My Stance on Halloween by Holly D. Sands
Here's the thing: I don't care where it came from. I really don't.
Whatever October 31st meant a thousand years ago doesn't matter. I don't live in 1026. I live in 2026. So the question I have to answer as a follower of Jesus isn't "Where did this come from?" It's "What is this today, and do I want any part of it?"
When I look honestly at what Halloween is today, my answer is NO. So for anybody who's ever wondered where I stand, here it is, once and for all.
What Halloween Is Now
Walk into any store or just down the street during "spooky season." Aisles of skeletons, severed hands, bloody masks, demons, and witches. Horror movie marathons. Haunted houses built for one purpose: to make people afraid. Grown women's costumes that are basically lingerie. The whole season celebrates death, fear, gore, sex, and the occult, and it calls all of it fun.
And don't just take my word for it. According to the National Retail Federation's 2026 Halloween survey, the number one adult costume in America this year is a witch. That's 4.8 million grown adults. Vampires came in second. And another 1.6 million kids are dressing up as witches too. Let that sink in.
"But my kid dressed up as a firefighter and got Snickers. Where's the occult in that?"
Love that for him. Little firefighters are adorable. But nobody built spooky season around little firefighters.
"Oh, come on, it's just about getting the kids some candy."
Really? That's all it is? Because last I checked, the store sells candy 365 days a year. Family-size bags, even. I'll take mine without the demonic land mines, thanks.
"But my kid's dressed as an angel!"
Sweet. I'm sure she's precious. But from where I'm standing, she's still skipping across the devil's altar. Angel, firefighter, princess, Michael Myers: the costume doesn't change what the night is. You can wear a halo to a séance. It's still a séance!
Where Harmless Fun Led Me
I'm not writing this as someone who's never celebrated it. Halloween was a big deal at our house growing up. Every year, "Uncle Harvey," a stuffed dummy, took his seat on our porch. My dad ran strings from his arms through the window, and when kids came up for candy, Uncle Harvey reached for them. Scared the living daylights out of them. We even turned our home into a "scary house," led our friends through a pitch-black maze, and made them touch peeled grapes while we told them they were eyeballs. We thought it was all fun.
Here's what I didn't know back then: not everybody out there on October 31st is playing. For people who practice witchcraft and paganism today, and plenty do, out in the open, it isn't a costume party. It's a sacred night.
I should know. I used to be one of them. When Jesus saved me (you can read my testimony here), He mercifully wiped a lot of that out of my memory, and I'm grateful He did. But I remember this much: Halloween was a sacred night to practice spells. It wasn't a cutesy night of collecting candy and stuffing my face.
Looking back, I can see the road I took. There was already paranormal activity happening in our home. Halloween just played right into that.
I'm not saying every kid in a costume ends up casting spells. I'm saying nobody who ends up there ever thought they would. I didn't. My parents didn't. It was all just harmless fun, until it wasn't. Now I think twice before I call anything harmless.
Ever wonder why so many of us who've been pulled out of the occult won't go anywhere near Halloween? It's not because we're scared of it. It's because we know exactly what it is. We've been on the other side of that night. We've seen what's going on in the dark while the neighbors are handing out Dum Dums. And I, for one, will never, ever go near it again.
You Can't Sanctify What God Called Wicked
So here's what I know: nobody can sanctify what God has already called wicked.
You can't. You can't baptize it. You can't slap a Bible verse on it. You can't rename it "Hallelujah Night" and call it redeemed.
God never called October 31st wicked. A date is a date. But He called the occult wicked, all of it:
"There shall not be found among you... one who practices witchcraft, or a soothsayer, or one who interprets omens, or a sorcerer, or one who conjures spells, or a medium, or a spiritist, or one who calls up the dead. For all who do these things are an abomination to the LORD" (Deuteronomy 18:10–12).
Abomination. Not "a little iffy." Not "use your discretion." Abomination.
And God saw the "let's just Christianize it" crowd coming a mile away, Jesus-o-lanterns in hand. He told Israel not to even ask, "How did these nations serve their gods? I also will do likewise." His answer? "You shall not worship the LORD your God in that way" (Deuteronomy 12:30–31).
In that way. Not with their nights. Not with their rituals. Not with their customs, no matter what you rename them.
A witch's high holy night with a cross taped to it is still a witch's high holy night. Renaming darkness doesn't turn it into light. Isaiah pronounced a woe on folks who try (Isaiah 5:20).
"But that's Old Testament!"
Okay. Here's Paul, writing to the church: "what communion has light with darkness?... 'Come out from among them and be separate, says the Lord. Do not touch what is unclean'" (2 Corinthians 6:14, 17).
Come out. Be separate. Don't touch it.
And Paul tells us to think on whatever is true, noble, just, pure, lovely, and of good report (Philippians 4:8). I've read that list a hundred times and you know what? I still haven't found the zombie bride on it.
The Tired Christian Liberty Argument
Every. Single. Year. Somebody pulls out Romans 14 like a get-out-of-jail-free card, slaps it on the table, and thinks the conversation is over.
Hold up, Mr. Monopoly. Park your little pewter top hat right there. This conversation isn't over.
I believe in Christian liberty. I'm not ripping Romans 14 out of anybody's Bible. But have you actually read it? Paul is talking about “doubtful things” (Romans 14:1), like meat and days, things God never forbade. And remember, I already said I don’t care about the date. October 31st is just a square on the calendar. My problem isn’t the day. It’s what people fill it with.
Nothing about the occult is a doubtful thing. God calls it an abomination. Period. Case closed.
