In 1843, Charles Dickens published a very short book that has become so much a part of our celebrations, we think of it as eternal. The message of the book was simple - part of the Christmas Spirit is remembering to live with our fellow men and women, with love and care and concern just because they are fellow travelers for our short season on this Earth. Far more horrible than poverty is the loneliness that leaves one unlamented, unmourned, and forgotten at death.
There was, of course, a social and even political dimension to Dickens' spirited tale of Ebeneezer Scrooge; yet focusing on that to the exclusion of the deeply human, deeply faithful theme at the heart misses the main point. The social and political dimension exists precisely because of the stresses and strains on human community and interaction.
Fast forward to our time, and we face this, which shows just how little times have changed, or indeed have degraded. Rather than create a marvelous world full of characters so memorable even the minor ones - like Scrooge's nephew Tom - stand out in our minds as people we know and care about, some people believe it necessary to forget that Christmas isn't about coercion, or laws, or forcing anything upon anyone. Christmas is the amazing story of Divine love entering the world in the most remarkable, unbelievable, fashion and form. For all their insistence that they are doing what they are doing in the name of Christmas and the faith of the child whose birth we commemorate, these latter day Scrooge's lack even the slightest notion that all their passion, all their righteous indignation could be far better spent working for others in the name of the Christ child, rather than legally demanding superficial conformity in the form of required artistic performance.
These are our Scrooges. Who, I wonder, could be their Marley, arranging an intervention to spare them, and us, from the ravages of their narrow lives? What answer could they give to the Second Spirit, who sees in Scrooge's pettiness nothing of merit, insisting that he (Scrooge) is far less deserving of life than millions such as Tim Cratchit (my guess is, for all his joviality, that Spirit was not one to mess around with)? They are just as petty, just as spiteful, just as removed from human fellowship as Ebeneezer. Just as his nephew did for Scrooge, we should pity them for their small minds, their shrunken hearts, their refusal to accept the invitation to be with others. Whether gold or god, an idol is an idol is an idol.
