Scrooge.

A Christmas carol, a podcast presentation by Hope Media Group and Compassion International, releasing children from poverty in Jesus' name.

Merry Christmas to.

You, Uncle.

Humbug. But we manage with God's grace, sir.

Good afternoon.

Begging for a hand, sir.

You can put me down for nothing. Jacob, is.

That you? Well, you.

Come to seek comfort?

I wear the chain I forged in life. Link by link. You will be visited by three spirits on this very evening.

Help me. Jacob, help me.

Scrooge, a Christmas cattle.

There's a unique new entry into the collection of holiday classic movies. Journey to Bethlehem, an epic live-action Christmas musical that weaves classic Christmas melodies with humor, faith, and new pop songs. See Journey to Bethlehem in theater's beginning November 10th. (chewing) (distant wind) (distant wind) Through this holy and myty words, may the Lord, in his.

Love and mercy,.

Help.

You with the grace of the Holy Spirit. Meet you, and I will free you from pain. May the Lord who frees you from sin, save you and raise.

You up. (distant wind) (coughing) (distant wind) (distant wind) OurOn.

December the 24th 1836, in the year of our Lord, one of London's most successful, if reviled, businessmen named Jacob Marley died. The register of Jacob Marley's death was handled by the clerk and was signed by the clergyman, the undertaker, and the chief mourner himself, one Ebenezer Scrooge. And Scrooge's name was good upon change for anything he chose to put his hand to.

If you could just execute here, bottom of the third page.

Scrooge had also been Marley's sole executive[Headteacher] His sole administrator, his sole administrator, his sole assignee, and his sole friend, if that is what he could be called.

.

Dr. Trotted. I'm terribly sorry, sir. The nips on those fountains are temperamental in this season.

A fitting parting gift from my former partner. Do.

You wish a moment alone with the deceased? To express any final thoughts or a prayer, perhaps? Bah. Yes, sir.

Jacob Marley was indeed dead. There is no doubt whatsoever about that, and this must be distinctly understood, or nothing can come of this story. Because though Jacob Marley was dead, it would not be the last time Ebenezer-Scrooge would see him. The two would meet again seven years to the day of Marley's death. Another point of fact that would evoke neither thought nor prayer from Ebenezer-Scrooge, but instead would evoke something far more powerful..

I wanted to run and watch what's been slain. That's the end of the show.

Though Scrooge never appeared particularly cut up by his death, the influence of Jacob Marley in his life cannot be underestimated. Merry Christmas, sir. For Scrooge, Jacob Marley was a paragon of business sense.

A.

Father figure and mentor. In fact, many had thought it was Jacob Marley who gave birth to Scrooge, molding him not in just his own image, but one that had even surpassed it. For Scrooge was every bit a tight fisted hand at the grindstone as Marley, and then son. He was a squeezing, wrenching, clutching, covertous, cheapscape.

And mean.

To.

Boot. Merry Christmas, sir. Happy Christmas.

Humbug.

Scrooge's firm was still known as Marley and Scrooge, because Scrooge had never painted over old Marley's name on the sign above the warehouse door. And he could be seen from outside his firm's window at almost all the hours of the day, working from behind his desk, solitary as an oyster, cold and miserable, regardless of season. It was as grim and cheerless a place if ever there was one. (car engine starting)Then not far from Scrooge sat his clerk, Robert Cratchett, who toiled away in a dismal little cell and was copying letters.

23.

17.

22, and 30.

The manner in which this work was accomplished was often a point of contention for his taskmaster, as was just about anything for Ebenezer Scrooge. For his misery wanted no company, but of all the considerable amount of things that graded Scrooge to his very core would recoil him at every thought, note or reminder was his deep, seeded, unadultederated, pure and utter disdain for Christmas.

Christmas, sir. Christmas.

Christmas. Christmas, bas, fools. Christmas. A time for paying bills without money, finding yourself a year older and not an hour richer. How is that, Mary?

