Ironic Advent Meditation 2020 #1: In the Beginning

 Ben Camino's Ironic Advent Meditation 2020 #1: 

In the Beginning Was the Irony

So. 

Yes, that's how the 2020 Ironic Advent meditations begin. So. I know, I know. That is sooooooooo 2020. That's all I'm saying. 

A fragment. All time is a fragment of a larger fragment we call time. T. S. Eliot should have said that in The Four Quartets. I'm sorry he didn't. My point is . . . 2020. And the simple fact that Ben Camino's inveterate use of fragments somehow fits more than ever. 

As does his perfect diction. Inveterate is so good, both in sound and meaning. And also, as every administrator says at every university in North America, inveterate is also the perfect word here because it is so impactful. In truth, if you know Ben, like I know Ben, you'll know that he thinks impactful is perhaps the ugliest word in the English language, except to dentists, to whom it is lovely. 

Where was I? Oh yes, inveterate. Ben Camino has some inveterate habits as a writer/thinker folks. And if you are new to this universe, you might appreciate an introduction. Expect fragments. Lots. Italicized words, for emphasis and for highlighting them as words. Like inveterate. Direct address to his dear readers. Pet phrases/inside jokes like a reference in every piece to the fact that some of the people he loves most in the world are named Jennifer and they say anyways instead of anyway as they should (hmmm, that last bit could mean two opposite, things, couldn't it? I like that). And finally (haha, there is never a finally with Ben Camino) -- inordinate love of words and sounds,  sometimes equal to sometimes greater (sorry) than his love of sense. Words like inordinate. But when sound and sense collide, like Flannery O'Connor and a peacock, God's in his heaven, and all's right with the (Ben Camino) world. 

But enough about what someone once called "style." What about content. What about "ironic Advent"? We'll all assume we know what meditation means (imaginatively chewing on the intellectual cud, just in case you didn't). What in the world are "Ironic Advent Meditations" and why in the world do we need them, especially inside inverted commas? Ben Camino's Ironic Advent Meditations invite us all to chew together on the cud of meaning. Oh wait. I can't think of an uglier image, can you dear reader? Perhaps you should flee for your life before this gets started. If you haven't already done so, however, consider this. . . . 

Several years ago, the First Sunday of Advent in the Year of Our Lord 2012 to be exact, a certain Episcopal priest, call him Father Rich, in a certain small-town Episcopal church, call it Christ the King, walked slowly to the pulpit. He wasn't being dramatic; he had a lot of joint pain as I remember. And Father Rich gave the most surprising, non-inspirational, First Sunday of Advent homily one has ever heard. I use the indefinite pronoun one because I have momentarily forgotten if Ben Camino is speaking or "I" the editor. 

Anyway(s), he said precisely this. I know what he said because a friend of mine, Jennifer Woodruff Tait (now an Episcopal priest as well) was sitting in the congregation too. And we knew that sometimes Father Rich was . . . different. But this Sunday, he was Karl Barth in midwestern American skin. We made eye contact right after we saw and heard where he was going on this cold Advent morning, and, as I either remember or imagine, our eyes widened, our hearts palpitated, and we wondered if we'd be allowed to live until lunch time. 

So, if you are keeping track, despite the fact that Ben Camino has churned out approximately 666 Ironic Advent Meditations (prosaically known as blogposts; no wonder I came up with such a cool title), two other people are really responsible for the whole crazy thing, although they didn't yet know what to call them. 

So (there it is again). 

Father Rich preached the first Ironic Advent Meditation though he just called it "the homily." I know now what it was. Because when you write a series every year called “Ironic Advent,” you start seeing things through that grid, right? Sort of like why people in Boulder, Colorado just figure everyone else must be getting high.

Well, Father Rich got rolling and pretty soon he was off into the high country. I was taking notes. And Jennifer was too. In between the heart palpitations and big smiles. And the occasional look at each other like . . . “did he just say that?” Sometime later that day, she posted a Facebook post. And I did too, later, after stealing as many ideas of hers as I could. 

I have tried to pay her back (not sure it’s working) by posting her original every year. Here's the link. Wait, wait. Go find the link yourself. That will get you reading the other helpful wisdom literature strewn about the Ben Camino Ironosphere. Don't worry, I'm including Jennifer's entire post in this piece. What with my introduction, Jennifer's original post, and my original not-very-original post the same day, this meditation, on the First Sunday of Advent 2020, includes the entire genesis story. And it was good.  

I know that may seem like a lot to read. But, dear reader, Ironic Advent Meditations are almost never pithy. Oh, it’s not that I can’t be pithy. And I’m darn sure that Jennifer can be pithy. In fact, she once said “Shut up, Joe!” which was her being both pithy and the other word that's a pun with a lisp. But sometimes you’ve just got to realize that pith can only go so far. OK, I’m sorry. Over it. I apologize. How is that? Pithy enough for you?

