My Christmas Carol

Some Christmas movies can be watched several times throughout the season; the light ones, the funny ones. But usually just once a year I get out a DVD of A Christmas Carol. I have seen and enjoyed the animated version and I know there are untold renditions, but my favorite version of the miser is portrayed by George C. Scott.
Scott sinks deep and dark into the role. The first version I ever heard was the Disney version with Scrooge McDuck and Goofy as Jacob Marley (some of the quotes are still stuck in my head) and perhaps set the tone for what I thought of as the character of Ebenezer Scrooge: cranky, miserly and in need of an attitude adjustment and some perspective.  But Scott gives us a usurer who has grown first flippant, then arrogant, then bitter and as we find him snarling at his nephew, we find that bitterness has metastasized into a malignant malevolence that glitters in his eyes and crackles in his mirthless laugh. The timeless words "If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled in his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart." are relieved of their gruff humor and tinged with an almost sinister ill will.  And when Fred extends his Christmas dinner invitation, Scott's Scrooge does not brush him off with the air of someone who is ill at ease, but with a cool contempt, "I'd sooner see you in hell."
His interaction with the gentlemen collecting for charity has that same active hostility, and his dealing with his colleagues at the exchange show his greatest joy in life is conniving and squeezing.
Even as he begins his baptism by fire into the world of spirits with the arrival of Jacob Marley, he is defiant and sarcastic. Marley's overwhelming overriding of Scrooge's analytical dismissal as he screams "MAN OF THE WORLDLY MIND, DO YOU BELIEVE IN ME OR NOT??!!!"" is quickly forgotten, like a man who quakes at fire and brimstone in the pew while the last verse of There's A Great Day Coming plays and then finds the sweat quickly cooling on his brow after the dismissal in the foyer.   He goes to sleep uncomfortable, but hopeful that it was, after all, an undigested bit of beef.
He is brusque with the Ghost of Christmas Past. His coal-fired exterior does begin to show some cracks when presented with his days as a young man. You see him trying to make something of the coldness of his father, and you see him pitying his young neglected self. You even see him express surprise at the Ghost's strategic dismissal of Old Fezziwig and insist that his old employer was a kind taskmaster. Such are the memories of the bitter. The irony never presents itself to them. And then, when she begins to press him to make the hypocrisy apparent, he grows angry and demands to be left alone.
The stroke of two finds him a bit more apprehensive, but as the tone dies away, and no spirit presents itself, he begins to sneer at Old Marley's promise of a second visitor. He is slightly more sheepish in the company of the Ghost of Christmas Present. As their voyeuristic travels take them through the homes of his clerk Cratchit and his nephew Fred, he is dismayed at how people see him, then defensive. A positive sense of pity begins to invade his empty soul when he is shown the homeless family cooking potatoes that fell from a produce wagon, and then the sneering, mocking Ghost eviscerates him with his own words "Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses??"
As the Ghost of Christmas Present leaves him in the dark, Ebenezer begins to do what we have all done with our Creator at some point. He begins to bargain. He is no longer the one calling the shots at the exchange, he now has something to lose. He has had to admit to himself that he has been self-centered, and myopic, and needs to do better. His offers of meeting the Spirits halfway, however, fall into the empty blackness. The Spirit of Christmas Present isn't coming back, and he is alone.

And then comes grace, the amazing grace that the slaver John Newton tells us taught his heart to fear.
The black, hooded skeletal herald, lacking only a scythe, stands motionless and mute as Ebenezer turns, knowing and dreading what will he will behold. The Ghost of Christmas To Come holds every card, and Ebenezer obeys his silent bidding, quaking with an almost paralyzing fear. As he witnesses the callous, but perhaps justified, reaction of his colleagues at the exchange at the passing of a peer, as he expresses distaste and outrage at the auction of his worldly goods in a seedy pawn shop, we know he must know. But he refuses to follow logical conclusions. 
It is only at his own tomb that the bitter, hateful, selfish old man sees he has nothing to give in exchange for his soul. It is only now, that his ultimate fate is sealed, barring the death of himself, that we find him, and he finds himself, on his knees. The pride has melted and is literally gushing from him in sobs and pleas. I remember that moment. I remember when I first had to die. There is no agony like it. No humiliation equal. And there is also no shorter measurement of time between agony and relief, no equal comparison between night and day, than when Scrooge awakens to find the snow covered tombstone to be the rug on his bedchamber floor and the night of his death to be the morning of his and his Savior's birth.
I tear up. Every time.  The weightlessness of his unburdened soul threatens to release him from the surly gravitational bonds of earth to soar to the face of God. And I remember just how amazing grace really is.