Ironic Advent Meditation 2020 #2: Ironic (Saint) Andrew

Ben Camino's Ironic Advent 2020 Meditation #2:     Ironic (Saint) Andrew Gets a Cross of His Own

Dear reader. It's just the second day of Advent, and I realize that some of you wonder why I am now talking about Saint Andrew instead of Advent.  The short answer is that the liturgical year pays attention both to the proper of the seasons (we are very early in the season of Advent obviously) AND the proper of the saints. The what? Well, Saint's Days. We don't worship them, but we "pay attention" to them. 

Saint's days are scattered throughout the year, but some of the really great ones come during Advent and Christmas. And some I have added, like the Feast of Charles, my father (coming soon). A good liturgist, or for that matter, a good ironist, does his or her best to weave the meditation upon the life and teaching of the saint into the proper season. There will be reader evaluation forms to fill out by Epiphany for you to critique how well or how badly Ben Camino has done so. He won't read them, however. 

Anyway(s), here goes. 

I guess it's kind of cheeky (or ironic) to feel sorry for a saint and martyr, brother of the first Pope, companion of the Lord, loaves and fish miracle assistant (I like to think of him as a sort of apostolic miracle whip, ), and, most famously, patron saint of a pretty sweet golf course in Scotland. But I do. 

If he would have had a better PR guy or even just Saint Luke churning out the Acts of Andrew (a sequel),  I’m sure he would have his own gospel or at least an epistle or two. And a LOT more statues. Of course, we shall see, moving forward (or backwards perhaps), if statues are as stationary a memorial as people have thought since . . . well before Ozymandias. 

Wait, that's probably a bad example. By the way, if Ozymandias does not ring an ancient Egyptian bell, I would rather you look it up than just clicking on a link I provide. OK? That's more the Ben Camino way. Feel free to add your annoyed comments in the evaluation after Epiphany.  

Anyway(s), I think it's obvious that if Andrew would have just doubted the resurrection (like Thomas) or argued with Jesus about getting his feet perfumed (like Judas) or jumped into the water with little faith (like his brother) he would have been more impactful, as every university administrator I have ever known would say. Doubting Andrew. Or perhaps, Ironic Andrew. Has a certain ring to it. Nobody would ever forget Ironic Andrew. Would they? Really, would they? 

But . . . no. Andrew pretty much disappears from the story, overwhelmed by James, John, and, obviously, his more visible, irascible (some faithful friends will know that I threw that word in just to hear it shimmer) and oh-so-loud brother, Peter. And, apropos of nothing, how about the names of these two boys? A lot of interpretive ink has been spilled explaining why Jesus changed Simon’s name to Peter, from something like the reed to the Rock. But obviously he felt sorry for him since his brother Andrew’s name meant . . . the Man. 

Of course, I am more than willing to admit that people probably didn't go around saying, "well my name means "manly," what does your name mean?" But if your brother got named "Rock," you might remind him of what mom and dad said about you from the beginning. 

Where were we? Advent. Well, maybe this doesn't exactly feel like an advent meditation, but then, I’m never sure what Advent EXACTLY is anyway. I mean, I know it's the preparation time for the coming of the Savior. The first coming, the second coming, all the comings. It's the second day, and I'm confused. 

And here is what we know about Andrew -- the fisherman, the fisher of men, the Man. The Eastern Church has another special name for him too. The first called. I like that. Inordinately. And, for that, we can give thanks and raise a glass of fish extract in honor of this former follower of one amazing and possibly mad Baptist preacher named John. And thank the Coming One that Andrew did not miss his cue when the script had a sudden change, and the Coming One done came.

For the Gospel of John (thanks for the love, John, even though you sort of hogged the New Testament) tells us that Andrew was hanging out with this Baptist character one day when Jesus walked by. The Baptist said, “Look over yonder" or some other cool old-school hillybilly expression—these guys not being particularly Oxfordian if you take my meaning. "Boys, I'm pretty dang sure the Lamb of God just walked past.” 

And Andrew followed. 

Not only did he follow, but he "quickly went and found his brother" before his brother was the rock.  And the rest is history, mystery, and the story of a conspiracy to leave Andrew out of all the really good stuff that James, John, and Peter got to do.

But seriously, I jest, but I jest seriously (got it?). When the moment of Advent comes, which the liturgical clock says is . . . NOW, and if anything in this confusing concept means anything, it means that Advent points to the moment, the sudden event which means everything and is not be missed. 

Of course, it is also a long, long time of waiting and preparation and doubting and wondering and then more waiting. But sometimes, maybe, he/she/it arrives or, more relationally, comes to (us).  Advenit!  And some people see and "get" he/she/it. And some of those some go grab somebody else and say, “This is HE/SHE/IT brother, or I’m a rotten hunk of tilapia" (a popular fish in Galilee, I've heard). 

That, apparently, was language the Reed soon to be the Rock could understand. And that's why Andrew is not only the Man but is called the first called. And maybe the first to “lead someone else to Christ” as the Baptist (Melvin, not John) likes to say.

 

And, since this is an ironic Andrean meditation, I remind you that a year or two later surrounded by thousands of very hungry hearers of the gospel it was Andrew the fisherman, the fisher of men, the Man, who said to Jesus, “Well, there’s not much here Rabbi, but there is a kid. Aaaand, well, the kid has five biscuits and two catfish.” Seize the moment, oh ye rarely mentioned apostle. Heck, seize the kid’s fish. Fortunately, Peter didn’t loudly intervene, as was his wont, and tell everyone to go home first.  Andrew always knew a good thing when he smelled one.

There’s obviously more to be said about Andrew's bones being supposedly buried in Constantinople and supposedly being reburied, mostly, in Italy, not to mention his death, supposedly, by x-cross, a saltire cross (think the flag of Scotland). 

And, of course, the invention of golf. All interesting information, some of it possibly true, about the apostle who usually got left out of the story. 

But without whom, dear readers . . . maybe nothing. 

I’m not sure when, how, or even if he/she/it is coming into our lives anytime soon. But I’ve heard rumors. The moral seems to be this: it’s fine and dandy to hang out with Baptists, but don’t let that stand in the way of your brother being the Pope.

 

NO, no, no. Wait a minute--that’s not the moral! The moral is this: when the sudden event which means everything and is not to be missed arrives, we should hope and pray that someone we know and trust, a brother for example, will be there to grab us and make sure we don’t miss all the excitement. That happened to me once. Maybe more than once. I've told that story before and I'm sure I will tell it again. 

But for now, just this: Advent, if it means anything at all, is not only ironic but, when the moment comes, it's exciting enough to forget about the apostolic power rankings and just hang on for the ride of your life. We celebrate Andrew because he followed, he hung on, all the way to his own unique cross. 

And if you were one of the folks in the hungry crowd that day, or you were the reed who became the rock because your brother came and got you (I cry when I know that some people never even have a brother), or you were a son of Thunder who had visions and revelations but no cross, you probably did not forget, like some of the rest of us have, good Saint Andrew. A fisherman, a fisher of men, the Man, the follower. 

And Jesus said to them, "Come and See."

**Friends, Ben Camino has written so many of these, that he can't share them all with you every year. But there is a special one, dated yesterday, Nov 29, about a former student who died on that day. He was, like Andrew, a person with gifts that were not, perhaps, as obvious and as valued by the popular crowd, as some others might have been. But, you might want to read about him. I encourage you to do so. His name was Tripp and he was a trip. It is the most read of all Ben Camino meditations (2K or so),  and that makes me very happy. Here's the link: Ben Camino: IRONIC ADVENT 2015 MEDITATION #1: TRIPPY ADVENT