Dear Costumed Candy Crusaders:

Well, last night was Halloween trick-or-treat on our block; we gave out fistfuls of candy down our recycled 2020 COVID safe-distance candy chute, where the treats dump out of a pumpkin’s mouth into an awaiting treat bag. The best response this year was from a little fireman, about two years old. As the candy shot out of the pumpkin, he did a little happy dance cute enough for me to toss a couple more handfuls of candy down the converted PVC pipe.

What surprised me this year was the number of kids who needed to be steered back down the porch steps to the business end of the pumpkin candy delivery system. Mesmerized by the sequence (walk to door, ring doorbell, shout trick-or-treat, receive positive reinforcement in the form of wrapped sugar, say thank you, descend steps, walk to next door, repeat), the break in the routine resulted in confused data-overload, where the child would just stand at the door, pillowcase open, gesturing towards the candy bag like a Roomba stuck in the corner repeatedly slamming the wall, unable to compute its next move. I felt bad for some, as their trick-or-treat chaperones shouted directions they clearly could not hear or compute. For those stuck in the hypnosis of routine, change is hard, especially when the routine is reinforced with sugar.

Because this musing is written by someone dedicated to finding hidden meaning in mundane experiences (even when it isn’t there), I suggest trick-or-treating is a metaphor for life. Each morning we put on our costumes with varying degrees of creativity, walk out of our houses to the unfamiliar doors of others, implore their generosity, receive the expected reward and move on to the next engagement. The fact that we are occasionally complimented for our creativity or appearance is secondary to our zombie-like quest for more sugar. Don’t break the sequence, too much chit-chat, there are more treats to be had at all those yet-to-ring doorbells, and our permitted time is fast running out. The metaphor works on the other end as well. We decorate our spaces and hope we’ve bought enough; we want those who come to appreciate our preparations; we evaluate the effort others have spent on their appearance; we begin with earnest energy, but by the end of it all we are grateful to turn out the light.

I don’t mean to be critical, but from time to time I think life should include a break in the routine; we should pause, take it all in and indulge in a little happy dance. By the way, at church yesterday, I loved your masks.

Hoping your treat-swaps worked in your favor, I remain,

With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor