Dear Costumed Crusaders,

I read a somewhat disturbing factoid yesterday from the National Retail Federation (NRF): this year Americans will spend $490 million dollars on Halloween costumes for pets. The article also noted that the amount has doubled since 2010. Of course, for many years now, Halloween has been the second most decorated holiday; total Halloween spending is projected to be $8.8 billion this year, a slight pull-back from the $9 billion spent in 2018. Given those aggregate numbers, $490 million doesn’t seem like a whole lot for that incredibly original idea to make your dachshund look like a Chicago-style hotdog. Lest you think this will be a pastoral moral diatribe about wasted money, it’s not; if you’re unable to be appalled by that number all by yourself, I’m not sure I can help you. No, I’m musing over why Halloween has become our nation’s second most expensive holiday.

On the upside, nearly 30% of all Halloween expenditures, $2.6 billion, are on goodies for the trick-or-treaters. However, as you have most likely guessed, a big bulk of the fun-sized treats are consumed before October 31. When you can buy those small portioned Snickers bars eight weeks before, it’s pretty tempting to go through a case or two in advance of the big night. The candy industry has kept pace with demand; it seems pretty obvious that we’re demanding Halloween candy continuously beginning with the 4th of July.

I think Halloween’s appeal is not only found in the treat bags; I think it has something to do with the promise of transmogrification. For Halloween we, and the places we go, and evidently our house pets, can become something different. Whether we become superheroes or goblins, visages of the seductive or the destructive, Halloween promises an escape from what we are into something we playfully aspire to be. I think its growing popularity, particularly with adults, arises from our sense of being trapped by who or what we are. “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have,” is popular career advice; unfortunately, we’re not allowed to show up to work as Batman.

I’m also not particularly judgmental about what you choose for your costume. Remember, I dress up nearly every week as a 16th century Calvinist, complete with academic robe and barrister bands, á la John Witherspoon.

My primary concern is how, in our attempt to be something other than what we are, we’re losing our creative edge. I’m not a big fan of off-the-rack or mail-order costumes. I think true Halloween creativity should require lots of aluminum foil and oatmeal boxes. If it’s three o’clock in the afternoon of the 31st and you’re not wondering how much more duct tape your costume may require, I think you’re taking the easy way out. Great costumes do not come from Party City; they come from the basement and garage where you finally figure out a use for old pie-tins and contractor bags. Unless you’re able to shell out several hundred dollars for a serious gorilla suit, stay away from the pre-made. Chances are, someone else at the party will also be a gangster.

No, the best transformations are the ones that are greeted by questions, like, “How on earth did you pull that off?" Or, “Where did you get the idea to incorporate that hand-mixer?” Or, “What on earth are you supposed to be?” And while they may require an additional trip or four to Menards, these are the costumes of which memories are made. While God always receives us for who we are, one of the many gifts God has given us is creativity.

And, by the way, I’m pretty sure your dachshund doesn’t want to be a hotdog; think of something more original, like a rolling pin or oatmeal box, and spend the money you save on dog treats or Skittles.

Figuring we could all try to dress up as better stewards, I remain,

With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor