On a corner in Cherry Valley, stand two giant skeletons. For this season they are dressed in formal clothes, to celebrate their day, All Hallow’s Eve, a day that promotes the dark powers—witches, demons, goblins, zombies, ghosts — things that go bump in the night. I smile at the humor of these giants, dressed up for holidays like Cinco de Mayo, July 4, Christmas. Giants figure in legends like Jack and the Beanstalk, and David and Goliath. This night we celebrate these monsters at the margins and death, the monster who will greet us all.
But tomorrow is All Saints Day, a lesser-known Christian holiday that reminds us that the air is also populated with a cloud of witnesses, people who have died, who are close but unseen.
A few days after his mother died, our neighbor said she showed up in a dream. She stood in a pool of light, saying, “I had to go. The Lord wanted me.” When Pentecostal theologian, Chris Green was ordained as Bishop he said, “When I walked in the procession, I saw people from my past. They were beaming, alight with pride. It was glorious.”
But he questioned, “Why is my mind running to these figures? I thought snap out of it. You don’t have to be the critic of your own experience.” Perhaps this is good advice for when we sense the people who loved us, who have died, have drawn near. Maybe we should relish their presence and let them encourage us to “run with patience the race set before us.”
I’m Katie Andraski and that’s my perspective.
