A Case for Halloween

We may be coming up on Thanksgiving, but I've got Halloween on my mind. As a teacher, Halloween, like Christmas, is a holiday where I must tread with care. There are usually a few students whose parents have a real discomfort over Halloween, just as there are those who have issues with Christmas, generally due to religious reasons. I respect religious differences and therefore I try to walk a careful line around such holidays.

But this year, I found myself thinking about this reality, about why so many Christians take issue with Halloween. Actually, it's not just Christians. Many adults seem squeamish at the whole fascination with the evil and violent images that Halloween conjures.

Understandable feelings. Reveling in the dark side of existence can be bad for the soul. So, there may be a line that shouldn't be crossed. However, I would submit that acknowledging the darkness, and the power behind fear and violence and death, does not deny God or life. Even for those who believe in a life after death, death is a reality. The suffering, loss and grief of death are still real aspects of human life. Even Christ experienced them. True faith should not only be able to acknowledge death, and darkness and evil and fear, it should be able to incorporate them into a fuller, more complex understanding of existence.  Perhaps by facing the creatures born in the darkest corners of our imaginations, and embodying those fears, we actually strengthen our souls' ability to endure and survive the frightening and dark parts of human existence.

At least, those are my thoughts on this cold and dark November evening.

Whale Spouts and Faith

This summer I had the amazing opportunity to spend almost two weeks at Oceanside on the Oregon coast, thanks to my wonderful parents.  One day while we were there, we went to the nearby lighthouse and were told "The whales are out today."  Now, it has long been a personal dream of mine to see whales in the wild and I knew that they sometimes made an appearance along the coast.  So, when I heard they had been sighted, I started watching the wide expanse of water in front of us, squinting with my eyes, peering into binoculars, struggling to discern if a particular patch of black in the water might possibly be a whale or not.  You see, I've never seen whales outside of television and movie screens.  I wasn't sure what to look for.  I had only the word of those around me that these magnificent, superhuman, awe-inspiring creatures were there, somewhere, hidden below the surface, making occasional appearances.

Then, just as I had given up the search, my Dad announced that two women with whom he was talking had spotted a whale playing near some rocks.  He pointed out the spot in the water.  I trained my binoculars on it.  Lo and behold, up shot a spout of white water, like a mini-geyser above the waves, followed by the all-too-brief appearance of a curve of black.  I kept watching and soon saw another spout, and a bit of black, and then another.  After a while, it seemed to have stopped, but it had moved towards the stretch of water near where we were staying.

Later that day, I saw the spouts again.  I now knew what to look for, and soon I could readily spot the signs of the leviathan's existence.  It was far away, mind you, and those spouts were small, easy to miss if you weren't looking for them, but so inspiring and exciting to me because they represented the real, honest existence of this magnificent, strange and incredible being right there in the same world as me, swimming in the same water in which I waded.

The whole experience got me thinking about faith.  I only knew to look for the whales because someone else told me.  I had to have patience and a certain amount of faith in what I was told.  Once I saw and knew it for myself, I wanted to tell everyone.  I wanted to run up and down the beach yelling "Did you see?  Did you see the whale spouts?  There's a whale out there!  Look!"  And the spouts, the signs of the whale's existence, were exciting to me because of what they represented, what my faith told me they meant.

I think it is sometimes this way with God.  We want to see God up close, in person.  We want signs that God exists.  When someone we trust points us to the signs, it can make a difference for us.  When we see and believe in a sign, it energizes our faith.  It makes us want to tell others.  But on the surface, those signs may not seem like much.  They may be easy to miss.  You may go about your business playing frisbee or beach volleyball and never know that just over your shoulder, an awe-inspiring being is sending up the signal of its existence.  And if you see it, if you believe in what it represents, the rest of the people around you may wonder what is wrong with you that you keep staring out to sea at some speck on the horizon as if it is the eighth wonder of the world.

Small Inspirations

This week, my students were once again my inspiration.  They witnessed the emergency response to the Clackamas Town Center shooting across the street from where they live (and some had family members there).  Then they heard about the Connecticut school shooting all weekend.  As we were finishing our oil pastel mural of a map of the world, I had them create word art by writing sentences to describe our world.  Here are some of the sentences my students wrote:

Our world is a calm and peaceful place.
Our world is beautiful.
Our world is as perfect as it can be.
People in our world play.
Our world is a fun place.
Our world is magnificent.
Our world is a place of friendship and kindness.

These 3rd graders are the definition of resilience.  If they can still have faith in our world, they give me a reason to hope.

A Time for Prayer and Faith

Today I learned that a former 3rd grade student of mine, now about to enter high school I think, has hit a really rough patch and gone down a dark and dangerous path.  This breaks my heart.  In my mind, I still see the beautiful, sweet-souled young man I knew and I wonder how he went so wrong (though I know enough about his life to guess at the contributing factors).

photo from moonstarsandpaper.blogspot.com

It is moments like these when some notion of prayer and faith can really help.  I don't know how to get in touch with this kiddo, and even if I did, he's not a 3rd grader anymore and I don't know what I'd say.  Something like this, maybe:  "Don't forget - you have a beautiful soul.  You can get back on track.  You can't control the crummy stuff in your life but you can control your choices.  There is room in this world for sensitive souls."  I don't know if it would make any difference.

I carry this ridiculously hopeful wish that when my students leave my classroom and get older and go out into the world, they carry something from my class with them that could make the difference in what paths they follow later.  What I heard about this former student today reminded me that far too often, those future paths go through some really dark places.  And their year with me is one small part of a long and complex journey.

Teaching is an act of faith, the faith that a thousand small acts throughout the course of 170 days or so in an 8 year old's life will leave an impression and make a difference.

As for the role of prayer in a situation like this, since I cannot see or talk to this young man and I feel so powerless, I choose to have faith that the energy I put into prayer for him and his future might have the power to sway things in some small way.  It certainly cannot hurt.  And the air around us is filled with invisible energies that have concrete power - sound waves, light waves, digitized data.  Why shouldn't prayer be one way to harness the power of invisible energies within our own brains?