A Wiccan Family's Halloween Celebration

As the sun begins to set on October 31st, we gather with friends and relatives to begin celebrating the Great Sabbat of Samhain.

Wiccans don't actually celebrate Halloween. That's an American secular holiday all about candy, costumes and ghost stories. But the festive day it does have some roots in the ancient Northern European festivals, commonly called Samhain (SOW-een), which means "Summer's End." It was a harvest festival; a time to put the crops to rest and finish preparing for the long and dangerous winter ahead.

It's no wonder our superstitious ancestors feared this time of year, thinking the spirits of the dead walked the Earth, that the veil between the worlds was thin, imagined devils and demons laying in wait for their souls, and that one could look into your future to see one's fate. It was a scary time. The days were growing shorter, the night's longer. The late Autumn winds began to blow the countryside speedily toward Winter, where the first of many snowfalls lie in wait to imprison the ground in ice. People were ready to retreat into their humble, rustic abodes, where they would live out the dark days by candlelight, isolated, trying to get the chill out of their bones and praying their family would make it until Spring thaw. In the Winter, people died. Anything going wrong could be catastrophic for a family- running out of food or fire wood, getting ill, a house catching fire from a misplaced coal. When a new baby was born in the winter, instead of congratulations, a common sentiment was, "don't get too attached to it yet." People didn't even bother naming new babies until the Spring. It's hardly a stretch of the imagination to realize why people's imaginations ran away with them considering the tribulations ahead.

Our home has for days been bustling with activity. For a Grand Sabbat, the house simply must be spic and span, so we've spent the last couple of weeks doing our deep Fall cleaning. Lists of chores have been passed around and ticked off as they were completed. Decorations have been dragged from the attic and dusted off, and spread around the house like confetti- silk Autumn leaves are draped everywhere, scarecrows are peeking from corners and ghosties hanging from the ceiling, dried herbal wreaths deck the walls and potted marigolds make table centerpieces. We've spent a few days carving jack-o-lanterns featuring images of the harvest reaper, sculls, pentagrams, and simple smiling faces, and they glow warmly in the corners of the room.

The focal point of the room is a large altar draped in black cloth, topped with candles, a cauldron, a wand, a silver goblet, baskets of Autumn fruits and nuts. Against it rests a straw broom. Burning incense in a brass dish perfumes the house with an apple-cinnamon scent, mingling with the odors of a harvest feast that seeps from the kitchen. Hanging above the altar, a cardboard painted tree with branches reaching to the ceiling. On it's branches are pinned orange and gold paper leaves, each with the names of a deceased person who has touched our lives- relatives we may or may not have gotten the chance to know, musicians and writers and heroes who have had an impact on us, friends whose time had come too soon, and even beloved pets.

Folk music plays, a somber tune chanting the praises of the Goddess. The kids are in their costumes, as are a few adults. We form a semi-circle around the altar.Modern Wiccans no longer face the same fears and dangers that our ancestors did. When winter comes, with our electrically heated homes, local mega-marts and modern medicine, we don't fear we won't live through it.

But we still hold reverent this time of year for what it symbolizes. At a time of year when even nature itself seems to be dying, we honor the dead and celebrate death as a part of the life cycle- after all, we celebrate birth, youth, fertility, maturity and every other part of the life cycle; why not death? We look to the myths of the sacrificial Gods who give their lives- Mithra, The Green Man, Jesus, Odin- who give their lives and go to the land of the dead in order to bring life back to the world. We honor the Goddess- the feminine aspect of the Divine- in the symbolic form of the Crone, the wise old woman. She is associated with the dark- no, not evil; the absence of light, the end of the day when the stars come out, likewise the end of life when we walk over the threshold of our twilight years. We celebrate the harvest, nature's bounty, the beauty of the world even as it lays to rest, with the knowledge that it will awaken again for us in a few months.

Children sprinkle the room with salt (earth) and water, and carry around a red candle (fire) and vessel of incense (air), as we ask for the blessings of the sacred elements. Music plays:

Hecate, Cerridwen
Dark Mother, take us in
Hecate, Cerridwen
Let us be reborn... (lyrics by Patricia Witt)

A flickering orange pillar candle decorated with glittery sun and star symbols rises from a small cauldron at the center of the altar. From it, we light white candles to guide the recently departed to the Summerlands- the place souls go when they die to rest, reflect and prepare for rebirth. We call out the names of those we've loved and bid welcoming to the spirits of our ancestors who loved us and wish us well to celebrate our Sabbat with us.We offer a prayer to the Sun God:

