What Scrooged Teaches Us About Grace, Transformation, and Irrepressible Joy
Hi everyone,
As I write this, the days are getting shorter and the pull toward the holidays (and all its chaos) is strong. I found myself re-watching Scrooged the other night and was struck by something I hadn’t seen before: a powerful picture of the very joy Advent points us toward. Let’s explore it together.
Joy That Can’t Be Contained
There’s a moment in Scrooged when Frank Cross realizes the truth. The ghosts have shown him what he’s become: a man who built an empire while his soul atrophied, who achieved everything the world tells you to achieve and found it empty. In that moment of reckoning, something breaks open in him. He laughs. Not a cynical laugh, but wild, irrepressible, almost reckless laughter. He gives money to the Cratchits with genuine delight. He reconnects with people he’d abandoned. He experiences what he’d been missing: connection, generosity, being loved, being part of something bigger than himself.
That’s joy.
Not the manufactured happiness our culture sells us. Not the fleeting pleasure of getting what we want. Not even the relief of escaping consequences. Real joy. The kind that overtakes you when you suddenly realize it’s not too late, that transformation is real, that grace is actually available to you.
This is what Advent Week 3 invites us toward.
What Is Joy? (Not What We Think)
We often confuse joy with happiness. We treat them like synonyms. But they’re fundamentally different, and that distinction matters, especially in Advent.
Happiness depends on circumstances. It’s fleeting and circumstantial. We manufacture it through consumption, achievement, distraction. We believe that if we get the right job, the right relationship, the right circumstances, happiness will follow. But happiness is always pointing toward the next thing. It’s the perpetual wish for what lies just beyond reach.
Joy is different. Joy originates in God and what He has accomplished, making it fundamentally relational rather than circumstantial. Joy is the deep, settled knowing that you’re loved, redeemed, forgiven, and part of something that matters. It’s not manufactured through willpower. It’s a spontaneous emotional response rooted in the Holy Spirit’s presence. Christian joy is spiritual rather than natural: a supernatural capacity to maintain deep confidence in God’s sovereignty even when life’s surface roils with pain.
Paul the Apostle writes something remarkable: “as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing” (2 Corinthians 6:10). Do you see what he’s saying? Joy doesn’t require the absence of sorrow. Joy doesn’t deny grief or pain. Joy and sorrow can coexist because joy isn’t circumstantial: it’s relational. It’s rooted in who God is and what He’s done, not in whether today is a good day or a hard day.
The fruit of the Spirit is “love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control” (Galatians 5:22-23). Joy is one aspect of the Spirit’s unified work in us, alongside love, peace, and the other manifestations of His presence. It emerges from being loved by God. It’s not something you achieve; it’s something you receive.
Joy Throughout Scripture: Victory and Restoration
In the Old Testament, joy is closely tied to victory and deliverance. When David returned victorious from his battles, he was met with singing, dancing, and joyful celebration (1 Samuel 18:6). Joy marked religious celebration: sacrifices (Psalm 27:6), feasts, songs of praise (Psalms 20, 33, 47). But notice something important: joy was taken away during exile (Ezekiel 24:25; Joel 1:12) and promised to return with restoration (Isaiah 35:10; Jeremiah 31:13).
The pattern is consistent: joy celebrates deliverance. It’s the people’s response to being saved, restored, brought back from exile. It’s what happens when the imprisoned are set free.
In the New Testament, that same movement continues. The disciples return with joy because “even the demons listen to them” (Luke 10:17). But Jesus redirects them. Don’t rejoice in spiritual authority, He says. Rejoice “that your names are written in heaven” (Luke 10:20). The ultimate joy isn’t in power or achievement. The ultimate joy is in salvation itself. It’s in belonging to God.
John the Baptist understands this perfectly: “The friend who attends the bridegroom waits and listens for him, and is full of joy when he hears the bridegroom’s voice” (John 3:29). In the New Testament, joy focuses on the presence of Christ: the bridegroom. His presence is cause for joy. This is relational joy: not achievement-based, not happiness from circumstances, but joy from being in relationship with the one you’re made for.
The Good News of Great Joy
“Do not be afraid,” the angel says to the shepherds. “I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord” (Luke 2:10-11).
Imagine the scene. Shepherds keeping watch in the dark. Ordinary men, outside the reach of the powerful, tending sheep on cold hillsides. And then: light that blinds them. A presence that unmakes their assumptions about the world. A voice announcing news so staggering that it shatters their sense of what’s possible. “Do not be afraid.” As if fear is the only rational response to what they’re witnessing.
