The full text of the homily preached at today's Healing Service on the story of The Valley of the Dry Bones. from Ezekiel.
Happy Halloween! I was talking with a friend this week about Halloween - about the ways our kids have been so excited to get dressed up, to go trick or treating, to be up late at night, watch all the scary movies and go to all the haunted houses, and here we are as adults, feeling like we are living out the scene from a scary movie every time we turn on the news. If truth be told, I wasn’t really looking forward to halloween this year. But then, Sunday rolled around, and I saw this church fill with star wars characters and princesses, a skunk, a headless horsemen, a cheetah, whose paws reached out in prayer to receive holy communion, and little ones in costumes singing ancient truths. And my heart melted. And I laughed with them, and I delighted with them, and I even ate some of their candy! And last night, we did it all over again. We went out trick or treating, even at the scariest of houses. We were startled, we were spooked, we laughed and we celebrated, it was exactly what we needed. I’m not sure why I am so surprised about this, after all, this is what All Hallow’s Eve is all about.
Though Halloween may appear to be all costumes and candy, it stems from deeper, ancient traditions. Halloween is rooted in the old Christian festival of All Hallows’ Eve, the night before All Saints’ Day, when people would mock death by wearing costumes and playing tricks. At its core, Halloween is about laughing in the face of what scares us most, especially the unknown, especially death. For centuries, people have leaned into this time of the year to face mortality, light candles against the gathering darkness, and hold fast to hope.
Today, as we’re faced with divisive elections, ongoing political violence in the world, natural disasters, and our own personal anxieties that weigh heavily on our spirits, this tradition of defying fear resonates deeply.
I think for many of us we have found ourselves realizing that darkness exists in places we might not have imagined. The political rhetoric and hate speech during this election cycle has called to the surface the racism, misogyny and xenophobia that exists in our country - it has been terrifying to watch. And it has been terrifying too, to see the way we have pitted people against each other, not just in the poisonous rhetoric, but in the “othering”, in the blame, in the shame, within our own families, our own communities, our nation and our world. Civil discourse, respect across party lines, and crossing of the aisle for the betterment of our nation seems to be a thing of the past, though I pray I am wrong.
It feels impossible imagining a unified nation. It feels impossible imagining a unified world. Peace, at times, seems an impossibility.
But then I think about the reading we had today. When Ezekiel looked upon that valley, he saw a field scattered with the remains of his people—a scene of defeat and desolation, where life seemed an impossibility. God asked Ezekiel, “Can these bones live?” a question that must have sounded absurd in such a hopeless place. Yet, God instructed Ezekiel to prophesy, to call forth life where there was only death. As Ezekiel spoke, a miraculous transformation began: bones came together, flesh covered them, and finally, God’s breath brought life into this once-lifeless valley. Ezekiel’s vision assures us that no place, no matter how barren, no situation, no matter how bleak, no person, no matter how lost, is beyond the reach of God’s life-giving spirit.
This story, much like Halloween’s ancient roots, invites us to confront what is lifeless, broken, and despairing in our world, with faith that God can restore life even in the driest of valleys.
I can sense that this is true, I can wrap my head around this idea, but I find it harder to wrap my heart around it. Because this election isn’t happening in isolation, each of us gathered here, each of our neighbors near and far ,are also carrying their own life struggles.
And I don’t know about you, but balancing the weight of the world, and of my own life, is too heavy right now. I’ve thought about this a lot this week. How do we we find the strength, the courage to practice this radical faith in the face of what scares us most?
For me, the answer is always to remember, that we are not alone. God doesn’t abandon us in the valley. Just as God breathed life back into those bones, God’s Spirit moves among us, breathing life into our tired souls, calling us to hope, and to action.
Halloween and the Valley of Dry Bones share this essence: facing down death, uncertainty, and even the absurd with courage, humor, and the conviction that goodness is stronger than evil. On All Hallows' Eve, we symbolically mock death, but in doing so, we remember that death doesn’t have the last word. Through Christ, we proclaim that even the gravest of fears are held within God's embrace and can be transformed by God’s life-giving spirit. This message of transformation and resilience is especially relevant right now, as we prepare to navigate the weeks, months and years to come, without really knowing what lies ahead.
And so we must remember, that in times of uncertainty, prayer becomes a practice of radical hope and resistance against despair. On the days surrounding the election, our church will hold vigil—a place of refuge and prayer for anyone who needs to pause, reflect, and seek peace. This space is not merely a retreat from the world but a declaration that we can meet fear and division with prayerful, peace-driven action. We can find strength in community as we seek healing and reconciliation together. Here in this place, we hope you will find a place where stillness precedes new life, and quiet contemplation sparks resilience, where you are strengthened for the journey ahead.
Because their is work to do, no matter who wins the election.
Just as Halloween invites us to mock death, we can also “mock” the forces of oppression by resisting them with love and unity. Racism, misogyny, homophobia, xenophobia, and other forms of oppression are real, and they wound deeply. Yet, by gathering to pray, to seek God’s peace, and to work toward a community marked by justice, we embody our call to heal and to restore. As Christians, our faith isn’t passive but calls us to act in the spirit of resurrection, trusting that God is at work in even the most desolate places.
We can look to Jesus as our model of this active, peace-seeking faith. Jesus was no stranger to division or oppression; he lived in a time when political and social tensions ran high, yet he consistently showed compassion and solidarity with those who were marginalized. His ministry was marked by a deep sense of peace that was not simply about calmness but about the active pursuit of justice, mercy, and reconciliation. Through his life, death, and resurrection, Jesus demonstrated that love is stronger than hate and that new life can spring forth even in the darkest moments.
As we approach Election Day and the days that follow, let us carry this spirit of resurrection into our prayers and our actions. Let us commit ourselves to being people of peace, not by withdrawing from the challenges around us but by facing them with courage and conviction. Whether we are praying for our community, advocating for the marginalized, or simply reaching out to those who feel isolated, each of us has a role to play in building a world that reflects God’s love and justice.
And as the sun sets, and we move into All Saints Day, let us remember the saints who came before us—people who, like us, faced times of fear and uncertainty but stood firm in their faith. Their lives remind us that the work of love, justice, and reconciliation is ongoing, often demanding, but always worth the struggle. We are not alone in this journey. Together, as a community, we are called to walk through our valleys of dry bones, trusting that God’s spirit moves with us, breathing new life, inspiring resilience, and grounding us in a hope that cannot be shaken.
Email: associate@stjohnsnh.org