Tag: Catholic

The Truest Valentine: Love Written in Blood

Brent Pollard

The Forgotten Man Behind the Holiday

Saturday brings us once more to Valentine’s Day, that peculiar fixture of the modern calendar in which chocolate and sentiment have almost entirely buried the bones of a third-century martyr. The holiday bears the name of a man who bled for Christ, yet we have dressed his memorial in pink and red and made it an occasion for romance. One suspects that if Valentine himself could survey what has become of his feast day, he would be bewildered—and perhaps grieved.

Who was this man? The historical record is thin. Multiple martyrs bore the name Valentine in the second and third centuries. Still, tradition has settled on a Roman priest—sometimes identified as a bishop of Terni—who was executed under Emperor Claudius II around 269 AD. The legends are familiar: that he secretly performed Christian marriages, that he penned a farewell note signed “From your Valentine.” These details are charming, but the earliest sources contain none of them. What we do know is this: Valentine was a minister of the Gospel. He was martyred for his allegiance to Christ. The early church honored him as a witness—a martyr in the original Greek sense of the word—to the lordship of Jesus. Everything else was embroidered into the story during the Middle Ages, much as the legends of Christmas accrued around a manger that, in its original hour, was far more stark and dangerous than any Nativity scene suggests.

In 496 AD, the Catholic Church established the Feast of Saint Valentine on February 14th as a liturgical commemoration—not of romance, but of Christian fidelity under persecution. If love was to be associated with the day at all, it was the love described in John 15:13: “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” The connection to romantic love did not emerge until after 1382, when Geoffrey Chaucer wrote in his Parliament of Fowls: “For this was on Saint Valentine’s Day, when every bird comes there to choose his mate.” From that poetic seed grew a cultural vine that, over the next several centuries, would entirely obscure the root.

By the 1500s, European nobles were exchanging Valentine’s notes. Romantic pairings became the dominant association with February 14th. What was forgotten—quietly, gradually, and almost completely—was that a man had forfeited his life for his faith in Christ. What follows is a pattern we observe repeatedly in history: a religious observance is absorbed by commerce, reshaped by local culture, and re-exported globally in its modified form.

A Holiday Remade by Commerce and Culture

Consider Japan. There, Valentine’s Day has become a Sadie Hawkins affair. Women give honmei-choco (“true feeling chocolate”) to romantic interests and giri-choco (“obligation chocolate”) to coworkers and superiors. Japanese confectioners, not content with a single commercial holiday, invented “White Day” on March 14th, when men reciprocate with gifts worth two to three times what they received. As Japan grows more progressive, a growing pushback among women seeks to eliminate giri-choco, which may eventually nudge Japan toward the Western model of Valentine’s Day as a lover’s holiday.

Korea adds an even more inventive wrinkle. Koreans observe both Valentine’s Day and White Day in the Japanese fashion, but they have appended a third occasion: “Black Day” on April 14th. On Black Day, those who received nothing on either holiday gather to eat jajangmyeon (black bean noodles) and commiserate over their single status. One cannot help but note the irony—that a day once consecrated to the memory of a man who died for the highest love has been culturally refracted until it produces a holiday devoted to lamenting the absence of the lowest.

This trajectory is instructive. It reveals something about the nature of human culture: left to its own devices, the world will always trade the costly for the comfortable, the cruciform for the commercial, the eternal for the ephemeral. It has done so with Valentine’s Day. It has done so with Christmas. It will do so with any truth that demands something of us, unless we are vigilant to remember what the truth actually requires.

Love Detached from Sacrifice

Here we must make a spiritual observation, for our purpose is devotional rather than merely cultural. When love is detached from sacrifice, it becomes fragile. This is not a sentimental claim. It is a theological one, rooted in the very nature of God and the pattern of His self-revelation.

Examine every major New Testament articulation of love, and you will find that love is never defined primarily by emotion. It is demonstrated through surrender, not sentiment. God did not merely feel affection for the world; He gave:

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3.16, ESV)

“Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” (Ephesians 5.25, ESV)

“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15.13, ESV)

Do you see the verb that anchors each of these texts? It is not “felt.” It is not “enjoyed.” It is “gave.” Love, as Scripture reveals it, is not the warm feeling that overtakes us when conditions are pleasant; it is the deliberate act of self-expenditure when conditions are agonizing. The cross was not a gesture of sentiment. It was the ultimate act of will, the most purposeful decision in the history of the cosmos—the Son of God choosing, in full possession of His faculties and full awareness of the cost, to absorb the wrath His people deserved.

