Ironic Advent 2019 #1: Advent by the Hour(s)

Advent by the Hour(s)

This is not my first rodeo, pardner. I mean, this isn't my first Advent, brethren and cistern. I mean, I grew up Catholic so I not only have sung "O Come O Come Emmanuel" more than most people, but I can still remember singing it in Latin. 

And it's not that surprising that it looks pretty much the same as it has since . . . the 4th Century or so, especially when it comes to the readings, the songs, and the pumpkin spice candles which have been all the rage since the good old days in ancient Antioch. 

But I must admit that even in my relatively faithful Catholic family -- we "Oh Come Ye'd" as much as pretty much anyone else in Our Lady of Mercy parish under the not-so-smiling Irish eyes of the nuns whose names I've forgotten and Father Kennedy whose name I remember because he was NOT assasinated and because, unlike the nuns, he was over at the house once a week for drinks and poker with my father and some other friends at our all-electric ranch style on South Ohio Street in Mercedes, Texas (right across the street from the zealous Methodists who didn't drink or gamble with their pastor) -- things still sometimes got a little blurry. As in, we put up the tree just after Thanksgiving and I'm not sure I knew that the twelfth day of Christmas was in January. 

I suppose that, like those zealous Methodists across the streets, my forward-looking Catholic family was eager to "fit in" with the culture around them. And, after all, how could that be bad when the whole point was the birth of Jesus? The problem, for both us and those Methodists who had wandered far from their method (if not baby Jesus), was that when we allowed local merchants, radio stations, Santa Claus (the Macy's variety), and, most diabolically, the pumpkin spice industy (not to mention the insidious introduction of the phrase "Happy Holidays"* into the food supply) to set our December agenda, the result was not a new improved liturgy but good old-fashioned spiritual lethargy (disguised as frenetic Christmas cheer). 

Where was I? This year things will be different. I WILL HONOR CHRISTMAS AND TRY TO KEEP IT ALL THE YEAR. No, wait. That's Scrooge from Dickens's Christmas Carol, and he, even post-conversion, might even be part of the problem rather than the solution. Try again. This year things will be different. In truth, I should say: this year things have already been different and I aim to keep them that way. Because this year, I started praying the Hours.

"The Hours?" you say. Yes. Praying the traditional prayers and doing the traditional readings and singing the traditional hymns (with some slight adjustments every millenia or so) at the traditional times of the day (see my last parenthetic remark). The kind of thing that we used to call a breviary when I was at Saint Anthony's Catholic in San Antonio.  And the kind of thing that's been done, especially, in monasteries pretty much since there have been monasteries. 

I may write more about this specifically this Advent, and I will certainly be riffing on some of the things in the readings as I move through the season, but for now I will be as practical as Ben Camino ever is (not very and often). When I asked him how to start doing this kind of practice, my former high school teacher, Father Michael Levy, suggested that I get the Benedictine Daily Prayer: A Short Breviary (published by the Liturgical Press in Collegeville, Minnesota). I bought one from the Antichrist, I mean Amazon.com. But NOT on Black Friday. Then I bought another one for a friend. Then two more. 

I try to pray Lauds (Morning Prayer) and Vespers (Evening Prayer) every day. Often I stay awake to do Compline (Late night Prayer). And sometimes do some others. One tip, if you are texting a friend about it, find another name for the noon prayer time, which is traditionally called Sext. We settled on Sixth (what it means after all). 

Sorry this isn't funnier. Or edgier. Or gloomier. In fact, here's a little secret. This is freakin' December 1. It' cold, gloomy, and raw. And so am I. For a number of reasons that I'm not getting into right now. One though is this: six years ago on this day, I posted a rather dark (and I hope beautiful) piece titled "This Advent Darkness" a few days after my baby brother's death and burial. In truth, I'm grieving more things than I can name. And when I'm not, the glooms still settles in. 

But praying the hours, a real liturgical practice (not to be confused with a playlist) lifts me into another world. Not a more ethereal one. Nothing "spiritual" in the gassy sense. But a practical, anchored, even mundane religious practice NOT made up by me but rooted in the long walk in the same direction of some folks (most of them people of good will, I believe) who had their own gloom to deal with. They just called it acedia. 

So now,  when I get to the part that says something like "Let us pray for the coming of the kingdom as Jesus taught US: Our Father . . . . " -- I feel like I'm committed and connected to all those folks, most of whom (like almost all the great people who have ever lived) are dead. 

Let's stay friends. Or at least, interlocutors. I hope you burn some candles this Advent. And give some alms. And stand on the top of a mountain (please check the weather report first) or at the edge of the ocean or just under the marvelous stars that remind me always that something glitters beyond the gloom. By all means, take a break to watch a Charly Brown Christmas which always airs about two weeks before Christmas. Heck, if you can find it, even check out Bing Crosby and David Bowie singing the "Little Drummer Boy" on YouTube. And I especially hope you read the best Advent meditations you could ever find: mine. 

But most of all, I hope you get yourself a copy of Benedictine Daily Prayer: A Short Breviary (or something like) and literally get out of yourself. Imagine a structured prayer life when you may pray all day without ever asking for anything (else) for you specifically.   

Dear reader. I'm going to repeat some stuff here. Sort of like what happens in the Hours. I hope you keep reading Ben Camino's Ironic Advent Meditations for as long as he keeps churning them out, which I assume will be for as long as Starbucks keeps producing Christmas blend. They will be challenging, critical, funny, warm and fuzzy (not very often though), and even pumpkin spicy (NEVER). They will be aimed, as always at believers, near believers, former believers, non believers, wannabelievers, and people who just want to savor the mystery as Calvin once said to Hobbes or Hobbes to Calvin. I like the mystery, and I want to savor it with you. 

But, if I may, I suggest something else for you. I keep seeing people asking "what do you suggest for Advent reading?? And "I've never 'done' Advent before, what do you suggest?" The responses usually are collections of pithy collectible quotations and passages from poets, favorite authors, questionable religious figures, and the Prophet by Kahlil Gibran (OK, I haven't really seen that one yet, but I was going to suggest it just to see what happened if I did). 

Don't get me wrong. Some of these even contain pieces by authors who are friends of mine and/or who are some of my favorite writers. Sometimes both. But that's pretty much like reading Ben Camino, only not as interesting. 

And, obviously, I am interested in interesting things. But I'm more interested in figuring out what I should be interested in and fitting my mind, tuning my heart, giving my life, to that. I suggest you try praying the Hours. In no time at all, you'll know the difference between Lectionary Years A and C, Week 2 and 4, First Vespers and Second Vespers, Terce and None, and, of course, Sext and Sixth. 

*About Happy Holidays, give it a rest. I'm joking.