Perhaps it's Mary that for one brief time a year, sir, we can be bound to a mutual hope and look past our own worries and concerns to think about others.

It was a rhetorical question, Cratchett, that I was not asking of you. Mind your business.

I'm sorry, sir.

And you, of all people. Wife, three dependents.

Four dependents, sir?

Four.

But we manage with God's grace, sir. Something you may be interested in?

Speak up, Cratchett.

I said of God's grace, sir. It may be of interest to you.

And why is that?

Well, because it's free, sir.

Yes, one of the Almighty's greatest gifts, along with pestilence, drought, and disease. And there's some more of God's gifts. And to you, Gutter Snipes, hoolagans-.

They're just children, sir.

Merry Christmas indeed. If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about-You said.

That with Merry Christmas on their lips would be boiled in his own pudding and perried with a stake in his heart. I'm sorry, sir.

More talk like that, Cratchett, and I may actually come to tolerate you.

Merry Christmas, Uncle. Oh, no. And to you, Mr. Cratchett.

Merry Christmas, Frederick.

And how's my.

Favorite uncle? Your only uncle, and wondering what right you have to be so merry.

I guess it's the same right you have to be so dismal.

You're poor enough.

You're rich, enough.

No, in fact, I am not. And I live among fools, as Jacob Marley used to remind me, fools who take the occasion of the season to further their debt and responsibilities.

Oh, Uncle Scrooge.

What has Christmas ever done to you?

It's the only time I know of in the long calendar of the year when men and women seem to open their closed hearts freely and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. Therefore, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good and will continue to do me good. And so I say God bless it.

The two of you both belong in bedlam. Let me hear another sound from you, Cratchett, and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation. I'm sure that would be merry for your wife and four dependents.

Yes, sir.

And you, Frederick, are quite the powerful, if misguided, orator. Perhaps you should consider a career in Parliament with the other blowhards.

Don't be dour, Uncle, even though it suits you so well. I've come, as I do every year, to invite you to dine with us tomorrow.

And I, as I do every year, will decline. Thank you.

Must you reject me every year?

But rejection suits you so well, Frederick.

While that may be true, there is a certain young woman that I would have you meet that has actually accepted a different proposal from me. Would you care I shared?

Would it make a difference?

I'm engaged, Uncle, and I'd love for you to meet my fiancée. What better way to celebrate the holiday, hey?

Marriage, another ill-begotten institution almost as meaningless as Christmas.

I don't know how we are related sometimes, Uncle. Though I never came to know my mother, I understand she was fond of you. You'd been a good brother to her.

My relation to her is of no business.

To you. Oh, but it is. She is a part of me I've always wanted to know more about. And you? Well, like it or not, you're a part of me also. Oh, Uncle, I want nothing from you. I ask nothing of you. We have never had any quarrel to which I have been a party. Why can't we just be friends?

Good afternoon, Frederick.

Very well then. I am sorry with all my heart to find you so resolute, but still, I will keep my Christmas humor to the last.

Merry.

Christmas to.

You, Uncle. Good afternoon.

A merry Christmas to you, Mr.

Cratchett. And to you, Frederick.

Good afternoon.

And a happy New.

Year too. Humbug. Dauer.

Resolute. Could this unproductive day possibly get any worse?

Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas. I should say not.

Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?

Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years. I am Mr. Scrooge. How might I be of service?

We are here at this festive season of the year on behalf of the poor and destitute of the community who suffer greatly at this.

Present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries, and hundreds more in want of common comforts, sir.

Really? Are there no prisons?

Plenty of prisons, sir.

And the union workhouses, which my hard-earned taxes contribute, are they still in operation?

They are, sir, and at capacity.

I'm very glad to hear it.

Unfortunately, the government's goodwill scarcely meets the demands of the day, sir. To that, Ed, we are endeavoring to raise a fund to purchase some food and means of shelter for the needy.

We chose this time because it is a time when want is.

Keenly felt.

And abundance rejoices.

Demands to raise abundance rejoices.