Strip sacrifice from love, and what remains? Affection. Enjoyment. Personal fulfillment. Preference. These are not worthless; however, they are not durable. A love built on enjoyment will fracture the moment enjoyment fades—and enjoyment always fades. A love sustained by emotion will collapse the moment emotion shifts—and emotion always shifts. Only a love anchored in the deliberate, costly, daily decision to give of oneself can endure the pressures that this fallen world relentlessly applies.

The Architecture of Love

Perhaps an analogy will help. Think of love as a building. Sacrifice is the foundation and the structural steel. Romantic attraction is like paint—it beautifies, but it bears no weight. Shared interests are the furnishings—they make the space enjoyable, but remove them, and the building still stands. Emotional chemistry is like lightning—it illuminates brilliantly for a moment, but you cannot wire a house with it.

Without sacrifice, marriage collapses under duress. Friendships dissolve under inconvenience. Church unity disintegrates under disagreement. Why? Because sacrifice is the only form of love that says, “I will stay when it costs me.” And make no mistake—it will cost you. The question is never whether love will be tested, but whether your love is the kind that can survive the test.

Consider Paul’s inspired description in 1 Corinthians 13. Love is patient. It bears all things. It endures all things. It does not seek its own. It never fails. We must remember the context: Paul was not composing a wedding homily. He was addressing a fractured congregation riven by pride, division, and the competitive misuse of spiritual gifts. When he wrote that love “does not seek its own” (1 Corinthians 13:5, NASB95), he was describing cruciform love—love shaped like the cross. This is not the love of Hallmark cards. This is the love of Gethsemane and Golgotha.

If Love Is What We Feel, It Will Fail

Here is the great dividing line: if love is what we feel, it will fail; if love is what we choose, it will endure.

Paul could describe this perfect love in 1 Corinthians 13 because he had seen it incarnate in Christ. Jesus did not withdraw when obedience brought the hematidrosis of Gethsemane—that dreadful sweating of blood that Luke, the physician, records with clinical precision (Luke 22.44). Jesus did not retreat when loyalty to the Father brought Him the agony of Calvary. He stayed. He chose to stay. And His staying was not passive endurance but active, purposeful self-giving for the glory of the Father and the redemption of His people.

This means that 1 Corinthians 13 is not idealism. It is not the wistful poetry of a romantic who has never suffered. It is the testimony of a man who watched his Lord die and who understood that the pattern of that death was now the pattern for all Christian love. It is imitation, not imagination.

And that is our call. The love Paul describes is not reserved for poets or newlyweds, for the spiritually elite or the naturally affectionate. It is the daily decision of the disciple. It is patience when irritation would be easier. It is kindness when pride demands recognition. It is endurance when quitting would bring immediate relief. It is the quiet, unglamorous, often unnoticed choice to remain faithful when faithfulness is expensive.

The World’s Love and Christ’s Love

The world celebrates love that dazzles. Christ commands love that remains. The world measures love by its intensity of feeling. Christ measures love by its faithfulness under fire. The world asks, “How deeply do you feel?” Christ asks, “How faithfully will you stay?”

We must not be confused about this. The world’s version of love is not entirely wrong—it is merely insufficient. Romantic feeling is a good gift of God. Emotional connection is part of His design. Enjoyment of one another is woven into the fabric of human relationships. But these things are the blossoms, not the root. And when we mistake the blossom for the root, we are devastated when winter comes, and the blossoms fall. The root of love is sacrifice. The root of sacrifice is the will. And the will is strengthened not by feeling, but by faith—faith in the God who first loved us in precisely this way.

John writes: “By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers. But if anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him? Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth” (1 John 3.16–18, ESV). Notice the movement of the text. John does not allow love to remain in the stratosphere of theology. He brings it immediately to earth: Do you see your brother in need? Then act. Love is not what you say. Love is what you do when doing is costly.

A Valentine Written in Blood

As the world exchanges cards and chocolates this Saturday, let us remember what Valentine’s Day was intended to commemorate. Not romance. Not sentiment. Not the fluttering heart of a new attraction. It was meant to honor a man who loved Christ more than he loved his own life—and who proved it by dying.

And behind that man stands the One whose love makes all other loves possible: Jesus Christ, who on a Roman cross authored the truest Valentine ever written—not in ink, but in blood. That is the love we are called to imitate. Not merely to admire, not merely to theologize about, but to embody—in our marriages, our friendships, our congregations, and our daily encounters with a world that desperately needs to see love that does not quit.

The measure of our love is not how deeply we feel, but how faithfully we stay. May God grant us the grace to love as Christ loved—with a love that gives, that stays, that sacrifices, and that endures. For that is the love that never fails.

