Have you ever not known something, and been made to feel inadequate because of it? When I was growing up, my grandmother—Grandine—did her best to instill a measure of propriety into my otherwise heathenistic methods of approaching the dinner-time ritual. At the onset of my padawan learning, Grandine didn’t speak to me with the grace of a master; she expected that I already knew how to conduct myself (I was seven, y’all), and so she’d make comments on how I’d hold my fork; how I’d set the table wrong; how I’d put a napkin on my lap the wrong way; and the list goes on.
She was never mean about it, outright. Looking back, I can remember her words and now see them as meant to be humorous, but still a little biting—not toward me, but toward my parents. She was a graceful woman, and a kind person; she, in fact, was one of the kindest people I have ever known. But in this one respect, she expected something of me—and of my folks—that she considered to be public knowledge. She expected a certain behavior at the dinner-table, the propriety with which she was raised had to be universally practiced, didn’t it? Surely, everyone, knew what it was to utilize proper etiquette while eating…
Eventually, her passive comments turned to instruction. Instead of sending playful jabs, she started the work of teaching me how to conduct myself—in her eyes—properly during meals. She taught me how to set the table, correctly. She taught me how to hold a fork. She taught me to rise and clear the table for others at an appropriate time. She taught me the propriety with which she was raised, and thus, how to be an active and proper participant in mealtime.
Now, some of you may be thinking, “Damn. Your grandmother seems a bit harsh, a bit snobbish.” That’s not the case. As I wrote earlier, she was a lovely person full of joy and encouragement. It was this one area within which she had ‘rules’ that she learned at a young age, and she was of the opinion that everyone should abide by them.
Now, to Advent. Over the course of many years, including this one, I have watched as Episcopalians become lesser versions of ourselves as Advent approaches. We make passive comments about decorations and songs; we—in what some may consider good fun, others not so much—borderline ridicule people for premature celebration of Christmastide. It is as though we expect people to conduct themselves accordingly, as we do, within the season approaching Christ’s Incarnation.
And sometimes, it comes across as condescendingly erudite.
Perhaps instead of posting on Facebook, IG, or Twitter—yep, I’m talking to you my clergy friends across the social networking spectrum—those sarcastic lines and passive pejorative comments, we should take a step back and think about what we know vs. what the world knows. Our knowledge is esoteric, considering the wider population of society. Most people haven’t ever heard of Advent, much less understand what it means. We tend to forget that we don’t live in echo chambers—something we often preach against in other contexts—and we end up attempting to be funny with crass statements that just come across as rude, undignified, or flat-out pompous.
What if we explained it? Over and over again. What if we approached Advent the way we wished others would, yet doing so in an additional way? Perhaps writing and speaking on what Advent is rather than shooting off at the keyboard or podium, we could share our knowledge and make it a little less esoteric, a little more intentional, and a lot more meaningful. It’s no wonder people don’t understand the Episcopal Church and all our intricacies—we assume too much as a people of less than two million within a body of over four hundred million. It might be time to stop being expectant, and start the journey of Advent with new legs. Our annual walk toward Bethlehem could include some new travelers, instead of holding out proverbial hands that mock and scorn those who are racing past us to get there, early.
If we were to teach kindly, without condescension, holding love and education in balance, more of the people around us would most likely understand why we have particular behaviors and practices, rather than thinking of us as uptight, scrooge-like Christians that want to take away their joy.
Maybe #adventword should be joined with #adventward—moving forward to bring others into a deeper understanding, rather than holding that knowledge for ourselves and poking holes in our neighbor’s sense of joy. We don’t need Advent police. We need Advent instructors. That’s what John was…
…that’s what we should be.
Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+