So, before I get back to Father Rich and Jennifer and the sermon that started it all, please know that I'd like you to share these if you want to. I don’t say you like them. But you’re allowed. That’s all I’m saying. If you do, though, please don’t say something like: “this is really long, but it has a good sentence in the 14th paragraph.” Just let people discover for their dang selves that it’s really long. I write these for people who will read long things. If you don't read things, you should. Especially when they are this thoughtful. I can do haiku if I wanted to. Sometimes I want to. Just not at Advent. Usually on Ash Wednesday. 

Actually, I am  trying to make this difficult. Because it is. Look, in fact, people try to kill themselves or at least want to die this time of year, what Macy’s calls “the holiday season.” That’s not simple. That’s not uncomplicated. And we have people insisting on going to church although it might not be safe, given the current pandemic. Complicated. Fragment. We need more than simple inspiration. Everything we say has to be resisted as well as said. You can tell your friends about that line because I admire it myself.

So Father Rich preached. And, as I remember, it was a really short sermon. Pithy. Well done, Father Rich. Totally messing with my blissful verbosity. Anyway, or anyways as Jennifer Lynne Ricke says, it was, as I say, summed up admirably by Jennifer Woodruff Tait in her poem and, shortly thereafter, “liked” by my friend Jennifer Strange (confused?). This was the beginning. And believe you me (I love that syntax, it should be required in places other than Kentucky), this is the place you want to be getting your Advent nourishment throughout "the holiday season." It will be all roots and spring water, with maybe some salty tears and raw intestines thrown in for good measure.

 So, here we go. Jennifer Woodruff Tait's original Ironic Advent Meditation from Liturgical New Year's Day 2013, which of course was the First Sunday of Advent in 2012. Got it? It's complicated. 

 

Anything Useful:

*Joe Martyn Ricke and M Richard Miller, this poem is all your fault.

If you came to church for anything useful today, 

forget it. [editorial note: this line I think freaked us out]

Anything practical:

three points to help you in the Monday workplace,

two tips for witnessing to your coworkers,

five guides to a good marriage.

 

If you came to church for the hats,

coffee,

cookies,

friends,

family,

cheese,

pew cushions,

happy songs,

warm feelings,

or even a blessing,

forget it.

This is the first Sunday of Advent.                         

Lo, He comes with clouds descending, once for ransomed sinners slain.

The kingdom of this world is become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ. [As I remember, Jennifer and I wanted to get up and go fight the devil at this point]

And here is what I wrote a little later (thus, the “official” original Ironic Advent Meditation), as a Facebook post (Ben Camino blog came later). I did though call it by its proper name. 

Ironic Advent Meditation (2012)

 Verily, verily I sayeth unto thee(uth), the sky shall turn to blood, things will fall out of the sky (leaves, for example), and all kinds of other stuff will happen before the end will come, and then it will be . . . the end. And then . . . whatever comes after that. 

Oh no, we just put "greens" all over the church but that's kind of ironic because the world is going gray, gray, and . . . oh yeah, COMING TO AN END.

We want those plastic (or whatever horrible substance they are made of) greens, sweet baby Jesus (keep the dang kid swaddled, please), cute superwhite angels, "a feel good story for the ages," and, oops almost forgot, peace on earth. 

And he saith unto thee and thine: behold(eth), I'm pulling back the curtain, and, sorry, but it's kind of a raging great ball of fire back there. Like, dearly beloved, you probably can't figure this out on your own. Like, forget about the Victoria Secret Christmas Special because this is some heavy stuff and it won't have a Bruno Mars soundtrack. 

All things will change. You will die. The world you know is not for long. It's out of control (at least yours).

All signs are negative (well, all but one). A child shall be named Grace. And she will understand why. And she will be an artist and cry tears that make the angels fall off their comfy cloudy perches. 

But if this doesn't blow your mind and squeeze your lungs, you can light every candle you got and it won't be enough. You want some sweet words to get you through? Sorry, it's the first week of Advent, forget about it. This is going to get way stranger than that. Clearly, the Lord desireth to shocketh His people. I cometh to thee wild, weird, and riding on a donkey (well inside a person riding on a donkey). I mean, if any of this means anything, it's got to be bigger than . . . the Kardashians. 

Your redemption draweth nigh. That is actually scary if you think about it, which you probably don't want to do. You'd probably rather go back to Ordinary Time.

 Thanks Grace Ballantine Gorman for the picture (the original had a picture of a great ball of fire, a sunset)

Thanks M Richard Miller for the Advent sermon (that's Father Rich)

Thanks Jennifer Woodruff Tait for the original.  

Thanks squirrels, birds, and pilgrims.*

*Some of you may wonder about Ben Camino. Haha, I mean you may wonder about the name. In August 2012, just a few months earlier, I had walked the Camino Santiago, a medieval pilgrimage route in France and (mostly) Spain. The greeting among pilgrims and pretty much everyone else is Buen Camino, Good pilgrimage, or even perhaps, Blessed walk. I changed Buen to Ben and the rest is mystery. 

Meet me here tomorrow for the Feast of good Saint Andrew. You can subscribe by email or check back at the site. There are, as I say, quite a few other meditations just as wild and ragged and real as this one.