the Church, for one October night, gets to throw the best party on the block.

 IX. The Future: A Vigil for the Digital Age

Imagine All Hallows’ Eve 2030:  

- AR filters that overlay your costume with the saint’s relics in real time  

- Global synchronized bell-ringing at 9 p.m. local time, tracked on a Vatican dashboard  

- A “Purgatory Meter” app where users log prayers and watch a virtual flame burn brighter

The technology will change. The vigil will not. Because every year, on the last night of October, the Church whispers the same dare to the darkness: We know how this story ends. The saints win.

 X. Conclusion: Light the Lantern

The Catholic Church is not “taking back” Halloween in a hostile sense. She is simply opening the door she never locked. The vigil was always hers; the culture wandered off. Now the wanderers are returning—some in Kente-cloth St. Martin de Porres robes, some in LED-lit Bl. Carlo hoodies, some pushing strollers with infants dressed as the Holy Innocents.

If you meet them on the sidewalk this October 31, don’t scowl at the princess or the Pokémon. Look closer. Under the glitter and the plastic fangs, the communion of saints is marching in plain sight. Hand them a soul cake. Say a prayer. Ring the bell.

The porch light is on. The saints are home.

Happy All Hallows’ Eve.  

See you at the vigil.

 

Halloween Thoughts

Halloween used to feel like the one night the whole world agreed to play pretend. No grades, no curfews, no grown-up worries—just a pillowcase and the promise of candy. I remember the chill in the Bronx air, the way the streetlights turned orange and fuzzy through the eyeholes of a plastic mask that smelled like fresh factory plastic and my own breath. I was Freddy Krueger one year, the rubber glove claws clicking against my thigh as I ran from stoop to stoop. Another year I was Skeletor, cape snagging on chain-link fences, voice modulator crackling “Nyaaah!” until the batteries died and I just sounded like a kid with a cold. The neighbors knew us. Mrs. Lopez on 187th always gave full-size Hershey bars. Mr. Delgado pretended to be scared of my monster roar, then slipped an extra Snickers into the bag “for the little beast.”

School made it official. At C.S. 57 the teachers turned the hallways into a haunted house of construction-paper bats and cotton-ball cobwebs. My third-grade teacher, Ms. Rivera, came as a vampire with a cape made from a black trash bag. But the real legend was Principal Rothchild. Every year she’d back her boxy Miranda—must’ve been an ’83 or ’84—right up to the curb, pop the trunk, and cackle from inside a pointy hat and green face paint. We’d scream, scatter, then creep back because we knew she’d toss handfuls of Smarties like confetti. That was permission: the grown-ups were in on the game.

Fast-forward twenty-five years and I’m the uncle holding the flashlight, steering my nephew and niece through Belmont. Same ritual, different borough. My nephew’s Spider-Man mask keeps slipping; my niece insists on being Elsa even though it’s forty degrees. The stoops are closer together here, the porches decorated with those inflatable pumpkins that glow like lanterns. Kids still yell “Trick or treat!” but half of them are checking their phones between houses. One dad films the whole route on a gimbal like he’s Scorsese. I catch myself thinking: When did we start needing proof that fun happened?

The nostalgia stings because the world underneath the costumes has cracked. In the old neighborhood, you worried about razor blades in apples—an urban legend nobody actually saw. Now the news carries real blades, real bullets, kids settling scores before they can spell them. Gangs wear colors I never noticed as a child. Poverty looks the same—peeling paint, busted streetlights—but it’s louder now, amplified by viral videos of fights in bodegas, of mothers begging on TikTok live streams. Social media sells connection but mostly teaches kids to perform cruelty for likes. A mean comment travels faster than any ghost story we whispered under blankets.

I watch my niece trade candy with a stranger’s kid on the sidewalk—no fear, just sugar diplomacy—and I want to bottle that trust. Halloween was the annual reminder that strangers could be kind if everyone agreed to suspend reality for a few hours. We need that suspension more than ever, a national pause button where the only thing that jumps out of the trunk is a cackling principal in green face paint.

Maybe the costumes have always been armor. Mine hid a shy eight-year-old who practiced Skeletor laughs in the mirror. Today’s kids armor up with filters and follower counts. The trick now is convincing them the game still works if they put the phones down, ring a doorbell, and believe—for one night—that the world wants to give them something sweet.