What shall I put down from the firm of Marley and Scrooge, sir?

I told you my partner is deceased.

I apologize, sir, but we have no doubt your former partner's generosity is well represented by you, Mr. Scrooge.

And what do you know of my former partner? That he would approve of strangers, bursting in from the cold, begging for a handout.

Begging for a hand, sir, not a handout.

The answer is zero. You can put me down for nothing. Is it not enough walking the streets these days without enduring a gauntlet of swindlers and hustlers to separate me from my money?

We are just trying to give people a merry Christmas, sir.

I don't make myself merry at Christmas. I can't afford to make idol people merry. I already helped support involuntarily, I might add, the establishments mentioned. Those who are in need can choose to go there.

Many can't go there and would rather die.

Good, then good that they do, that they decrease the surplus population and ease the burden of tax for the productive. Good afternoon, gentlemen. Mr. Cratchett, please show these gentlemen out.

But sir, it's Christmas.

Yes, you've made that quite clear. Good afternoon, gentlemen.

Gentlemen, sirs, I so apologize for my superior, sir. I know it's not much, but if it could afford any goodness for someone in need.

Bless you, good sir.

And Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas to you, sir. And please, if you'll endeavor not to return, so as to avoid any charges of harassment-.

And lock that door! Lest we have any other miscreants to fend off.

Yes, sir. Christmas.

Tis a scourge this holiday, a boil upon humanity. A time when the sun sets on reason and science and rises on faith and hope.

Is that Wadsworth, sir?

Tread lightly, Cratchet. No, that is another poet. Dead these seven years. Jacob Marley.

Are.

You okay, sir?

I'm fine. Dratid fountain. Cratchet, Cratchet. What are you doing there?

I don't think the ink agrees with the temperature in here, sir. Perhaps a bit more coal in the fire.

No. Put that coal back into the scuttle. No use wasting it on a wasted day.

You wish to close for the day, sir?

It is not my wish, Cratchet. It has become necessity. With every charlatan wandering the streets with a cup in their hand, carillers howling at the moon, feral boys marauding about. How can work be accomplished? The only solace to be found is in one's own home.

Very well then, sir.

You'll want all day tomorrow, I suppose?

If fairly convenient, sir.

No, it is neither convenient nor fair.

But it's only once a year, sir.

As Marley used to say.

I believe it was a poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every 25th of December.

Yes, I believe that's what it was. Oh, tried. A fitting parting gift from my former partner.

Are.

You okay, sir?

I'm fine, Praterty. Lock the door on your way out and see to it those letters go off to post before the evening pickup.

Yes, sir.

And be here all the earlier the next morning.

I will indeed, sir. Mr. Scrooge, Mary… Good afternoon, sir.

The office was closed in a twinkling, and Bob Cratchett, with the long ends of his navy coat dangling below his waist, stopped on Corn Hill among a line of boys to go down the hill in honor of it being Christmas Eve before running home as fast as he could to be with his family. Meanwhile, Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern, and having read all the newspapers, spent the rest of the evening in his banker's book before he proceeded to his dismal manner.

Scrooge, a Christmas Carol, will continue in a moment. What good.

Has Christmas ever done to you?

Are you like Scrooge this holiday season with a heart consumed with work and distraction? Then we're here to help you find peace and hope this year.

Though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good.

Just visit scroogeChristmas. Com if you would like to ask for prayer, connect with a local church for this Christmas season, or even download a shareable companion guide to this podcast that will help you find hope and encouragement. Once again, that's scroogeChristmas. Com. Coming this holiday season to a city near you, Trans-Cyberian Orchestra, live in concert. A rock holiday tradition returns as TSO brings back the Ghost of Christmas Eve. The best of TSO and more. Winter tour 2023. A blend of rock classical and holiday music for the entire family. Trans-cyberian Orchestra. Live in concert. More information is available at tsotickets. Com. We hope you're enjoying Scrooge, a Christmas carol. You can read more about forgiveness, faith, and hope in our five-day reading plan based on the Charles Dickens Classic. Click the link in the show notes or visit scroogepodcast. Com. (drawer closing) (distant wind).

