This is the third in the Advent Series, God Blesses Every One: The Transformation of the Scrooge in and Around All of Us. The readings from Stave Three in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, as well as 2 Corinthians 6.2, 11-13, 7.9-10 lead us to face the present moment. In Charles Dickens’ nineteenth century English tale, the Ghost of Christmas Present comes to Ebenezer Scrooge to make him face the here and now. How much time do we spend in the present, really? The present is all we really have; it’s the only place we can really live. But how much of our days are we really here, really in the now? Listen to the audio recording here.
1.
One word punctuates our readings today. Now. Now. Now.
In Saint Paul’s letter to first century Christians living in the Greek city of Corinth we hear the words, “now, now, now.” And in Charles Dickens’ nineteenth century English tale, A Christmas Carol, the Ghost of Christmas Present comes to Ebenezer Scrooge to make him face the here and “now, now, now.”
With this staccato “now” we are brought with force into the present moment of our lives—the only time that truly matters.
Think of how much time we spend in the past. Think how often our minds return to events that took place yesterday or long ago. And how much time do our minds spend in the future? We worry about tomorrow, we plan for next week or next year; we spend a lot of time wandering around in a past we can’t change and a future over which we have such little control. How much time do we spend in the present, really? And the present is all we really have. The present moment is the only place we can really live. But for how much of your day are we really here, really in the now?
Once the disciples came to Jesus and said, “Show us plainly who you are and we will put our faith in you.” Jesus replied, “You study the heavens and the earth but do not know the one who stands before you, nor do you appreciate the present moment” (Gospel of Thomas, saying 91).
Now is the only time we have. Here is the only place we can be.
This is the enduring wisdom of our spiritual heritage. Unfortunately, it’s a wisdom too often ignored.
Now is the time in which we live; the present moment is the place we build our lives. Wake up, friends, wrote Saint Paul long ago. Wake up to the glorious power of this day. Open yourselves to the wonder of living and loving now, right now, who you are, where you are, who you’re with, what you’re doing.
But opening our hearts is frightening. It’s a scary world. And there are reasons to shut down, close down, protect yourself. When you do, don’t do it for long. It’ll become a habit. And a bitter one at that. Better is the habit of a heart that knows how to open wide. No walls. No restrictions. When your heart is open, the love of God can flow and when God’s love flows, life is transformed. Do this, says Saint Paul, and you’ll be saved.
2.
Ebenezer Scrooge is being saved. Scrooge is being saved from all that’s held him in the pain of the past, saved from all his fears about the future. He’s being saved to embrace the only time he has: the present moment.
Dickens shows us the transformation of a greedy, narcissistic, cruel, miser of a man—the epitome of all that can go wrong with a person— into the wonder of a person whose heart is now utterly open to joy, generosity, beauty and goodness. Something new, something divine, something life-altering is being born in Ebenezer Scrooge. This is what Christmas is about. And if Christmas can come to Scrooge, Christmas can come to all of us, no exceptions.
Scrooge’s problem at the beginning of the story is that the life he’s living is marked by death. His long history of loss, death, and grief unresolved and hidden away, drives the anger, prejudice, and greed that makes him such a miserable man—a man who, though alive, is not far from death. He breathes, but he’s not really “living,” and he doesn’t care much if anybody else really lives either.
The Ghost of Christmas Past carries Scrooge into those memories, and Scrooge is made to feel the grief he’s buried. “Stop, Spirit! I can’t take it,” he says. “Haunt me no longer!”
But the light of this Spirit, though painful, is necessary. Unless Scrooge can feel his grief he won’t be able to change and alter the trajectory of his life. He has to suffer the most unpleasant feelings; if he doesn’t, he’ll never heal them. He’ll stay stuck with them, stuck inside the painful world of unhealed emotions.
Conscious suffering, what Saint Paul calls “godly grief,” exchanges neurotic suffering for cathartic suffering; it brings into the open what we too often want to keep hidden. What remains hidden can curse our lives, while what we bring into consciousness can lead us to repentance, the transformation of our lives, and to blessing, goodness, and beauty, and agency. Facing our grief can lead to regret, and regret can lead to action. Catharsis can activate a new desire to step through the door into the present moment we can actually do something about.
