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I donned my first Halloween costume at age 23. During an afternoon of thrift shopping, I found a pair of elbow-length white gloves, a pillbox hat, and a vintage dress suit of shimmering pink. As Jacqueline Kennedy, I strolled through the neighborhood among fairy princesses who gripped their candy bags as firmly as I held my late '60s clutch. We stood out—a bright spot among the ghouls and grim reapers.

The costume suited me. Its vivid color and historical reference eased my uncertainty about celebrating Halloween for the first time. Like many evangelical kids, I grew up in a home that didn't acknowledge Halloween. Since our Christian belief focused on Christ's victory, anything that suggested a celebration of death was naturally suspect.

Since the day I purchased that first costume, I've continued to question my opinions about Halloween. Whether we choose to participate or not, most Christians agree the best response to "Hell's Holiday" acknowledges its roots in the powerful spiritual realm. But oddly, this reality seems lost on the culture at large. If we take a close look, we'll find the spirit animating Halloween in the United States isn't an overt devil. Instead, spiritual darkness comes dressed in the wickedly subtle disguise of consumer culture.

Originally, Halloween was a sacrificial ritual designed to satisfy the pagan gods. These days, when people talk about Halloween, they don't talk about appeasing demons or frightening devils. Certainly some find pleasure in the perverse, but most people see Halloween as little more than "harmless" fun. It's a chance for kids to get free candy and cheap toys. People spend hundreds purchasing cute costumes, decorating the house in cobwebs, and making tasty little death-themed pastries.

Halloween has become the second highest grossing holiday in the United States, after Christmas. Major retailers now market Halloween presents. Circulars advertise the latest electronic gadget to capture the Halloween festivities. Stores open their doors to children in costume, winking at the revenue that follows.

What do we make of a consumer-driven celebration of darkness? When the early church appropriated Halloween for the celebration of All Saints' Day, they wanted to emphasize Christ's power—superior to the power of Satan. Similarly, in today's society, Halloween could be catharsis for a culture anxious about war and terror. It might allow us to look at the seriousness of death and, in contrast, know the power of life.

But instead, the thoughtless consumerism that tries to drain Christmas of its meaning is now hollowing Halloween as well. In a culture of plenty, we're so comfortable and far-removed from pain that death looks like fun and the supernatural like empty superstition. This numbing to spiritual reality presents Christians with a unique challenge: can we infuse a healthy sense of spiritual meaning into an increasingly meaningless holiday?

Over the years, evangelicals have responded to Halloween in several ways. One response avoids the holiday altogether. For many years, my family pretended we weren't home on October 31. We made caramel popcorn, turned off all the lights, and watched a rented movie on a rented VCR. These were special treats for us kids, and we still remember them fondly. But our response also sent mixed messages. On the one hand, we learned spending time as a family offers a positive alternative to celebrating Halloween. But hiding also taught us to fear Halloween, and as former Christian History & Biography editor Elesha Coffman reminds us, fearing evil only gives it more power.

Many families turn to church-sponsored Harvest Festivals. In junior high, I joined in as the church family decorated the gym and set up carnival games. But although we stayed safe and built community, we also reinforced the meaningless nature of Halloween. By offering alternative candy and prizes, we subtly emphasized that even this celebration should allow children the chance to get "stuff."

A third response advocates participation in Halloween. Some co-opt the darker elements, like haunted houses, for evangelistic purposes. Others, like commentator Anderson Rearick, focus on replacing the darkness with creativity, laughter, and imagination, which offer a defense against Satan, who fears the laughter of the faithful. Like the other two responses, this approach has its benefits and drawbacks. To avoid falling into the consumer trap, engaging responsibly demands that we clearly articulate what we're celebrating and why.

As Harold Myra points out in "Is Halloween a Witches' Brew?" infusing spiritual significance back into Halloween demands that we face spiritual warfare head on. In the liturgical calendar, coupling Halloween with All Saints' Day breathes new life into the vision of death. Whether we focus on the lives of traditional saints or on all the saints—faithful men and women of God—their victory over evil takes on greater meaning if we acknowledge the battle they fought. By honestly facing the reality of sin and death, we see more clearly the superior power of life.

Regardless of how we choose to respond to Halloween, it's wise to acknowledge its place in a culture where ignorance of spiritual reality may be the greatest enemy to rich spiritual life. And perhaps our awareness of the consumer culture's attempt to numb us to the realities of pain and joy, death and life, will remind us that a porch light shines most brightly in the darkness.