Ironic Advent Meditation: Abusive Advent

Ironic Advent Meditation: 

Abusive Advent

 

Ain't nobody in his or her right mind saying that the church is not a wreck. We are wrecked, brethrens and sisterns. Of course, I know for certain that some of my readers do not identify with "the church" or any church of any kind, or, like me, the One, True, Holy, and Apostolic Church (see the Baltimore Catechism and the Apostles Creed). I have a feeling that a few who have done so in the past are not doing so any more. I get ya.

But that makes it tough on those of us who make our living off of Advent, which is part of the liturgical year, which is part of the tradition of the church, which, as you all know, pays the big bucks. Friends of Ben Camino know that, in fact, he has never made a penny off of the entire Ben Camino Ironic Advent Monolithic Empire, because by now you recognize irony when you see it. Although, in truth, we are working on the Ironic Advent Candles (they only spurt) and t-shirts (they force your torso into a shrug.)

But statistics tell us (slay me if I ever really look up any statistics), that people -- church people, non-church people, people who want a church but are afraid of what my phony statistics tell us, and, in truth, people who are mourning the loss of what they believed or wanted to believe was one of the last true "safe zones" -- are fed up with stories (not fictional stories, the other kind, the kind that, when counted, become statistics) of abuse and horror.

As a victim of abuse (the non-church variety) myself, I totally believe that the church has to face this honestly. Here we are, some of us anyway, preparing for Christmas, trying (at least) to incorporate some practices and disciplines into our lives as part of a special time of waiting (see yesterday's meditation), and there is, to say the least, this freaking elephant in the closet. Who wants to be part of this abusive system anyway? Why play this little game when it to some degree reinforces a system that hurts people. 

Please don't expect Ben Camino to solve this problem today. I can't. And it would be an easy out, and not totally irrational, to "solve" it by announcing in my Ironic Advent Meditation that I have had it with the church, churches, and even the one true church. (By the way, did you hear the one about when I was beaten --I know that word gets used imprecisely but not this time -- by my fifth-grade nun/teacher because I had forgotten my bible story book at the ironically named Our Lady of Mercy elementary?). 

But I won't. 

I can't. 

Or I won't. 

Or I can't. 

As you can see, I'm not sure which it is. But I know I won't. These sins (for once we all agree about that word) break my heart. They are literally horrible. And yet, at the same time, I know so many wonderful people who have given their lives to serve the church (and to serve the world by serving the church). They are not exploiters, they are not abusers, they are not monsters. They are agents of love and mercy and justice. They walk with Jesus (or try to do so) and they try to follow his teachings (the easy ones, like "take up your cross and follow me"). Like John the Baptist, my patron saint of Advent, they scream a counter-cultural message and then they live it. Often at great cost to themselves. 

But none of the sweet stuff I just said cancels out the reality of the exploiters, the abusers, the monsters in (and, of course, outside as well) the church.  Can you just imagine, friends, what old John the Baptist would say about them? He'd probably get himself thrown into prison or killed or both. 

As the single greatest Saturday Night Live skit ever produced (years ago during the Penn State child abuse scandal) suggested: this stuff makes the devil himself sick.  Go to SNL link here.

I have no more details to share. Just love for the people I love. And anger and disgust at the horrors of abuse. Baby Jesus, in his mother's womb, made the Advent journey to Bethlehem -- vulnerable, exposed to the elements, and protected perhaps by angels but definitely by a good working man named Joseph. According to the stories, not many years later, some religious people stood by and agreed to his abuse, his torture, his unjust execution. Not all the religious people, I'm sure. But some. 

I plan to continue, like Ricky Bobby, to follow Baby Jesus, although I really love the adult prophet/rabbi/healer/friend of sinners too. I am horrified, as are you dear readers -- those in and out of churches and those in the liminal space between, leaning one way or the other from hour to hour -- by church abuse, especially the sexual abuse of children. Of course, it's not just a problem in the church, but the church is a place we look to and go to for safety, for hope,  for healing. Not for criminal abuse. Or criminal negligence on the part of those who overlook the abuse. 

Ironic Advent has meant many things over the years. Advent itself is an ironic disruptive force built into the practice of following after (the meaning of Bonhoeffer's word nachfolge, translated discipleship). But if Advent becomes just another smooth entry way into a system prone to abuses of power and coverups of the same, then it fails to prepare the way, to level the mountains and raise the valleys, to speak with the voice of the one who loved justice enough to lose his head. I love Advent and all the rest of the story. I hold on and follow. I assume, at this point, that I will continue to do so (even though I know that my doing so bothers some very good friends of mine). But I hold on ironically, detached enough to realize that no church is above the claims of its founder. And that nothing in this world can justify the massacre of the innocents.