Something Hallowed This Way Comes; A Halloween Reflection
By A Member of the Purgatorian Society
I have always loved Halloween. As a child, I would be thinking about it as early as July or August—or really, all year round. I would even ask my mom to bring out the bin of costumes and small decorations in the summer, just so I could look at them. I was a bit of a spooky kid. Growing up in the 90s, with all the horror-themed material made for children, was pure magic: Goosebumps books piled high on my nightstand, television shows like Are You Afraid of the Dark? flickering across the screen, sending shivers of excitement through me. I loved it all—the thrills, the mysteries, the gentle scares.
At the same time, I was raised in a Catholic family and attended Catholic elementary school. One might think that a love of all things spooky would clash with my faith, especially given how some Christians today view Halloween. Yet for me, there was no friction. In fact, some of my fondest memories are where my faith and my love of the eerie world around Halloween quietly intertwined.
I grew up in a small neighborhood in western New York, just two houses down from a Catholic church, surrounded by families who lived their faith. I loved that church, attending Mass there, watching the warm glow from the outdoor lights spill onto the street—an evening light I could see from my bedroom window and always found calming.
In the crisp weeks before Halloween, the neighborhood transformed. Leaves on the oak trees by the church turned fiery shades of amber and rust, fires crackled in backyard burn barrels, and homes were adorned with playful ghouls and smiling pumpkins. The scent of autumn—wood smoke, fallen leaves, and something faintly sweet from nearby kitchens—permeated everything.
One story, in particular, has stayed with me. An older woman lived a few houses down, faithful to the church and attending Mass almost daily. On Halloween, I would always stop by her home. Her porch was decorated with paper cutouts and glowing jack-o’-lanterns. She would greet us children with a warm smile, compliment our costumes, and send us on our way. Yet when I got home and emptied my bag of candy, I noticed something unusual: the pieces from her house were accompanied by small slips of paper, each bearing a Bible verse. Even as a child, I was deeply moved that she had taken the time to write these for every single piece of candy.
Reflecting on this, I also think of another part of my early spiritual life: my family’s devotion to praying for the holy souls in purgatory, a practice especially dear to my grandma. For those unfamiliar, “Purgatory is a state in which those suffer for a time who die guilty of venial sins, or without having satisfied for the punishment due to their sins.” It is not eternal damnation, but a time of purification, a period when souls are prepared to enter fully into God’s grace. And as Catholics, we believe that “The faithful on earth can help the souls in Purgatory by their prayers, fasts, alms-deeds; by indulgences, and by having Masses said for them.”
On Halloween, we would light candles for the souls of family members who had passed. On All Souls’ Day, we would visit the cemetery, leaving flowers and prayers. As I grew older, I continued this devotion, incorporating prayers for the holy souls into almost every rosary, and regularly offering novenas and the De Profundis. These acts of prayer, like the slips of Bible verses on candy, are small gestures of love that can uplift souls in need.
When I was asked to write this reflection, it struck me that Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays not just for the spooky thrills, but because it is fundamentally about giving. Rarely do we have a holiday that encourages generosity toward strangers. Children, dressed as ghosts, witches, and superheroes, roam the streets in joy, and neighbors respond with kindness. I think again of that older woman, who gave candy to children and her prayers to them—a small gesture of charity that resonated deeply.
Perhaps the lesson I carry from that is this: we can embody this spirit of generosity for the holy souls in purgatory. Just as we freely give to strangers knocking at our door on Halloween night, we can give our prayers to the souls who await God’s grace. All Hallowtide, far from being a season of darkness, is a season of light. Some of that light glows from jack-o’-lanterns on porches, but it can also shine in the quiet offering of our prayers. For those of us with a love for the spooky, let us remember to include the holy souls in our prayers throughout the year, embracing both the thrills of autumn and the charity of our faith.