This is the day that Evil gets festive press. Halloween caricatures Evil, dressing it up rather innocuously in ghostly face paint, plastic masks, fake fangs. This is the day when it is okay to play-act as the terrifying mythical entities that, as we rationally explain to our kids, do not actually haunt the closet space. This is the day when the numinous darkness takes a celebrated position on the pop-cultural stage.
I am not a Christian crusader against Halloween. I do not endorse judgment houses as an alternative way to spend the evening. I take my kids trick-or-treating and I have a blast doing it. But my Halloween began with a distraught 6-year coming into my bedroom at 3:50 am—”Daddy, I had a bad dream.” I can comfort him with this: “The Gospel is violent.”
The Gospel is violent.
The Gospel is about salvation… but it is also about destruction. It is the royal pronouncement in the dank, seething dark of a totalitarian state that an unexpected King from distant shores has just appeared in full force at the city gates. Ring the bells, bang the drums, blast the trumpets: a new Lord has arrived on the scene of supernatural tyranny. The Gospel is the siren-blaring, bell-clanging announcement that Jesus is here to shake his fist in the face of draconian forces feasting on the living corpses of humanity. With his divine arrival comes not only saving but also destroying, for although “the Son of Man came to seek and save the lost” (Lk 19.10), he also came “to destroy the works of the devil” (1 Jn 3:8).
The Gospel’s etymology derives from military imagery. Two armies are waging fierce battle over the hillside while the citizens wring their hands and pray for deliverance from the invading force. And then, there on the horizon, someone makes out a moving shape, the shape of a man running from the scene of war. This is the runner, the one come to announce the awaiting fate of those who have sent their husbands, fathers and sons bearing swords and clubs in service of their embattled king. “Gospel” is the news through heaving breaths and trembling lips that their king has triumphed and that the enemies have been defeated.
The Gospel of Jesus is not about physical violence. Gospel-violence is directed toward cosmic forces of Evil. As we find in Ephesians 6:12, “we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” So wrestle not with other humans, but we do wrestle… and we do so violently.
The Gospel announces God’s gracious reign. But this Kingdom is not coming into a vacuum. The Gospel is violent because the reign of God is an assault on other reigns, the reigns of Disease, Death, Darkness and the Death. When Jesus cries out at his death in a loud voice in Mark’s Gospel, readers will recall some sense of familiarity with other scenes earlier in the narrative. This raucous death-howl was the pattern by which the demons fled. Like Jesus, their departure was with the crying out of a loud voice. Something terrible and mysterious—something cosmic and violent—is at work when Jesus dies on the cross beneath swirling darkness.
But whatever is going on behind the celestial curtain at the cross, we know that a closed up hole in the ground was burst open on the third day. This is from my book Faith Without Illusions on the (violent!) Resurrection of Jesus—
When the Messiah vacates his tomb, something is stirring. Something new and wild. Something against the establishment. Death‘s establishment. At the voice of the resurrected Lord, the cosmic superstructure of evil detects a virus in the system. A wrench has been tossed into sin’s machinery. The foundations start to pop with fissures. It’s time to plug up the leak, to contain the fire, to reseal any open tombs. Time for chaos to panic. Time for Satan to go beserk. Resurrection is God shaking his clenched fist in death’s face. Resurrection is God whispering death threats in death’s ears.
The open tomb of Jesus is a hole in the system that cannot be patched. The re-creating King has climbed up out of his grave. He is out there, loose, at large, roaming free—and returning at dawn. 
Halloween can serve as a reminder to my 6-year old that the images of Evil and death that he sees in storefronts or on other kids’ face—however plastic and silly and caricatured—are the images of a fading empire. Jesus has come to de-fang the secretive, beastly dragon whose breath stinks with human carnage. And one day, from the seat of a Throne, he will oversee that monster’s binding and eternal imprisonment as the everlasting King.
 Andrew Byers, Faith Without Illusions: Following Jesus as a Cynic-Saint (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2011), 210-22.