Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Ironic Advent Meditation #23: The Curse of Time: Augustus, Flatulentius, and Papa Frank


Yeah, I'm worried. We all should be. I kind of liked this Francis guy, but I'm pretty sure that's all over now. What do I mean? It's pretty simple, isn't it?
Pope Francis Beats out Miley Cyrus for Person of the Year, the headline read. 

It's not that I worry about some kind of jinx, like the one sports stars seem to be under after appearing on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Old Papa Frank will be OK, and besides, the sooner he realizes that Time is not his friend, the better. 

I said, I'm not that worried about what this will do him. But what it will do to us. The victims of Time. As I said a long time ago, either in a dream or a poem, I can't remember (Plato will know): "Christian don't want paradise/they just want a Christian on the cover of People" (I believe Pope Francis still is the running for  "Sexiest World Religious Leader" as well). I dreamed that then. I know it now.

But, I'm telling you, this is a problem, though only a dead 18th Century English poet and I see it clearly. 

First of all, there are devout West Virginians right now interpreting prophecies which will prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that Pope Francis being named Person of the Year by Time magazine is a fulfillment of Revelation 20:13 ("Behold, I say unto thee, the man of many heads wearing robes sitting on the dragon of many scales on the many hills of Babylon shalt receive worship from Gog, Magog, Jughead, and Eggnog."). 

And besides, they are pretty sure he had something to do with changing it from Man of the Year to Person of the Year in the first place, which is obvious evidence of a Secular Humanist One World Government. Or, at least . . . socialism.

Second . . . of all. Because earlier today I spoke personally with the prophet Jeremiah, I feel confident in saying that the person of the year has never been The Person of the Year. And vice-versa. I mean, for goodness sakes. Tom Selleck was Person of the Year once. And Mike Tyson. And Billy Ray Cyrus. Alright, I'm just making these up, so when you're ready go ahead and jump to the next paragraph.

Yet, despite my phony examples, my prophetic point remains.

Augustus Caesar? Man of the Year.

Herod? Second in a close vote.

That awesome gladiator, Flatulentias? Who killed hundreds in the Coliseum and looked a lot like Russell Crowe (another Man, um . . . Person of the Year himself). The Sports Editor pushed hard for him. Despite the steroid rumors.

John the Baptist? No. Freaking. Way. He alienated people with his Duck Dynasty-like beard, and his harsh way of talking about sin. Didn't get the obvious memo that one can be a good, faithful moderate follower of the way while still making lots of friends and never offending the international media.

Jesus, also known as the Christ? Well, there were certain poor shepherds in fields where they lay who wrote letters to the editor but that's about as far as it got.

The Blessed Virgin Mary? hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. What does that mean? What does that even mean? That is so . . . medieval. Did she even twerk?

The burden of my prophecy is neither good nor bad, it's just an observation. The "Person of the Year" has never been the person of the year. And vice-versa. 

We say that Advent is waiting. 
Waiting for the Man . . . the Person . . . of the Ages. The One. The King of Kings. The Great High Priest. The Everlasting Father. The Lamb of God. 

Quick check list. 
Not a king. Maybe KING OF KINGS, but not a king. There was a king. He wanted little lord Jesus dead. 

Not the high priest or even a priest or even a temple functionary. There was a high priest. He wanted Jesus of Nazareth dead. 

Not a father. Never had any children. Unless Dan Brown is right, in which case I will gouge out my eyes until I am dead. And then I'll never read again.

Not a lamb. But slept with lambs. And other animals. The kind of person that certain poor shepherds might take note of, asleep on the hay and all. But certainly Time would not notice him. Anyway, to be lamb of God, it turns out, he had to be dead. 

Well, I had more to say, but it's really late. That is, time is a tickin' as my friend Julia always says, in that folksy way of hers. 

And speaking of time, good luck to Papa Frank. Hope he enjoys his fifteen flickering minutes of fame, even though Jeremiah and I will absolutely guarantee you that he is not the person of the year. Maybe he will be someday. But only when Time has forgotten him. 

In the mean time, and I do mean mean, spend some time looking around you. The person of the year is quite possibly close by, in a hospital or in a barn or in a prison or a classroom or maybe nursing a baby.

Anyway, next year, Miley is pretty much a lock, especially if she starts that charity for people with lower back problems.

Oh, and if you're interested, 'round midnight tomorrow, I can show you how to make time stand still. Though Time won't report it.

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