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Another Scrooge movie? Really? Well, I’ve watched about five of them already, what’s one more?
And so I hit “play.” It is, after all, what I do. I watch movies and lots of them. And there is no shortage of Christmas-themed movies to stream this time of year. So there, I did it, I started watching YET another movie based on A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.
I love Dickens’s original book, even if it’s not everyone’s favorite. But the funny thing is we seem to be really stuck on this particular story because we just can’t seem to stop making adaptations of it. Animations, comedies, dramas, even sitcoms, you name it. It’s all been done. (But why, Muppets? Why?)
Anyway, there I was, watching Alastair Sim in the 1951 movie simply titled Scrooge. The movie begins with a solemn yet evocative setup that introduces the character of Ebenezer Scrooge in a somber, dreary atmosphere. And, surprise! Scrooge is a miserly and solitary figure, carrying a metaphorical chill wherever he goes. This mood is mirrored by the foggy and cold London setting, emphasizing his isolation and harsh nature. It’s been done over and over, but in my opinion, few did it better than this.
And you know the leadup to what happens next by heart. Scrooge is just a wretched, stingy, and soulless person who is able to resist the most charming and loving advances, even from his own family. This guy, we think, deserves everything he has coming to him.
I kept watching, mainly just as background noise (and it is a Christmas movie and it’s that time of year), so when the Ghost of Christmas Past shows up, it’s no big deal, this is just the beginning of Act Two. Yawn. In the scenes, Scrooge delights in seeing what delighted him as a child and young man. But then all the unpleasant things, all the hardships, and the struggles sapped his joy and as we now see, turned him into a young codger who was only really interested in the material and money. And we still think maybe he deserves everything he has coming to him.
And that’s when my own spirits showed up.
It’s not so much A Christmas Carol, and I’m not so much an Ebenezer Scrooge. My “spirits” aren’t ghosts or actors playing ghosts, they’re more like fears. And maybe the Scrooge spirits did represent real fears that we all face: past, fear of being trapped by previous actions or decisions; present, fear of a lack of purpose; future, fear of being forgotten.
Past
The good thing about the past is there’s nothing I can do to change it now. That’s also the most horrible thing about it. I can never change the fact that I bought that stupid bright teal green car because I thought it was pretty. There were a lot of frivolous but essentially harmless things like that in my past that might have some small influence on who I am now, but they’re nothing that keeps me up at night. It’s the other stuff.
Things that happen to us, that we have no control over, can tend to haunt. People who have hurt us. Losing family or friends. Job problems. Money issues. Sicknesses. It’s all there. Decisions we made that didn’t have the outcome we hoped for can also torment us. Should I have taken that job? What if I had worked harder at that friendship? Could I have gone further in my career?
In the 1951 Scrooge movie, I was struck by the Ghost of Christmas Past, played by Irish actor Michael J. Dolan. Unlike some other actors, he portrayed the ghost as dispassionate and detached. Not uncaring but also not judging. He showed Scrooge his past as it happened, as his guide.
I think we can do this ourselves and save the ghosts the trouble. Looking over the whole tapestry of my life I can see how all the experiences are connected, woven together, and contributing to the overall. Every thread, bright or dark, forms the pattern of my life. I can’t change what is already sewn in, but I can choose how I’ll add to the design moving forward.
I don’t have to be trapped by any of it—it has already happened, after all. But I can be freed from it.
One of the essential conditions of interior freedom is the ability to live in the present moment. For one thing, it is only then that we can exercise freedom. We have no hold on the past—we can’t change the smallest bit of it. People sometimes try to relive past events considered failures (“I should have done this… should have done that…”) but those imaginary scenarios are merely dreams: it is not possible to backtrack. The only free act we can make in regard to the past is to accept it just as it was and leave it trustingly in God’s hands. — Fr. Jacques Phillipe, Interior Freedom
Let it be known that I am terrible at this, but I am working on it. I like to think that God is used to me taking back past moments that I have left “trustingly” in his hands for 30 whole seconds. And then reluctantly giving them back to him. I’m grateful for his patient love.
Present
Ah, the present. The here and now. The moment we’re living in. It’s great and all but. “But is this all that there is?”
In (most) all the adaptations of A Christmas Carol, the Ghost of Christmas Present is presented as a very jolly spirit, almost Santa-like. But his message isn’t all mistletoe and holly and holiday cheer. He reveals to Scrooge the life he could have—a richer and more meaningful life filled with connection and joy. He also uncomfortably reveals the truth about the life Scrooge chose for himself. It’s not just that he’s alone; it’s that he’s resigned himself to a life of “bah humbug,” assuming there’s nothing beyond what he’s brutally carved out for himself.