Halloween: A Reflection on Darkness and Light

Brent Pollard

A Matter of Personal Conviction

Whether or not a Christian should take part in Halloween festivities is ultimately a matter of personal conviction and conscience. As Paul wrote, “Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind” (Romans 14.5). I respect that there is a difference between believers attending wholesome community events—such as church-sponsored “trunk-or-treats”—and those who embrace the world’s fascination with the macabre. However, I want to caution Christians not to join the world in celebrating darkness, fear, and death.

Jesus taught that His followers are to be “the light of the world” (Matthew 5.14). How can we reflect His light if we participate in a celebration that often glorifies the very darkness we are called to overcome (Ephesians 5.8–11)?

The Pagan Origins of Halloween

Halloween’s origins trace back to the Celtic festival of Samhain, which marked the end of the harvest and the start of winter. The Celts believed that on this night, the barrier between the living and the dead weakened, allowing spirits to roam freely. To protect themselves, they lit bonfires and wore disguises to confuse wandering souls.

Scripture repeatedly warns against attempts to communicate with or ward off the dead. God told Israel, “There shall not be found among you… a medium or a necromancer or one who inquires of the dead” (Deuteronomy 18.10–11). Though today’s observance may seem harmless, its roots were steeped in superstition and fear of spirits rather than faith in God’s providence.

Roman Influence and Ancient Traditions

When Rome conquered Celtic lands, two Roman observances were merged with Samhain—one honoring the dead (Feralia) and the other celebrating Pomona, the goddess of fruit and trees. Some historians suggest that the custom of bobbing for apples originated from Pomona’s symbol, the apple.

This blending of pagan and civic ritual was typical of the ancient world. Yet Christians are urged not to conform to the world’s customs (Romans 12.2) or mix holy devotion with pagan superstition (2 Corinthians 6.14–17).

The Catholic Church and All Saints’ Day

In 609 AD, Boniface IV consecrated the Roman Pantheon to “All Saints,” creating a day to honor Christian martyrs. This celebration, later shifted to November 1 in the eighth century by Gregory III, is now called All Saints’ Day or All Hallows’ Day. The night before—All Hallows’ Eve—gradually evolved into “Halloween.”

Later, All Souls’ Day (November 2) was added to pray for all departed believers, forming a three-day observance known as Hallowtide. The intent may have been to Christianize pagan customs, but as with many such efforts, the old superstitions persisted under new names.

How Halloween Came to America

Medieval Europeans practiced “souling,” going door to door to offer prayers for the dead in exchange for food. Children later began “guising,” dressing in costumes to receive gifts. These traditions were brought to America by Irish and Scottish immigrants. In America, pumpkins replaced turnips as lanterns, and Halloween evolved into a largely secular, community-centered celebration.

However, Christians should remember that not all cultural inheritance is worth keeping. Paul reminded the Corinthians that while “everything is permissible,” not everything is beneficial (1 Corinthians 10.23).

The Dark Turn: From Pranks to Violence

From the late 1800s through the early 20th century, Halloween was often marked by destructive mischief—toppled outhouses, broken fences, and vandalized property. Communities responded by encouraging “trick-or-treating” as a safer alternative, channeling youthful energy into friendly fun instead of lawlessness (cf. Romans 13.10).

The Wholesome Era: Mid-Century Innocence

For several decades, Halloween reflected a more innocent, child-centered character. The imagery of It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown (1966) captures that gentler spirit. But this era was short-lived. Beginning with Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho and crystallized by 1978’s Halloween, the holiday once again took a darker tone. Instead of laughter and imagination, horror and bloodshed became its trademarks.

Modern Halloween: A Culture of Fear and Death

Today, many Halloween attractions and films glorify brutality and fear. The Saw franchise, “haunted” attractions that simulate torture, and “extreme haunts” that require liability waivers all reveal a troubling fascination with terror and pain. This fascination often crosses the line from harmless fun to a celebration of evil. The prophet Isaiah’s warning feels relevant: “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness” (Isaiah 5.20).

When society laughs at what should make it grieve, something vital has been lost. As Thomas Aquinas noted, when fear and cruelty turn into entertainment, compassion withers.

What Does the Bible Say About Halloween?

The Bible does not explicitly mention Halloween, but its principles still apply. We are told to “abstain from every form of evil” (1 Thessalonians 5.22) and to think on “whatever is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable” (Philippians 4.8). These principles guide our decision-making and help us discern what is beneficial to our faith.

Christ’s victory over darkness is total. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1.5). We do not need to dabble in darkness to prove our courage or find excitement. Our joy comes from walking in the light (1 John 1.7).

