The Return of Ben Camino:

Ironic Advent Meditation 2025, #1: The Advent Thief

In a past part of my life, in what seems like a century or so ago, I discovered the writings of an imaginary author named Ben Camino. He was/is a lapsed Benedictine monk, he was witty as hell, and had a mean streak of irony. And sometimes, but not always, sarcasm. 

When I began to edit his writings about Advent, I titled them "Ironic Advent Meditations." They were indeed Advent meditations – chewing on the cud of the concept of the (ironic) time of waiting for the coming king who comes as a poor child rather than a king. They were often ironic, but sometimes just angry or tortured or unwilling to accept easy answers. There are a hundred or so at the Ben Camino Soul blog site. 

            How I came upon these writings and came to edit them I cannot say. That’s because, as I said, their author was fictional, so it’s an absurd question. More important, though, is that Ben Camino meditations have been read over 130,000 times since I started posting them. I have a feeling that Ben is going to be writing a few more this Advent, so lucky me will get stuck with editing them and posting them. In case you wonder, Ben is just about my age, was not quite as good a basketball player, is prone to fits of spleen, and, most important, needs an editor. If you think his posts are long and rambling, you should see them before I transform them into angelic prose. Or sometimes even  poetry.  

            Usually Ben speaks in his own voice (via my editing), but sometimes I distance the reader a bit from Ben’s spleen by casting the meditation in my own voice. The point is this, and it’s the most important thing (which is why I call it “the point”) – Ben read so much J. D. Salinger in his younger days that his soul and his writing were permanently scarred. Not that that’s a bad thing; in fact, it might be his salvation.

Although we don’t want to assume too much. Not yet anyway. 

Take Advent for example. It says the king is coming. And then, there’s this baby (and believe me, crying he makes) in cattle shack. Anyway (or anyways as the Jennifers say), here’s a little something Ben sent me today after attending Mass on the First Sunday of Advent. I spruced it up a bit, but I hope I didn’t dull Ben’s bite.

 

Ironic Advent Meditation 2025, #1: The Advent Thief

I went to Mass today. It was the First Sunday of Advent. Some of you don’t even know what that means. That’s perfectly fine with me. I have written several meditations over the years explaining it, but I don’t feel like linking to any of those now. You can find them if you are hungry to know. If you aren’t hungry to know,  check out the Hallmark Channel.

Anyway(s), one confusing thing about Advent if you are trying to follow the liturgy (and if you aren’t following the liturgy, are you really doing Advent?), is that the scripture readings for Advent rotate in a three-year cycle. Essentially Gospel of Matthew (Year A), Luke (B), and Mark (C). The different gospels bring up different images, different stories, different emphases. This is Year A, so the First Sunday of Advent gospel was from Matthew 24. And it’s a doozey. Is that how you spell doozey?

Basically, Jesus tells the disciples that “the coming of the Son of Man” (is that him?) will be like the days of Noah (and the flood). People were just sort of hanging out, partying, not really paying attention and then . . . boom! Or splash! So, Jesus says that they need to “keep awake” since they don’t know when the Lord is coming. And then he adds this strange nugget: “If the owner of the house had known . . . [when] the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man (is that him?) is coming at an unexpected hour.”

            It doesn’t take a rocket scientist or a lapsed Benedictine monk to see who “the thief” is in this little parable. It’s the Son of Man. And I was shocked, shocked I say, by this idea. I’m sure I’ve heard this passage before (say, once every three years at least), but I’m sure I never thought about the implication of "the coming thief." Of course, I don’t want to argue with the Son of Man (whoever that is), but it’s seems kind of silly to say “so you’d better be ready” since, by definition, there’s pretty much no way of knowing where and when the thief will hit.

            I know that Ben Camino is not only prone to referring to himself in the third person, but he’s also prone to long drawn out “meditations” which feel more like book chapters. But, but . . . . here’s what I thought about the rest of the service, except when I was distracted by the ridiculously shrill singer in the choir who insists on sticking her face right into the microphone. It’s so hard to sing “have mercy on us” when I’m fuming about that. 

Anyway(s), all through the rest of the service – the cute baby three rows in front of me, the priest from Madagascar telling us about the dancing in their services back home, the announcements blitzed through at breakneck speed (even though all of the same announcements are in the bulletin), the noisy ushers in the back (my fault for sitting in the back), the incomprehensible sermon, the long walk up for communion (and right past the choir) – he, I mean, Jesus, is the thief. Obviously, the allegory isn’t about thieving. But it’s about disruption, turning things upside down, a surprising shake up in our comfortable lives (see, "as in the days of Noah").

            If your Advent time, Advent reading, Advent practices (heck, even just your regular life) fosters and depends on a lack of surprises, the good old dependable good-old . . . everything, then, think twice, Advent-er.  Yes, yes, it’s about a baby. AKA, the son of man. But he’s a thief. He’s out to get you. At least, if the story means anything, it means that. Of course, if you are wide awake and ready, the thief child might lead you on the greatest adventure you could ever imagine. Like Peter Pan or something.  

Oops, I got corny there. It’s not like me. Blame it on my editor. Stay tuned. 

P.S. Do me a flavor, and, if you read this, comment on it, share it, like it if you find it on social media. Whatever, I really mean just stay in touch. These are free but Ben says to tell you he gets paid by knowing somebody is still reading. I'm not going to say 130,000 previous readers can't be wrong. They certainly can be. But let's hope they aren't.