Unlike the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present doesn’t come to Scrooge in his bed in the middle of the night. No. Awakened by the chiming of the clock, Scrooge sees a light coming from under his bedroom door. He doesn’t want to stay stuck in the past; he chooses to open the door and enter to meet the Present.
The Ghost is not frightening at all, but compelling. “A jolly Giant,” Dickens writes, “glorious to see, who bore a glowing torch . . . . genial in face, sparkling eye, open hand, cheery voice, unconstrained demeanor, and joyful air.” And the room is a room of abundance. And what the Ghost of Christmas Present shows Scrooge is like the Ghost himself. Every visit they make in their dreamlike journey reveals the abundance of the Christmas spirit—warmth, generosity, and most of all, kindness.
There’s the visit to the home of Bob Cratchit, whom Scrooge pays so poorly. And yet, despite the family’s poverty, there is abundance, generosity, and kindness. Visits to miners in the countryside, sailors on the sea, and lastly, a dinner party at Scrooge’s nephew’s home all show the same thing—people who have reasons to quarrel, or complain, or despair about their present lives, but who do not. Instead, they show an abundance of warmth, generosity, and most of all, kindness. They live Christmas now, and Christmas lives in them.
Scrooge must open the door to the present, and consciously step into the abundance of the Spirit. And once inside the present moment, Scrooge begins to change. He begins to feel love, and love, stirred by the catharsis of his grief and regret, moves him into the transformation made possible because he opens the door to the present, to what’s happening now.
Oh, there are plenty of us who have reasons for regret and worry, to complain and quarrel. We too could stay stuck in the past. But there is no life there. We cannot live there. We can only live here and now.
The Spirit of the Christmas Now is just beyond the door, a light shines beneath the door. And we are walking toward it . . .
3. [A dramatic reading by a chorus of 6 people; from Marcia McFee’s Worship Design Studio]
Reader 1: “Come in ” exclaimed the Ghost. “Come in! and know me better!” [the dramatists cover their eyes]
Reader 1: ... “Look upon me!”
2: Look
3: look
4: look
5: look!
2: open
3: open
4: open
5: open
2: your hands
3: your hearts
4: your lives
5: your compassion
2: not for pity
3: not for guilt
4: but for love
5: but for life
2: look into my eyes and see who I am
3: sit at the table and eat with me now
4: know I am you and in you is me
5: what I go through is not far from you
2: slaughter and famine
3: oppression and hate
4: the parents are wailing in Bethlehem,
5: in Syria,
2: in Kabul,
3: in Chile,
4: in Agua Prieta,
5: in Davis, Woodland, Winters, and Sacramento
All Readers: the children are lost
Reader 6: ‘God bless us every one,’ said Tiny Tim, the last of all.
Reader 1: ‘Spirit,’ said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before, ‘tell me if Tiny Tim will live.’
Reader 6: ‘I see a vacant seat,’ replied the Ghost, ‘in the poor chimney-corner, and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, the child will die.’
Reader 1: ‘No, no,’ said Scrooge. ‘Oh, no, kind Spirit. Say he will be spared.’
Reader 6: ‘If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other will find him here. What then. “If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.’”
Reader 1: Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the Spirit, and was overcome with penitence and grief.
[the dramatists hang their heads]
Reader 6: ‘You,’ said the Ghost... ‘Will you decide who shall live, who shall die?’
4.
We cannot, or must not, decide who shall live and who shall die. But we can face our grief and regret over our ignorance, ambivalence, and inaction.
Dickens, I believe, was, through Scrooge, challenging his nineteenth century readers (and, therefore, us) to the social implications of Christmas; there can be no true Christmas in our lives if the poor get poorer and the rich get richer.
It is not ours to decide who shall live and who shall die. But we can decide to face the opportunities for personal, and, therefore, societal transformation.
Dickens was inviting his nineteenth century readers (and, therefore, us) to the spiritual and psychological implications of Christmas; if Scrooge can change, so can we; no person or situation is ever hopeless.
No, we cannot—we must not—decide who shall live and who shall die. That is for despots and tyrants. But we can decide how we shall live, here and now. We can decide to step out of our past, no matter how broken and painful, and enter the catharsis that stirs a changed life. We can decide how we will be remembered when we die.
So love. Love now. Love is, ultimately the only measure by which we shall be judged in the end. And when you love, you lack nothing.
Risk everything for love till all is love and love is all.