On this night of Samhain, we mark your passing,
O Sun King, through the sunset into the Land of the Young.
We also mark the passing of all who have gone before, and all who will go after
O Gracious Goddess, Eternal Mother, You who gives birth to the fallen,
teach us to know that in the time of greatest darkness,
there is greatest light (Wicca; A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner by Scott Cunningham)

Children blow out the Sun Candle to symbolize the death of the Sun God. We've used it all year during our eight Sabbats, the first marking the rebirth of the Sun Lord, and throughout the seasons of His life. Now, the remaining wax will be buried and a new Sun Candle made for His rebirth at the Winter Solstice. There are hugs and kisses and season's greetings, and the children are taken out for their trick-or-treating rounds. Even though it has nothing to do with our holiday, we allow them some time to enjoy the secular celebration with friends and neighbors. Besides, they always score me enough peanut butter cups to last until Valentine's day. While some adults are out bringing the children around, some (often the domestically inclined ladies of the family) stay behind and set the table for the feast. The table is decorated with our best dishes and silverware, with little pumkins, gourds, Fall flowers and candles adorning it. A giant cauldron full of a beef and pork stew is set in the center with a silver ladle. Fresh baked rolls, corn on the cob, yams, pumpkin, apple pie, mulled wine, apple cider and cranberry juice follows.The house oddly begins to feel crowded, as though our unseen loved ones have been arriving and are mulling about the place, as caught up in the season as we are. Sometimes you catch a whiff of an old perfume you haven't smelled in years, or feel a breath on the back of your neck, or a pressure on your shoulder, like that of a caring hand. Is it our imaginations? Could be- but it doesn't matter. It helps me feel like those who I've been missing are close to me once again. The trick-or-treaters return, hungry from their travels. Soon, a lone voice begins chanting:

Our hands will work for peace and justice
Our hands will work to heal the land
Gather 'round the harvest table
Let us feast and bless the land (Harvest Chant, lyrics by Theresa Dutton)...

It draws everyone from the corners of the house to a festive romp around the dinner table with all joining in the singing. A woman, usually the lady of the house- namely, me- takes up the juice and asks for blessings of the Goddess. She pours out a libation into a cup, takes a sip and passes it around the table for everyone else to have a sip. The cup is passed with the wish, "may you never thirst."

Someone else, usually the man of the house- namely, my husband- takes up the bread and asks for blessings of the God. He puts a piece on a dish, takes a piece to bite, and passes it around for everyone else. After a bite, each person passes it to the next with the wish, "may you never thirst."

We pile that plate with a heaping portion of all the foods on the table. The children include a few pieces of candy- not just the hard suckers, the good stuff- and carry the cup, plate and other baskets of food to the altar. We make the offering in the names of Goddess and God, in honor of those who have gone before, with thanks for the blessings of the earth, and set it on the altar. In the morning, it will be set out for the wild life to take it. Then we sit at the table and serve ourselves.

As we feast, and even later when we are stuffed and nursing our after-dinner coffee, we speak of the dead. We remember those who have gone before us- sometimes with laugher, sometimes with tears, but more often with a combination of both. We speak their names and tell their stories, passing on their memories to new generations so they can live on.We sing songs, dance, comfort each other, or tell old seasonal folk tales and myths to the children.

When they are finally asleep- not as late as you would think, after all that excitement- and guests who remain shut the overhead lights and settle down by the glow of candles and jack-o-lanterns to meditate, perform divination, or work magic. Secrets are revealed, deep feelings are pondered and courses of action are speculated. Often, revelations are had.

In the wee hours before dawn, once the living guests depart (though I often continue to feel the presence of a soul or two), and everyone in the household has gone to bed, I sit in the darkness. I gaze at the dying candles on the altar, and reflect on my life. Reflection is another important association to this time of year. At harvest, our pastoral ancestors saw what the seeds they had sown had brought, and gathered the fruits of their labors. Likewise, at this harvest festival, I think on the "seeds" I have planted in my life. I think about all the things that have come to fruition, and all the blessings that abound. I let go of that which is no longer bearing fruit, and consider what I need to bring in for the future.

Not all Wiccans celebrate exactly as my family does; like Christmas or Passover, every denomination has their own set of rites and rituals, and every family it's own unique traditions. You may disagree with my beliefs, or the mythologies and traditions I draw on, but try to see past the pomp and circumstance, past the myth and symbolism (for my family does not believe these things literally), to the meaning at the heart of my celebration: to honor and remember those who have touched my life in some way, be thankful to the Creator for life and celebrate life's blessings, and to think back on my words and deeds, where they have brought me and consider where I am going. Without the fears the ancestors had to worry about, we have tried to re-create the important, life-affirming message of this time of year to connect with them and learn from them, lest we forget their wisdom with our lives so removed from what nature had intended (Goddess forbid!).