Dec. 7, 2025 -The Remembrance of Christmas Past

The word "Scrooge" didn't exist before Charles Dickens invented it. Now it's part of our everyday vocabulary—we all know what it means to call someone a Scrooge. It describes that person who's grumpy, disconnected, unwilling to join in the joy around them. But here's the fascinating question: How did Scrooge become Scrooge?

This Advent season invites us into a profound reflection, using the familiar story of A Christmas Carol as a mirror for our own spiritual lives. It's not just about watching an old movie or enjoying holiday nostalgia. It's about asking ourselves the uncomfortable question: Are we becoming Scrooges too?

The Ghost of Christmas Past Reveals Something Important
When the Ghost of Christmas Past takes Ebenezer Scrooge on his journey, something remarkable happens. The ghost doesn't immediately show him his failures. Instead, the journey begins with beauty—moments when Scrooge was fully alive, full of joy, dancing, laughing, courting, connecting with others. There was a time when Scrooge had vitality, warmth, and genuine human connection.

He had real gifts too. Scrooge understood finances. He was a skilled businessman. He had ambition and drive. These weren't bad qualities—they were genuinely good talents that served him well. We need people with financial acumen. We value those who understand accounting and business management.

But somewhere along the journey, something twisted.

The Hebrew understanding of sin isn't just "missing the mark"—it's a twisting, a distortion of what God intended for good. And that's exactly what happened to Scrooge. The good gifts became corrupted. The healthy ambition became obsession. The financial skill became greed. What started as strength morphed into something that isolated, hardened, and ultimately imprisoned him.

The Danger of Our Good Gifts
This is where the story gets uncomfortably personal. We all have gifts we're proud of. We have accomplishments we like to mention. We have skills that make us valuable. And there's nothing inherently wrong with that.

But what happens when those good things become the things we worship? What happens when our identity gets wrapped up in our achievements rather than in Christ?

The Apostle Paul understood this tension intimately. Writing to the church in Philippi, he tackled the age-old question: How do we become right with God? Is it through what we do, or through what Christ has done?

Paul had every reason to brag. If anyone could claim righteousness through their own efforts, it was him. He had the perfect religious pedigree—circumcised on the eighth day, a Hebrew of Hebrews, from the right family line, trained as a Pharisee, zealous for God's law, blameless in following the commandments. His credentials were impeccable.

Yet Paul makes a shocking statement. When he compares all his accomplishments, all his religious credentials, all his hard work and dedication to what Christ has done through his suffering, death, and resurrection, Paul uses a crude word. He calls it all "scubala"—manure. Everything he once valued as gain, he now counts as loss compared to knowing Christ.

This isn't Paul diminishing the value of dedication or discipline. It's Paul recognizing that when we compare our best efforts to the grace of God revealed in Jesus, there's simply no comparison. Our righteousness, no matter how impressive, cannot save us. Only Christ can.

Advent: A Season of Reflection
Advent comes from the Latin word "adventus," meaning "coming." It's a season where we remember two comings: Christ's birth in Bethlehem two thousand years ago, and Christ's promised return to judge the living and the dead.

The early church called Advent "Little Lent"—it was originally forty days of preparation and reflection, much like the Lenten season before Easter. Though we've shortened it to four weeks, the purpose remains the same: to examine our lives in light of Christ's coming.

Unlike Scrooge, most of us won't have ghosts visiting us in the night to force this reflection. But we have these weeks of Advent to voluntarily do what the ghosts did for Scrooge—to look honestly at our lives, to see where good things have twisted into unhealthy obsessions, to identify what we're valuing that doesn't compare to Christ.

The Question That Matters
If Christ were to return today and evaluate your life, what would He find you valuing most? What consumes your time, energy, and passion? What do you brag about? What gives you your sense of worth?

Is it your career success? Your financial security? Your knowledge or education? Your family legacy? Your moral goodness? Your religious activities?

None of these things are inherently bad. Like Scrooge's business acumen, they can be genuine gifts. But when we place them alongside the suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ—when we compare our accomplishments to God's grace—how do they measure up?

This is the invitation of Advent: to untwist ourselves, to allow God to restore what has become distorted, to release our grip on the things we think make us righteous and instead receive the righteousness that comes through faith in Christ alone.

Moving Forward
The beauty of Scrooge's story is that transformation is possible. The ghosts don't just show him his past and present to condemn him—they show him to wake him up, to offer him a chance to change before it's too late.

That's the gift of Advent. We have time. We have these weeks to reflect, to repent, to reorient our lives toward what truly matters. We can look at our "Christmas past"—the moments when we were most alive in Christ, when our gifts were used for God's glory rather than our own—and we can choose to return to that vitality.

This season, may we have the courage to compare everything we value to Christ. And may we find the freedom to let go of whatever doesn't measure up, making room instead for the One whose coming we celebrate—yesterday, today, and forever.