The doctrine of the mystical body unites all Christians to their Master, and one with the other in God’s kingdom here on earth. As the branches have their source in the vine, so with Christ we have been bound together for growth and fruition. But project that unity out of time, out of life, out of the universe and we have a doctrine of more tremendous inclusiveness.

How many millions of the servants of Christ have gone on to a closer unity with Him? All those men and women whose story we have written and those whose names have never been acknowledged, all those who celebrated lavishly both "festival and solemn times" and those who have eaten only poverty, all are our brothers in Christ whether they be living or dead. "We are not strangers nor pilgrims, but fellow citizens of the saints and members of the household of God, since we who were once faraway have been brought near by the blood of Christ." Some may be enjoying the festive banquet for eternity. Some may not yet have made perfect their wedding garment. But all are one in the Communion of Saints.

We speak of world fellowship and forget that the best common denominator of any unity is our life in Christ. Catholics are world citizens of Christ’s kingdom, and this very universality marks our church as true. But we are more than that. We are members of an "other-world" fellowship which is eternal, and of this kingdom there shall be no end. The saints in heaven, too, are our brothers.

"Thou hast redeemed us O Lord God, in Thy blood; out of every tribe, and tongue, and people, and nation and hast made us a kingdom unto our God."

We hear the call of the first vespers:

"Bless the Lord all ye His elect, keep a day of gladness and give thanks unto Him."

The day that we keep holy is the Feast of All Saints.

A few years ago we invited several families of the neighborhood to help us celebrate All Saints Day. It was to be a family party for little and big. When we counted all the children, we had quite a house full. The invitation bade them come for the vigil and feast of All Saints. We wanted to bring Halloween back to its proper place as a "build-up" for the festival of All Saints, rather than an end point after which we were too tired to even attend well at Mass. Our guests were warned not to expect much in the line of food on the eve of the feast because this was one of our days of fast.

We had planned a great bonfire out-of-doors around which we could cook our simple supper, but a steady drizzle on Halloween morning made us pull our party under roof. I had a suspicion that the menfolks prayed for rain so they wouldn’t have to chop so much firewood. This was an old pagan bonfire day, Samhain, which marked the end of summer and the beginning of the winter solstice. Since at this time of the year the powers of growth are weakest, it became known as the day of the dead. We had to be satisfied to make our pancakes at the fireplace.

"Pancakes again?" you will say. Yes, pancakes and Kail Brose and Callcannon and Bannock Salainn. The Boxty Pancakes were made by the Irish for this fast day, but you know the recipe by this time. We substituted buttermilk and soda for sweet milk and baking powder. The Kail Brose, a mixture of cabbage, stock and oatmeal, was not a great success with the children. I suppose it was too much like their everlasting oatmeal for breakfast. But we all agreed that the Callcannon was delicious. This is a combination of potatoes and turnips in a two to one ratio. The vegetables are cubed and cooked in salted water. When tender they are mashed and served with a large chunk of butter in the center. Soon after the portions were dished out, Mary was biting on a golden ring. Ann found a wheel which gave her promise of a journey. Every one ate all the scraps of the Callcannon in hope of having his fortune told. There were silver pieces and thimbles and a tiny doll. Callcannon was an Irish dish, and we all enjoyed eating the luck of the Irish.

The biggest laugh, however, came when one of the mothers tasted the Hallowmas or Sallain Bannock. You would have thought she was poisoned. Such sputtering you have never seen. Sallain Bannock was a cake made by Scotch lassies especially for Halloween. They stir about six teaspoons of salt into the dough so it is scarcely edible, eat it, and then, without a word or drink of water, they climb into bed to dream of their future husbands. We, who have good husbands and a lot of little olive plants besides, decided we didn’t need any salty cake to make us dream.

Since Halloween was often called Nutcrack Night, we chose nuts and apples for dessert and served plenty of cider to lubricate the singing which always goes with a fireplace party. Our family had promised our guests a play so at 7:30 sharp the curtains opened on our home-made production. We had decided to act out three Halloween customs. Strangely enough each one had to do with food. We had read over the story of the customs several times, but there were no written lines. There was one rehearsal the night before in which most of the old clothes of the attic trunk were dragged out. Feed sacks were our background, our scenery and our draperies.

The first scene showed how the Bretons passed their Halloween vigil. Since the morrow was to be the banquet of all saints, both living and dead, it was natural to think of those who had gone before them. Some of their kin were in heaven, and they would come to the feast to give hints on heavenly celebrating. Others were in purgatory, and they would have a long way to come. They would bring warnings so that all might avoid their state. Still other souls might even be released from hell to come to the feast, but they would bring nothing but remorse and resentment.

