By Dick Duerksen
I believe in ghosts. Or, maybe I believe fallen angels masquerade as phantasms trying to terrify me out of my trust in God.
I believe in ghosts. Just last night I saw several of them swishing through the yards of my neighbors. A couple were carrying pumpkins, others were hanging out above a temporary cemetery that had sprouted beside an abandoned mini-van. This morning I drove by the van again and noticed the ghost is sporting a dangling price tag.
Yes, I believe in ghosts. One day I was photographing in the Canyons of Arizona when I saw a ghost that stayed just long enough for me to take its picture. A real, genuine, floor-to-ceiling ghost!
No body, just a free-floating shape.
No eyes, just a sense that it’s looking at us.
Nothing solid, just a see-through something that is slinking our way!
Nothing there, except light, sand, and shadows.
Unfortunately, some ghosts are real. King Saul saw one and thought it was the Prophet Samuel. Jesus called ghosts, “demons,” and even asked one its name - as if wanting to open a conversation with an angel who had once loved Him. The demon was so frightened by Jesus’ question that it screamed back “My name is Legion. Go away! There are many of us here!”
Funny thing about ghosts, they often compel us to face something we’d prefer to ignore. Like the fact that Satan is real and is out to get us.
There will be ghosts in your neighborhood this week. Many ghosts. Some demons. A few, poorly disguising neighbor kids, will demand candy in lieu of “tricks.” Others will slink by on the sidewalk, allowing the younger to harvest the sweets. All will be robed to strike fear deep into your heart, to remind you of trespasses unforgiven and deeds unrewarded.
Give the ghosts your candy.
Give God your fears.