And that’s the challenge, isn’t it? The present moment often feels both too much and not enough. Overwhelmed by the activities of daily living, and underwhelmed by how unfulfilling it can all be, leads us to ask: is this all there is? Are these moments—routine, mundane, imperfect—really what make up a life?
Ultimately the question is: what is my purpose here?
When I am able to successfully contribute at work or in my personal life I feel a driving sense of purpose that almost makes me forget about myself entirely. Pouring my heart into what I’m doing that could make a difference is my jam. But there have always been “present moments” where I felt unfulfilled or directionless. If things become frustrating at home or I hit roadblocks at work (or the Hollandaise sauce breaks), I feel like shutting myself in the counting house and sullenly watching the last of the coal burn out along with all my hopes.
Well, that’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?
But maybe my spirit of the present isn’t here to tell me what my purpose is. Maybe it’s here to invite me to ask a better question: What is God’s purpose for me?
Note that I am pretty terrible at living in the present moment, too. But I am learning that God doesn’t demand certainty or even perfection in the present moment. He simply invites me to participate. I can ask for the gifts of the Holy Spirit. I can be a little more generous in our almsgiving during Advent. I can be more considerate toward Bob (aspirational). I can say “yes” instead of “bah humbug,” and step into the possibility that there is, in fact, more that God has in store for me, right now.
“For God is the one who, for his good purpose, works in you both to desire and to work.” — Philippians 2:13
Future
Along with Scrooge, I say to the spirit of Christmas Yet to Come: I fear you more than any spectre I have seen.
Movie adaptations of A Christmas Carol portray this ghost as a silent, dark figure, barely human, wearing a death shroud. What could possibly go wrong?
But by now we’re usually rooting for poor old Ebenezer (hard to call him Scrooge under the circumstances) and while we think maybe he did deserve all he had coming to him before, now we might feel a little sorry for him. Comeon, spirit, give the poor guy a break. But he has to face his own mortality first.
We spend a lot of life actively not thinking about death.
Funny enough, though, there is a Catholic tradition called “memento mori” or “remember your death.” Yes, this is another of those weird Catholic things (that I dearly love). It is the practice of remembering and even meditating on the inevitable and unpredictable reality that we will all die. And specifically, that “I” will die. It usually comes up around All Souls Day, but maybe Advent is a time when it would be appropriate, too. It was part of Scrooge’s transformation, after all.
Scrooge’s spirit of the future doesn’t only show him his death but the consequences of the life he’s chosen to live now. And that’s what’s truly terrifying about this ghost. It isn’t just his death; it’s the kind of death Scrooge sees—alone, ungrieved, and unmourned. There is no love lost because no love was given. It’s a sobering reminder that our lives have ripple effects far beyond what we might see immediately in front of us.
But the ghost’s message isn’t just despair—it’s also hope. Scrooge is offered a choice: to transform his life and embrace love, generosity, and connection before it’s too late. In the same way, memento mori isn’t about dwelling on death for its own sake but about inspiring us to live each moment with intention and faith.
For me, the fear isn’t only about being forgotten. It’s about whether what I’ve done in this life will matter in the long run. Will the good I’ve tried to do outweigh my mistakes? Will I have loved enough, given enough, or lived enough to make a difference?
Of course, the saints usually do have something to say about these things. And St. Alphonsus Liguori just showed up with an appropriate comment:
At death all our hope of salvation will come from the testimony of our conscience as to whether or not we are dying resigned to God’s will. If during life we have embraced everything as coming from God’s hands, and if at death we embrace death in fulfillment of God’s holy will, we shall certainly save our souls and die in the death of saints.
St. Alphonsus reminds us that our salvation depends on surrendering to God’s will, not only in big decisions but in the everyday acts of faith, trust, and love. Advent, with its call to prepare for Christ’s coming, is a perfect time to practice this surrender—whether by embracing small sacrifices, seeking reconciliation, or renewing our focus on what truly matters.
I might not be great at this yet either, but the good news is, the future isn’t here yet. Today is another chance to decide to live in abandonment to God’s will and to trust his plan for my life—even if I can’t see it.
The End of It
The third Sunday of Advent is just a few days away, and as usual, I am wondering where the time went. But it seemed like the right time for a little Scrooge-like soul-searching about my choices and my life, taking a serious look at the present, examining my life through the lens of the past, and considering the future with both reverence and hope.
Scrooge's story can remind us that the consequences of our choices ripple through time, but it also shows us the possibility of transformation, no matter how late it seems. Memento mori teaches us not to fear death, but to live in a way that honors God’s will and embraces love fully, today and every day.
Maybe the key to a fulfilling life, like the key to Scrooge’s redemption, is to live with the awareness that every moment matters—not just for what it brings but for how we offer it back to God. It’s a slow, ongoing process. But Advent, with its call to prepare, reminds us that we have the time and the grace to make it happen.
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