This was the deep and sincere Christian thought behind the superstitious practices of Halloween. Souls, both good and bad, were coming back. We should be ready with our welcome. The Bretons spent the day in prayer. After black vespers they took trays of hot pancakes, curds and cider into the cemeteries to wait for the returning souls. Our scene was laid in front of the charnel house, and the vigil was held among tombstones, skulls and bones.

The food was left on the mounded graves. One by one the watchers disappeared as the hour approached midnight. Only one appointed to the task remained in the charnel house to keep vigil. That was our daddy with his knees a-quaking. It is strange how hungry one gets when praying alone. There is a terrible void in the stomach when one is afraid. Nobody would ever know who ate the cakes and cheese. Better the living should eat than the dead.

On the following morning, the crowds returned. They saw that the food was gone. They were glad that the trays were empty. The poor souls had surely been there. Then everyone, church triumphant, militant and suffering would go to High Mass together.

The second scene was laid somewhere along the border between England and Wales. The charnel house had now become a rich man’s house. The rich man objected to having his rest broken by boys and girls who came "a-souling." They would chant at each door until it was opened:

This practice, too, was originally a religious one, following along the same thought. If the dead were returning tonight, some of them would need prayers. A rich man doesn’t have too much time to pray and, since we all belong to the great Communion of Saints, perhaps some other Christians who were less occupied would pray for the dead of his family for a small consideration. The consideration in this case was a Soul Cake. Perhaps, too, the cake may have been given in charity in the hope that it would cover a multitude of sins. At any rate, the custom which began in religion has been secularized until today our children no longer know why they beg on Halloween.

The Soul Cake was originally a small round bun. We made enough to pass around the audience between scenes. They are best served warm from the oven with plenty of berry preserve.

Dissolve yeast in water with one tablespoon sugar. Cover and allow to rise until light. Cream butter and remaining sugar. Add scalded milk. When mixture is lukewarm, add yeast and sifted dry ingredients. Knead into a soft dough. Let rise until double in bulk. Shape into small round or oval buns. Brush tops with egg. Bake on greased cookie sheets in a hot oven (400 degrees) for 15 minutes. Turn oven down to 350 degrees and bake the cakes until golden brown.

It seems, however, that in one rich man’s house there was a cook who had imagination. She had made Soul Cakes at Hallowmas for years. She noticed how the children were becoming secularized. Instead of singing plain chant, they were whining doggerel. Instead of thinking of the meaning of their acts, they were thinking only of their stomachs as they yelled in her window:

Soul! Soul! for a soul cake!
I pray good misses, a soul cake!
An apple or pear, a plum or a cherry
Any good thing to make us merry.
One for Peter, two for Paul,
Three for Him who made us all
Up with the kettle and down with the pan,
Give us good alms and we’ll be gone.

She also had a grave suspicion that once those children left the door they thought no more of the poor souls for whom they were to pray. They stuffed her good sweet buns in their hungry mouths, and never so much as an Ave ascended to heaven for the dead.

One year she decided to fix them so that with every bite they would remember why they had been given the cake. Instead of making plain round buns, she made a circular bun with a hole in the middle. In those days the never ending circle was common parlance for everlasting life and our passage to it. The result of her cleverness was a doughnut, a reminder of prayer. Requiescat in pace.

Beat the eggs, milk and shortening. Stir in sifted dry ingredients. Roll the dough on a well-floured board until one-fourth inch thick. Cut with doughnut cutter. Fry the doughnuts in deep fat at 370 degrees until brown. Sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon while still warm.

The third and last scene of our show took place in a little Irish kitchen where boys and girls were playing Halloween games and telling fortunes. They had gathered red berries to keep away witches, and had ducked for apples until the floor was dripping. It was time for bed. Before they went to sleep, however, the children had to prepare for the coming of the dead. They spread a table with a clean white cloth and placed an uncut loaf on it. Water was set there, too, in case a poor soul were parched and thirsty. Pat allowed that Uncle Tim would prefer a bit of something stronger than water, but water it was or nothing. Chairs were placed in a semi-circle. Then Pat had to poke up the fire and add a log or two because dead souls are such cold ones. When everything was in readiness, the little Irish family retired.

The curtains closed and that was a signal for the rest of us to think of the night. Curfew was to ring at nine o’clock, and we had to find beds for all the children and the grownups. By nine o’clock, the little ones were covered up. Out-of-doors the curfew began to toll slowly. As the last stroke sounded, a group began to sing the Dies Irae and then the De Profundis. This gave the tone to the adult discussion which began with death and ended with much talk of the morrow’s feast.