The art of his manor was so dark that even Scrooge, who knew its every stone, was feigned to grope with his hands to find his way. And the fog and frost so hung about the black old doors of the house that it seemed as if the genius of the weather sat in mournful meditation on the threshold.

Jaco Marley. Jacob, is that you?

The On guard.

On.

Guard? Marley, for what? A humbuck.

Scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes, nor was he of the darkness of his manor. For darkness was cheap and Scrooge liked it that way. He shut his heavy door, locked it. Then per routine, he walked through his entire manor to see that all was right. Sitting room, bedroom, number, room, nook. All as they should be. Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa, nobody under the bed, nobody in the closet. Quite satisfied, he closed himself in his room and locked the door. Then he double-locked it. Thus secured against surprise, he took thetook off his cravet, put on his dressing gown, slippers, and his nightcap, and sat down before the fire to take his gruel before the fire.

He has screwed.

Has somebody breached my home? Is somebody here? I can't be. I locked the front door. It was nothing but the wind, gaming with my mind. A slight discomfort in the stomach. A bad bit of beef, a sour spoon of gruel.

Oh, you were always a devout coward.

Marley?

Jacob Marley? Aye. But it can't be. Why do you doubt your senses?

I doubt their deceit. You are not here. You're dead. Dead these.

Seven years. Man of worldly mind. You believed me in life. Why do you deny me in death?

What? I buried you these seven years ago.

Look at me. I'm here now.

I do. I do believe if I must. But why so hideous a condition?

You think death guide screwed you, especially to men like us?

And you are fettered too.

I wear the chain I forged in life, link by link, yard by yard, guarded of my own free will.

And you come to seek comfort? Comfort.

Is in you, Ebenees-as-Scrooge. There is no comfort for me. There is no peace. There is no rest. Just the incessant torture of remorse for a life wasted.

But you were a good man of business, Jacob. But.

You were a good man of business. Yet still not worthy of your thought or prayer before my internment. And what of the business of mankind, Scrooge? The business of common welfare, charity, mercy and forbearance.

Is this why you have come to haunt me, Jacob Marley?

I come not to haunt you, Scrooge, but to warn you.

Do you see.

These agonizing chains that drape upon me like an albatross? You think their length and depth is foreboding? Know that the coil you now bear is sevenfold. But I come to tell you. You have hope of escaping my fate.

You were always a good friend to me. Thank you, Jacob.

I was a threat to no one. And if I was, I certainly wouldn't have chosen you. You were but a worthy tool for greater good. The sum of profit and the pursuit of worldly gain. Come. Look.

What is this? Why do these spirits walk the earth?

They seek to interfere for good in human matters.

Why do they lament?

Because they are unable to right the wrongs they committed while alive.

Close it, Jacob. I wish not to see them.

Look at them. Please.

No more.

No more!

What do you want, Marley? You.

Will be visited by three spirits on this very Eve. One of the past, one of the present and of the future. Expect the first when the bell told one. And for your sakes own, remember what has passed between us.

-is there a chance I can avoid these spirits, Jacob? I'd rather not.

-ephania. -i am a scrooge. Bargaining. Even in the end. Look to see me no more.

Jacob? I wish I could take them all at once and have it done with. Jacob? Jacob?

Jacob?

Tell me. Jacob? Tell me.

Scrooge, A Christmas Carol, starring Sean Aston, narrated by John Rees Davies, featuring Ben Barnes, Maxwell Caulfield, Bethany Joylens, Juliet Mills, Brian O'Quinn, Lucy Punch, and Clive Standon, adapted from the Charles Dickens novel by PG Kasheri, directed and produced by Mark Ramsey, produced by Jim Young, sound design by Jordan Fair, executive produced by Paul Anderson for Workhouse Media, a presentation of Hope Media Group. Scrooge, a Christmas Carol is a Mark Ramsey media production.