Become Who You Are in Christ, or, Why Halloween Is Stupid

Homily for the Solemnity of All Saints

Let us begin with some vocabulary. A ‘pleonasm’ is the use of more words than are necessary to convey meaning, which also sounds like the definition of a homily. A pleonasm is a redundancy in speech or writing, a repetitive use of similar words or expressions to convey a single thought or action that could have been conveyed with fewer words. Most pleonasms are the result of bad writing—a sign of excess in style or a lack of good editing. But sometimes the construction of a pleonasm is intentional. The excessive, repetitive, redundant use of words or expressions conveys a meaning that would otherwise be lost to the reader or the listener. Sometimes a pleonasm helps us to understand.

There is a pleonasm in our Gospel reading for the Solemnity of All Saints the emphasis of which—the meaning of which—is lost in our English translation. We are told that Christ sees the crowds, ascends a mountain, takes a seat, and finally that he began to teach them, saying . . . A better translation of the original Greek would give us a pleonasm, a redundancy in language for the sake of emphasis: opening his mouth, he began to teach them, saying . . . Three words or expressions used to convey a single meaning. A repetition in language that reveals to us a deeper meaning hidden within the narrative.

What is the deeper meaning? The giving of the Beatitudes is a profound moment in which the God-Man Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Son of God, speaks as himself. Christ assumes a position of authority. He ascends a mountain; he takes a seat. There was no greater way to demonstrate teaching authority in the ancient world. And then Christ speaks as himself. The mouth that he opens is human and divine and Christ speaks with absolute authority. There is no invocation of God or of the Father. There is no reference to law or covenant or commandments. A commentator on the Beatitudes says that says that in human history, no other man had ever uttered—exclusively and without exception throughout his entire life—the very thoughts of God as coming from himself.¹ And the teaching that Christ gives in the Beatitudes is authoritative, absolute—whatever you think about politics or economics or human psychology or the building up of a just society is relativized against the teaching of the God-Man who opens his mouth to teach us, saying . . .

Saying what? What does Christ teach? Here is my answer: he teaches us how to live like God in this world. The Beatitudes are a description of what a divine life looks like when divinity becomes en-fleshed in a broken world. And so, the Beatitudes are also a description of what a human life looks like when humanity becomes deified—divinized—in a broken world. The reason Christ does not invoke the authority of the Father or of the law or of covenants or of the commandments is that Christ is giving to us a teaching in the Beatitudes that is only his to give. The Beatitudes are the mystery of the Incarnation given to us—extended to us—through human language. The God who has claimed a human life for himself shows us—reveals to us—what our lives will look like if we would but claim a divine life for ourselves.

There is another word for that kind of human life: sainthood. The French Catholic novelist and playwright Leon Bloy once said that the only real sadness, the only real failure, the only great tragedy in life, is not to become a saint. Maybe you have heard those words before. Those words came to mind the other day when I was thinking about the celebration of Halloween. I really do not like Halloween. And I tend to take my not liking things very seriously—not liking something is often very precious to me—so there is always that desire for me to give an account of why it is that I do not like something when I discover that there is something that I do not like. And there are many reasons not to like Halloween, and people have given me their reasons over the years: Halloween has lost its Christian meaning; Halloween celebrates evil and sin; Halloween in the world today is just another reason to throw a party that leads to other temptations; the sugar isn’t good for our children; moving house to house is no longer safe for our children. There are plenty of reasons to not like Halloween. You could invoke any one of these reasons and make a compelling argument against the celebration of Halloween as we know it today.

But none of those reasons are why I do not like Halloween. What I realized the other day is that I do not like Halloween because I think that Halloween is stupid. And by the word ‘stupid’ I mean the definition you would find in a dictionary: having or showing a great lack of intelligence or common sense. My reason for saying Halloween is stupid has something to do with the complaint that Halloween has lost its Christian meaning because Halloween is a Christian event. It is the celebration of All Hallows Eve, the Vigil of the Solemnity of All Saints. Here is the foundation for my argument: sainthood is something so much deeper than pursuing holiness in life because sainthood is becoming who you are in Christ. Sainthood is receiving a mission—a meaning in life—from Christ and allowing that mission to determine every truth about who you are because who you are is given to you in Christ. The gift of sainthood is a gift that is ineluctably personal—no two saints live the same lives. Every saint becomes who they are in Christ in a way that is novel and original, a life that only they could live. The only real sadness, the only real failure, the only great tragedy of not becoming a saint in life runs so much deeper than the absence of holiness or the absence of God. To not become a saint is to never become yourself. To not become a saint is to live a life that is a fiction, a life that is not real, a life that is not yours. And there is genuine sadness, failure, and tragedy.

Let me finish my argument. I think Halloween is stupid because of the costumes, as the wearing of costumes has become the defining feature of the holiday as we know it today. And I think that the wearing of costumes for Halloween is stupid because to pretend to be someone who you are not on a Solemnity that celebrates becoming who you are in Christ shows a great lack in intelligence and common sense. Maybe there is another day more appropriate for wearing costumes and living a fiction for a few hours. But the Solemnity of All Saints is not that occasion. How we celebrate Halloween today is completely disconnected from the remarkable gift that is sainthood—life given to us in Christ in a way that life has never before been given to another human being.

What is at stake with sainthood—remember—is living the Beatitudes, claiming a divine life for ourselves in a broken world. The mystery of the Incarnation is given to us—extended to us—through human language. Christ teaches us that there is a different way for us to live, and then he shows us that the Christian life is possible. And I cannot help but think that if we could authentically recreate for ourselves the power of this moment—the God-Man opening his mouth, teaching us, saying to us with absolute authority—that we might live like God in this broken world, then we would want nothing more for ourselves than the life that Christ has promised, and we would let nothing distract us from the mission given to us in Christ.

Homily preached on November 1st, 2022 at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary

1. Erasmo Leive-Merikakis, Fire of Mercy, Heart of the Word: Meditations on the Gospel According to St. Matthew. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1996. p. 182.