All Saints Day

The next morning, All Saints Day, the entire party set off for 8:30 Mass to "offer Thee, O Lord, the gifts of our devotion; may they be pleasing to Thee in honor of all Thy saints and of Thy mercy let them avail for our salvation." This is the day the Gospel teaches the Beatitudes. It is good for children to hear them read out while their parents sit at their sides. It is as though the child says, "I see that in you my father and mother"; and the parent replies, "I expect that of you my child."

Back home we came for a real feast-day brunch with roast chicken and ham baked in red wine and all sorts of trimmings. At the table there were songs for the harvest and stories of our name saints. We sang many Negro spirituals because they reflect so well the close communion of saint and sinner. If heaven is to be a great banquet, we felt we would not be embarrassed strangers because we, too, had had our feasting. I have always had grave doubts about my ability to play a golden harp, but perhaps the Lord will let me help serve at the "welcome table." That is much more in my line. We spent the afternoon in harvest dances and had a bag-puppet show given by and for the children. Strange to say no one missed their dinner even though it was past dinner time when they went home.

For the feast we used our finest recipes, all-American choice and family favorites. What they were I will not tell you now. Use your best dishes and make your own All Saints’ tradition. So in a mighty climax the symphony of the church year rose in crescendo. It was a finale we would not forget.

All Souls Day

Now all that was left was to add a coda to round the whole and let the music find its peace. That coda was a prayerful watch with the dead of All-Souls Day, November 2. We had knocked at Heaven’s gate to invite all the saints to a feast day. We had peeked between the lattice so we could imitate the Heavenly etiquette. We had made merry with our friends, because, as Christians, we who were dead have come to life again and, as prodigal sons of God, we who were lost are found.

But our charity and love go out to those who, though dead, still stand and watch at Heaven’s gate before they can taste of the Lord’s feast. We turn from our gaiety to the sombre thought that we, too, may one day be waiting at the closed lattice because we are not yet perfect. We leave our friends to visit the loneliest spot on earth — the cemeteries of the dead.

If we had lived in France, we would have carried wreaths of artificial flowers to brighten the darksome graves. If our home were Belgium, we would have made All-Souls Cakes and eaten one for each of our dead. If we had been born among the hills of Lithuania, we would have taken large hampers of feast day food to the cemeteries and had a picnic with the departed members of our family. Had our home been Hungary, we might have decorated the family graves with strands of electric lights much like our Christmas tree trimmings. There seems to be a universal desire to brighten and lighten the home of the dead. In Mexico we would have made holiday with death in song, in poetry and joking. Our children would have played with little confections made in the shape of skulls or hearses or coffins. The grisly shapes, however, would not he enough to prevent them from eating the goodies after the game. But, as American Catholics, we visit our dead with empty hands and empty hearts. Our hands are clasped in a plea for mercy and our hearts have poured out their love before God on behalf of the suffering souls in purgatory.

Other Recipes

FASTNACHT DOUGHNUTS
3 potatoes 2 cups flour 1 cake yeast 1/4 cup lukewarm water 2 cups flour	2 cups lukewarm milk 4 beaten eggs 1 cup sugar 1/2 cup melted butter

Boil potatoes in water to cover. When done, mash potatoes. Use potato water to scald two cups of flour. Dissolve yeast in one-fourth cup lukewarm water. Combine potatoes, flour sponge and yeast. At bedtime add two cups flour to lukewarm milk. Add to potato mixture. Let the dough rise overnight. In the morning of fetter Dienstag, mix in eggs, sugar and butter. Knead dough and let rise until double in bulk. Roll dough one-half inch thick. Cut with doughnut cutter. Fry in hot deep fat (370 degrees).

Beat eggs and sugar. Add milk and sifted dry ingredients alternately. Stir in butter and vanilla. Fry in large iron skillet.

This makes a sweet pancake, good served with fruit or jam. Omit the sugar and vanilla for a plainer dish; use four eggs, one cup milk and three tablespoons sugar for a dessert.

Beat salt and sugar with eggs. Add milk and flour alternately. Stir in butter. Fry on hot griddle.

Served with ripe red raspberries, fresh from the garden, Finnish Pancakes are sure to make your bonfire party a success.

Berger, Florence S. "Halloween" Taken from Cooking for Christ (National Catholic Rural Life Conference, 1949).

Electronic version provided by Petersnet.

Cooking for Christ can be ordered at www.ncrlc.com.

Copies can be obtained from National Catholic Rural Life Conference 4625 Beaver Avenue, Des Moines, IA 50310 (515) 270-2634

Not all articles published on CERC are the objects of official Church teaching, but these are supplied to provide supplementary information.