But here's the part nobody quoting Romans 14 ever mentions: in that very same chapter, Paul puts a limit on liberty.
"It is good neither to eat meat nor drink wine nor do anything by which your brother stumbles or is offended or is made weak" (Romans 14:21).
Think about a brand-new believer who just walked out of the occult and is watching what the church does on October 31st. What does it tell them when the same people who prayed them out of darkness are throwing a costume party on the very night they used to cast spells?
It tells them the night they just renounced is no big deal. That the thing Jesus delivered them from is fair game for a party. That maybe it wasn't so dark after all.
That's how a brother or sister is made to stumble. And I can't express the depth of grief that gives my soul.
John Chrysostom put it this way: If you ruin your brother, you have subverted peace and harmed joy in a way that is worse than stealing from him. Another has saved him, but you have wronged him and ruined him.
Paul makes the same point about liberty in Galatians: "you, brethren, have been called to liberty; only do not use liberty as an opportunity for the flesh" (Galatians 5:13). Peter said it too: live "as free, yet not using liberty as a cloak for vice" (1 Peter 2:16).
Liberty was never permission to do what God forbade.
"But we aren't observing it that way!"
I know. Paul heard that one too. Some of the Corinthians figured an idol was nothing, so what’s the harm in grabbing a plate at the temple? Paul agreed the idol itself was nothing. But he didn’t stop there: “the things which the Gentiles sacrifice they sacrifice to demons and not to God, and I do not want you to have fellowship with demons. You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons; you cannot partake of the Lord’s table and of the table of demons” (1 Corinthians 10:20–21).
Meat bought at the market? Eat it, no questions asked. No problemo. Pulling up a chair at the idol’s party? Absolutely not.
And even the market meat had a limit: “if anyone says to you, ‘This was offered to idols,’ do not eat it for the sake of the one who told you, and for conscience’ sake... Conscience, I say, not your own, but that of the other” (1 Corinthians 10:28–29).
Did you catch that? Not your own. Paul's point was this: even if you know the meat is just meat, once someone tells you it was offered to an idol, you don't eat it. Not because of what it means to you, but because of what it means to them.
Same with Halloween. You could call it a harmless night of fun and candy. But those who practice the occult have already publicly stated what October 31st means to them:
- Storm Faerywolf, a practicing warlock and founder of the BlueRose witchcraft tradition, wrote in The Wild Hunt on October 16, 2026, that Samhain “is often a time where Witches gather to honor the dead and to reconnect with the spiritual world.”
- Psychic medium Matt Fraser calls Halloween Eve “the night when the veil between our world and the spirit world is at its thinnest,” and this year he’s selling tickets to a live-streamed event where he’ll pass along messages from people’s dead loved ones.
- On October 25, 2025, an Austin witch shop owner told San Antonio Express-News (MySA) that at Samhain, while the veil is at its thinnest, "there’s a lot of spooky magic in the air." Her ritual includes an altar lined with photos of dead ancestors and loved ones, where she lights a candle asking to connect with them. She went on to say as long as you aren't hurting anyone, go ahead and practice the craft: “So as long as you have good intentions, and you’re not trying to be sneaky, harm anyone, or do anything that’s nefarious, there’s really no wrong way to do this.”
That’s the heart of it for a lot of people who practice this stuff. If your heart’s in the right place and nobody gets hurt, what’s the harm? But God never made intention the test. Seeking guidance from the dead is an abomination to the Lord, with no exception for kind motives.
So yeah, I'm not eating the meat.
My Hill
So here's where I stand. On October 31st, 1517, Martin Luther posted his Ninety-five Theses in Wittenberg. He wasn't protesting the world. He was protesting the church for taking something God never approved and calling it holy.
You can call this my Martin Luther moment. No, I'm not showing up in a monk costume. Nice try. And no, I don't have ninety-five points, so chill. But I'm nailing mine to the proverbial door all the same.
- I won't decorate for Halloween.
- I won't dress up for it.
- I won't hand out candy for it.
- I won't watch its shows.
- I won't listen to its music.
- I won't laugh at its jokes.
- I won't call it harmless.
- I won't celebrate it.
And I definitely won't do the church version, either. No "Trunk-or-Treat." No "Trunk of Treats." No "Holy Ghost Boo Bash" (yeah, it really exists). No "Hallelujah Fest" with a costume contest, no matter what date it's on.
Not a nod. Not a wink. Not a little. Not "just for the kids."
And don't tell me I'm scared. "He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world" (1 John 4:4). I'm not afraid of a plastic skeleton.
I just know where I came from. "He has delivered us from the power of darkness and conveyed us into the kingdom of the Son of His love" (Colossians 1:13). He pulled me out of that darkness. I'm not walking back into it for a bag of KitKats.
I belong to Jesus Christ now, and I will not lend His name to a night that celebrates everything He died to save me from.
What you do with all this? That's between you and God. I'm not your Holy Spirit, and I'm not applying for the job.
This is my hill. I will die on it.
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Holly D. Sands has walked with Christ since 1983. She writes at He is My Song, helping fellow believers walk faithfully through every season with biblical encouragement, sound doctrine, and honest reflection. She lives in South Carolina, where she and her husband, Shane Sands, are members of a local Baptist church. Shane's been called by God as an evangelist and leads United in Christ Jesus ministry. At home, they're joined by their idiot cat, Mister Bojangles, whose main contribution to the household is sleeping and eating treats.
© 2026 He is My Song. All rights reserved.
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