As the second Advent candle is lit and the days are advancing to Christmas, my nostalgia climbs to new peaks. My tendency at this time of year is to flee the winter chill by imagining myself wrapped in an overwarm blanket, nestled in an overstuffed chair perched before an overstocked fire (I say “imagining” because this vision rarely comes to fruition). Nonetheless, the ornaments have been hung, the nativity scene arranged and Vince Guaraldi alternates with Nat King Cole on the playlist. It is the time for Rudolph and Hermey the Elf (who wanted to be a dentist), Charlie Brown and the wilting Christmas tree, and Ralphie with his “official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle!” My young daughters long to make footprints in the fresh snow, shovel with me (only to ambush me with snowballs) and race the sled down our narrow hill. There are dance recitals, school pageants and road trips to Grandma’s and Grandpa’s. We will stay up too late, sleep in too long and eat too much. And through it all, we attend Mass, we read the Gospels and we pray to keep the birth of Christ at the forefront of these very holy days. It is a holy, magical, nostalgic season.
But in the midst of this wonderful season, I found myself standing still – transfixed – before a scene from Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Now, like many of you, I love this story (please see my previous piece on this). And over the years my family has seen innumerable variations of it (many of them child-friendly) including Edwin Marin’s 1938 version, Clive Donner’s 1984 version (starring George C. Scott), Mickey’s Christmas Carol, The Muppet’s Christmas Carol, Veggie Tales Christmas Carol, and Robert Zemeckis’s version (starring Jim Carrey). I’ve been to the play and have read the book. I simply love this story.
So why was I stopped in my tracks by a story I was so familiar with?
It was the Robert Zemeckis/Jim Carrey version that happened to be on television. My daughters were playing and my wife and I had our ears half-cocked to the story as we tended to other weekend responsibilities. The story rolled along as it normally does, but then he came on…
The Ghost of Christmas Present. Unlike the shackled Marley, the lilting Ghost of Christmas Past and the frightening Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, the Ghost of Christmas Present – in all renditions of the story – was larger than life. He was engaging, boisterous, illuminating with his voice and countenance. But it was his constant refrain – a refrain I have kiddingly repeated over the years because I thought it so odd – that stopped me where I stood:
“Know me better, man!”
Know me better, man. And as he pointed at Scrooge (and us), we find (as Dickens described it),
“Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, grey joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausage, mince pies, plum puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowels of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam.”
It was a banquet of riches. A vibrant, well-fed man reveling in joy and abundance beckoned to Scrooge the miser, Scrooge the friendless, Scrooge the hollow “Know me better, man!” and “Look upon me!”
And then it dawned upon me… This ghost is talking to me.
Let me explain. This past year has been a year of blessings, but also a year of trials. Due to a external hard drive mishap, we lost thousands – thousands – of pictures of our family. This. Was. Devastating. Fortunately, we have others, but to see years of our young children’s lives meticulously recorded on film and video only to go up in smoke (not to mention to experience the passionless shrugs from the “experts” who sold us the equipment) was utterly painful. In addition, stresses related to jobs, medical board recertification and the constant strain of schedules pulling everyone in different directions had a significant impact on our family this year.
And yet the words of the Ghost of Christmas Present made me consider these stresses in a different light. The Past is a wonderful time to reflect on and cherish rich memories and enduring lessons. But it also can be an anchor of guilt that obsesses on bad decisions and thoughtless mistakes we wish we could do over again. The Future is a time of hope and anticipation of dreams to be realized and goals to be achieved. But it can also immobilize us with anxiety over uncertainty and imperfection.
Now don’t get me wrong, it is well and good that we spend time in the Past and the Future. There is a sweet nostalgia for the Past and a deep wonder for the Future. But we must not forget to revel in the precious yet fleeting riches of the present as well.
Too soon will the ornaments be stowed, the tinsel bundled and the Nativity scene boxed up. Too soon will my daughters’ furious tearing open of presents and wide-eyed exuberance at just what Santa brought this year be past. Too soon will those sleepy young bodies lying heavy on Mommy and Daddy’s chests be too big, too mature or just too busy to sleep there just a bit longer if at all. Too soon will those family dinners and loving hugs fall into the distance. And too soon will the heightened wonder of a God who became a baby for our ultimate salvation be replaced by the different moods of Ordinary Time. Too soon.
This Advent, Dickens’ Second Ghost struck me as profoundly wise. And he was speaking not only to Scrooge. He was talking to me. The Present beckons us just for a moment to simply and peacefully be.
“Know me better, man.”
Indeed.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In