Scrooge has been brought to a chamber of death by the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. He is staring down at the neglected body of the dead man. Of course, Scrooge has not yet made the connection that the dead man is actually himself. His ego will not allow it. Instead, he wonders what this Lazarus would think if he was called out of the tomb.
Obviously, Avarice and hard dealing and griping cares haven't served Scrooge that well. While these qualities may have made him materially wealthy, in the end, his death brings no sorrow to any person. In the end, he is alone, bereft and unwept. It's a pretty sobering moment in the novel.
Yesterday, millions of people lined up to buy tickets for a lottery that was worth $640 million. For the price of a sausage biscuit from McDonald's, any person could purchase a chance at a half-billion-dollar fantasy. Yes, even I got swept up in this mania of greed. While the odds were hugely against me winning (I think I heard 176 million to 1), I couldn't pass up the chance to dream for a few, blissful hours. Luxury. Freedom from debt and worry. Maybe a new pair of jeans.
Of course, life isn't that easy. Obviously, I woke up to all the griping cares with which I went to sleep. I will have to go to work on Monday. I will have to somehow figure out a way to pay my mortgage AND car insurance AND water bills this week. I have to remind myself that avarice is not a virtue, that envy (while a very human trait) is not very healthy. I'm not into hard dealing. I believe in generosity, in helping out the less fortunate. That's what I've been taught.
Lazarus Scrooge has not come to a rich end, when "rich" is defined by friends and charity and good will. If that's the standard for being rich, I think I'm doing OK.
Saint Marty just wishes he'd been about six correct numbers richer in the lottery last night.
Confessions of Saint Marty
I wish I would have won that lottery.
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