Herald of Hope
“Marley was dead to begin with.”
Not what you might expect from a beloved Christmas classic. Right from the very beginning, “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens urges the reader to pay attention. With a line as compelling and dark as “Marley was dead,” you have no choice but to grapple with death.
The novella, written over 180 years ago and retold through various adaptations, has a transformative power that I have long appreciated. The beauty of what Dickens does is create a message that is as pertinent today as it was back then and addresses realities that are hard to change outright. Most notably among these is the divide between wealth and poverty, and how a life of prosperity can create indifference to the suffering of others.
In the story, the three Ghosts of Christmas — past, present and yet to come — visit Ebenezer Scrooge and show him how his past, present and future decisions impact others. While Scrooge is the main character, I have a keen fascination with Jacob Marley. Humor me while I offer some insights into why Marley intrigues me.
Marley is a prophet of sorts who announces the ghosts that will visit Scrooge. In some ways, he is the protagonist. His eerie entrance into the story is bone-chilling. He drags with him a heavy, burdensome chain made of “cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel.”
The chains that bind Marley are self-imposed — symbols of a life spent ignoring the suffering of others, hoarding wealth and treating people as inconveniences rather than fellow human beings. In Marley’s words, “I wear the chain I forged in life,” replied the ghost. “I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it.” He stands and represents so much of what Scrooge himself is ensnared by. I wonder if Scrooge would not have taken the Ghosts of Christmas as seriously, had not Marley visited him. It calls to mind the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, when the rich man asks Abraham to send Lazarus back to his brothers so they would not find themselves in the place of torment. “He said, ‘Oh no, father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’” Here — as the rich man asks of Abraham — is Marley as a window into the place of torment. He is the warning from beyond death. But this character, Jacob Marley, someone we would rightly pity, brings about change and conversion in Scrooge.
I keep a figure of Jacob Marley on the desk in my office. Not because he is a comforting figure — quite the opposite — but because he is a mirror for me too. His image reminds me that each one of us carries chains we have forged ourselves. We may not drag around steel boxes and ledgers, but we drag memories, grudges, regrets, fears, impossible expectations and misplaced priorities. It could be withholding forgiveness for a coworker. Perhaps it is placing the pursuit of one’s career above family. Or maybe you have an addiction you have not shared with anyone. These chains take different forms for each of us. Like Marley, we often carry our burdens silently, believing they are ours to manage alone.
As Dickens masterfully unfolds Scrooge’s nighttime pilgrimage, you can begin to see a pattern: Transformation always happens in the context of other people. Scrooge’s life changes not in isolation but through relationships — remembered, present and imagined. This theme is central to the Christian life as well. Conversion is never simply about private interior moral improvement. It is about love, sacrifice and the reordering of one’s life toward God and neighbor. Scrooge was gifted the opportunity to reorder his life according to relationships with others, like the Cratchits and the poor. Pope Leo, in his recent apostolic exhortation, Dilexi te, encourages us to make a concrete commitment to the poor and to fight the culture that “discards others without even realizing it and tolerates with indifference that millions of people die of hunger or survive in conditions unfit for human beings.” Isn’t it true that holiness is found between the people we greet day in and day out and our ability to serve the marginalized in society?
Marley’s entrance into the beloved holiday classic further challenges me to reflect on my own mortality. After all, he’s dead. Reflecting on my own transience — memento mori (remember that you must die) — can profoundly shape how I live. How can that be? When we remember we, too, will die, it allows us to live more fully and more intentionally.
As the late Pope Francis so beautifully lays out for us in Evangelii gaudium, “Whenever our interior life becomes caught up in its own interests and concerns, there is no longer room for others, no place for the poor. God’s voice is no longer heard, the quiet joy of his love is no longer felt, and the desire to do good fades.”
Remembering death removes self-centeredness. God can always transfigure me — if I permit him.
And isn’t that the heart of the Incarnation? The end of our story is not the grave but salvation in Christ. Jesus, born in a manger all those years ago, is the Good News — the fullest joy that we will ever know. The Incarnation is God’s answer to death. And praise God for that! May we pray for the grace to recognize the opportunities to love the people around us. And, like Scrooge, may each new dawn awaken us to a renewed life.
Wishing you and yours every blessing for Christmas.
Hear a reflection on “A Christmas Carol” with Archbishop Grob on the Archdiocese of Milwaukee’s weekly podcast, Living Our Faith. The episode, “Kindness, Generosity, and Redemption — Catholic Themes Found in A Christmas Carol” can be heard beginning Dec. 19 at archmil.org/Living-Our-Faith/Current-Radio-Show or via Spotify or Apple Podcasts. The show also will air Dec. 19 at 8 a.m. on Relevant Radio 100.1FM/1640AM.
