A Seat at the Halloween Table

By: Andrea Vaudrey

Every year, our family hosts a Halloween party for our neighborhood. We open our garage, pull out tables and chairs, light the bonfire pit, buy pizzas and host whoever wants to come. 

It has become one of those traditions that I look forward to every year. Our house gets a little chaotic. There are kids running around in costumes, parents standing around talking, food everywhere, and people coming and going throughout the evening. It is not particularly complicated. We are not trying to put on the best Halloween party in the neighborhood. We are simply opening our home and inviting our neighbors in.

And every year, I am reminded that sometimes hospitality looks a lot less complicated than we make it.

My husband says Halloween is one of his favorite holidays for a somewhat unexpected reason: it forces you to knock on your neighbor's door.

Think about that.

On most days, we can live remarkably close to one another without ever actually knowing one another. We can pull into our garages, close the garage door, and go inside. We can wave occasionally while walking the dog or getting the mail. We can live next door to a family for years without knowing their names, their stories, or what matters to them.

But on Halloween, something strange happens.

Children walk up to a stranger's house and knock on the door.

They say "Trick or treat!" and hold out a pillow case or bag. 

And suddenly, there is an exchange.

A door opens. A neighbor comes outside. A child is greeted. Someone asks, "What are you dressed as?" Someone else says, "I love your costume!" For a few minutes, people who might otherwise never interact have a reason to see one another.

Perhaps that is what makes Halloween appealing to me.

At Commission Church, we care deeply about the call to love God and love our neighbors. We believe our faith is not simply about what happens inside a church building or in our private spiritual lives. Our faith sends us outward. It calls us toward our neighbors and communities, not simply to live alongside them, but to know them and care for them.

But in order to do that we have to KNOW who they even are. 

And Halloween gives us a perfect on-ramp to do so.

I know that Halloween can be complicated for Christians. Different families and churches have different convictions about how, or even whether, to participate.

But I also wonder if sometimes our conversations about Halloween become so focused on what we should avoid that we miss an opportunity to ask a different question:

What good could we do with this moment?

Because Halloween is already bringing people outside.

Neighbors are already walking down the street. Families are already gathering. Children are already knocking on doors. People are already looking for something to do together.

What if we just showed up?

Not to take over. Not to turn every interaction into a religious transaction. Not to judge. 

Just to be present. Just to be a good neighbor.

Jesus had a remarkable ability to meet people in ordinary places. He ate meals with people. He went into homes. He walked through towns and villages. He stopped for people along the road. He paid attention to the people around him.

Jesus did not wait for everyone to come to the synagogue or the church.

He went out. 

And I think there is something important for us to recover in that posture.

Hospitality is more than having people over.

When we think about hospitality, we often think about inviting people into our homes. And that is certainly part of it.

But hospitality can also mean creating spaces where people feel noticed, welcomed, and safe.

That is one of the reasons I love our neighborhood Halloween party. 

It gives us a chance to get to know the people who live around us in a way that feels natural and unforced. There is no agenda beyond opening our home, sharing a meal, and making space for our neighbors to gather. 

We meet new people. We see kids grow from year to year. We learn names. We hear stories. We discover that the person across the street has a teenager who plays the same sport as our kid. We find out that the family down the block just moved here. We have conversations that probably would never happen if everyone simply stayed behind their front doors.

And eventually, those little conversations become relationships.

That matters.

Because it is difficult to love a neighbor you don't know.

Maybe Halloween can be a starting point.

I don't think Christians need to make Halloween into something it isn't. We don't have to turn every neighborhood event into a church program. Perhaps we simply need to be faithful neighbors.

Host a party.

Sit outside.

Hand out candy.

Introduce yourself.

Learn the names of the people who live nearby.

Notice who might be lonely.

Celebrate with your community.

And then, when Halloween is over, keep going.

I don't think the goal is to figure out how Christians can participate in Halloween without getting too close to the culture around us. I think the invitation of Jesus is much more radical than that.

Jesus moved toward people.

He entered their homes, shared their tables, listened to their stories, and made space for people who were often overlooked or excluded. He didn't build his ministry around avoiding the messiness of ordinary human life. He entered it.

So perhaps Halloween gives us a small opportunity to practice the kind of life Jesus modeled: a life that moves toward people rather than away from them.

In a world that makes it increasingly easy to live alongside people without ever really knowing them, anything that helps us move toward one another feels significant.

So we'll keep hosting our Halloween party. We'll keep opening our door. And we'll keep looking for ways to turn a neighborhood into a community.

Because hospitality is not just about having people in your home. 

It is about making room for one another in our lives.