The tradition likely comes from the ancient Celtic ritual at Samhain, when as the harvest was brought in, people would wear disguises and seek food from their neighbours (often in return for a recitation of verse).
In this day and age, we seldom (if ever!) have turnips or potatoes handed out, but we still have the opportunity to extend great hospitality and kindness when a knock comes upon our door.
I wonder if we would do the same if the knocker wasn't a fluffy unicorn or a fairy princess? Would we cheerfully pass over a sandwich to a hungry man, or a cup of juice to a passing child?
I'm reminded of a time, many years ago, visiting with a friend in Tanzania. A knock at the door interrupted our conversation; a young boy passing by was thirsty. My friend simply went to the kitchen, filled a cup with drinking water, and waited as the boy drank his fill. He then thanked her and left, and our conversation resumed.
"It's just what you do," she said to inquisitively raised eyebrow. "The child was thirsty, and everyone knows I have a water filter."
It was so basic, and so kind, and yet it caught me off guard; how many of my neighbours would know to knock on my door if they had a need? What did I have to offer? Would I be as open to sharing as I perhaps ought to be?
At Halloween we eagerly respond to knocks at our doors with gifts of food, of our excess. I hope we carry that openness with us all year round, when we hear a knocking on our hearts, that we might again welcome the guests, share of our abundance, and thus help to build the community of God with hospitality and kindness.
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