Practicing Christian Discernment on Halloween

Discernment is essential. Paul commands, “Abhor what is evil; cling to what is good” (Romans 12.9). The question isn’t whether a Christian can hand out candy or dress up—it’s whether we are celebrating fear or reflecting faith.

Our participation should always glorify Christ (Colossians 3.17). If we choose to engage with the day at all, let it be to share light, kindness, and the gospel with our neighbors. “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12.21).

Conclusion: Light in the Midst of Darkness

On a night when much of the world delights in fear, the Christian’s calling is to stand as a beacon of peace and truth. Rather than imitating the darkness, we can offer an alternative—a message of victory through Christ, who conquered death itself. Let us be inspired to be that beacon, to share the light of Christ in the midst of darkness.

“For once you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light” (Ephesians 5.8).

Does Consciousness Continue After Death?

Gary Pollard

One of the commonly asked questions on my list is, “Does consciousness continue after death?” I was fairly confident in what I believed about this one until 3:00 PM today (11.19). Carl dropped the problem of the Transfiguration on me: How are Moses and Elijah present with Jesus before the resurrection? The purpose of this article is to sort out the Gnostic and the scriptural, but also to hopefully put more minds on this question. It’s been bothering me for several hours now. 

The overwhelming weight of scripture seems to be in favor of death being (from our perspective) an instantaneous transition to Jesus’s return and the resurrection. There are some teachings that potentially complicate this view (like the Rich man and Lazarus, thief on the cross, saints under the altar), but the concept of a “place of waiting” made no sense to me in light of the rest of scripture. What’s the point of dividing the sheep and the goats if they’ve been tortured/resting for the last umpteen years? And why are the “goats” surprised at their fate if they’ve already been punished for however long? And how/why is poor Abraham dealing with the pained cries of the rich man in torment? There is, after all, a wide abyss separating the two places (maybe the acoustics are really good). It makes the most sense that Jesus was using an image they would’ve been familiar with (from I Enoch 22, 51) to illustrate the importance of viewing money appropriately. Paul clearly says that we’re given life only when Jesus returns (cf. I Thess 4.14ff), and that Jesus being brought back to life was a visible example of what will happen to all of us too (I Cor 15.20-24). Our hope for consciousness after this life is solely in God’s promise to bring us back when his son returns. 

William Tyndale (1484-1536) said, “By putting the departed souls in Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory, you have destroyed the arguments that Christ and Paul used to prove the resurrection. … What’s the point of resurrection, then? And what’s the point of judgment? … The true faith affirms the resurrection, which is what we’re told to always watch for. Pagan philosophers deny this and claim that the soul is immortal. The Pope combined the spiritual doctrine of Christ and the fleshly doctrine of philosophers, things so dissonant that they’re totally incompatible. And because the fleshly-minded Pope is okay with pagan doctrine, he has no problem corrupting the scripture to establish the doctrine [of Heaven]. If the soul is in Heaven, tell me what the point of resurrection is?” The doctrine of “heaven” widely adopted by our culture is unsupported by scripture and has far more in common with Gnostic and Egyptian beliefs (i.e. Pleroma and Duat). 

So is there an intermediate place where departed souls go to experience the beta version of eternity? I didn’t think so. I’m pretty confident that our culture’s concept of heaven is wrong — on linguistic (ουρανος means “sky” or the place above the sky, which we call “space” today), scriptural (our new life comes when Jesus returns), and historical-cultural grounds (the early, pre-Catholic Christians believed that we would get life in a new body on a new/renewed earth when Jesus returns). 

But the original question was, “Is there consciousness after death?” From a biblical point of view, I believe (until the Transfiguration Conundrum is sorted anyways) the answer is yes and no. From the perspective of the dead, the transition between death and resurrection is instantaneous. I was comatose for about a week several years ago and couldn’t believe I’d been out for that long. Now, that’s not dead — but it at least proves a point. If you aren’t conscious you aren’t aware of time passing. So the “blink of an eye” statement in I Corinthians 15 makes perfect sense! But the bible does suggest that the dead are not conscious, though this is contested (cf. Ecc 9.5, Dan 12.2, Ps 115.17, 146.4 I Thess 4.14-17, and the 50+ times the bible describes death as “sleep”). Regardless of which answer is correct, what we can all agree on is this: 

Brothers and sisters, we want you to know about those who have died. We don’t want you to be sad like other people — those who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died, but we also believe that he rose again. So we believe that God will raise to life through Jesus any who have died and bring them together with him when he comes (I Thess 4.13-14). 1