Notice what the angel doesn’t say. He doesn’t say, “I have information for you.” He doesn’t say, “I have good advice.” He says, “I have good news that will cause great JOY.” Not calm assent. Not polite acknowledgment. Joy so powerful it demands response: it has to overflow, has to be told, has to be sung. The shepherds don’t stay in the fields quietly reflecting. They abandon everything to find the child. They run toward the news with the urgency of people who’ve encountered something that rewires their reality.
This is important for Advent. We’re not preparing for Christmas as if it’s just another holiday. We’re preparing our hearts for the announcement that God loves you so much He came for you. The response to that news is joy.
Joy Flows From Grace Received
Jesus tells His disciples something astonishing: “I have told you this, so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete” (John 15:11).
He’s not saying, “I’ve given you information.” He’s saying, “I’ve given you my joy.” Not as something they achieve, but as something they receive from Him. Complete joy comes from union with Christ.
Even more directly, in His final prayer before the cross, Jesus says: “I am coming to you now, but I say these things while I am still in the world, so that they may have the full measure of my joy within them” (John 17:13).
Jesus wants us to have His joy. Not a diminished version. Not a trial-sized sample. The full measure. His joy, complete in us.
What makes this possible? Reconciliation through Christ’s substitutionary death. Paul writes: “For if, while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! Not only is this so, but we also boast in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation” (Romans 5:10-11).
Here’s the crucial theological truth: Christ bore the wrath of God in our place. He took the punishment we deserved. He didn’t just show us a better way or inspire moral reform. He accomplished our redemption through His substitutionary sacrifice. Baptist Faith and Message 2000 affirms that “in His substitutionary death on the cross He made provision for the redemption of men from sin.”
This is why reconciliation produces such deep joy. We are restored to God not because we reformed ourselves, but because Christ satisfied God’s justice on our behalf. Our sins are paid for. The relationship broken by sin is made whole again, not through our effort, but through His finished work.
Notice the word: boast. Reconciliation is cause for joy so deep it overflows. Being restored to God through Christ’s substitutionary sacrifice (having the relationship broken by sin made whole again) produces a joy that boasts, celebrates, cannot be contained.
Scrooge’s Transformation: A Picture of Gospel Joy
The film Scrooged shows us something worth watching closely: what happens when a hardened heart is broken open. Frank Cross, the protagonist, is an executive who learns a profound lesson about joy and transformation.
Frank Cross has everything the world promises: power, success, control. But he has nothing that matters. His soul is atrophied. He’s built walls so high that nobody can reach him. And then comes conviction.
The Ghost of Christmas Past forces him to feel again. He watches the moment he chose money over love: sees his younger self say yes to an investment deal and no to Clare, the woman he loved. He doesn’t just understand the choice intellectually. He feels the cold calculation of it. He tastes the bitterness of a love abandoned.
The Ghost of Christmas Present shows him the real cost of his choices: not as statistics, but as flesh and blood. The Cratchits struggling to stretch a meager meal. Tiny Tim, fragile and suffering. The warmth in their small home despite poverty, contrasted with the cold emptiness of his. People laughing together while he sits alone.
The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come shows him the silence. A grave unmarked and unmourned. A man erased. He doesn’t just see it. He experiences the existential dread of a life that mattered to no one.
That’s conviction. The scales fall off his eyes. He sees what he’s become.
And then comes repentance. Real repentance. Not regret at consequences, but heartbreak at what he’s become. A turning around. A commitment to a new way.
And then comes change. He gives to the Cratchits not begrudgingly, but with laughter. He connects with those he’d abandoned, with genuine affection. And the joy. The explosive, irrepressible, almost reckless joy. He can’t contain it. It overflows into generosity, into restored relationships, into a new way of living.
Where the Analogy Ends (And Gospel Begins)
But here’s where we need to be careful. Frank Cross’s transformation in Scrooged is powerful: it’s moral reformation, a man becoming better than he was. But it’s not the Gospel. The film itself is rooted in Dickens’ Victorian moralism: a cautionary tale about consequences and the power of human conscience to change.
The Gospel is different. The Gospel isn’t primarily about us becoming better versions of ourselves. It’s about us being made entirely new: not through fear of consequences, but through reconciliation with God through Christ.
Moral reformation (what Frank Cross experiences) says: “See what you’ve done. You have the power within you to change your behavior. Be a better person. Your effort, your willpower, your moral conscience can transform you.” Frank Cross becomes a better Frank Cross. He reforms his life through human determination.
Gospel regeneration (what Christ offers) says: “You are dead in sin. Not sick. Not misguided. Dead. Your will is enslaved to sin; you cannot free yourself. You have no power to change what you fundamentally are. But Christ died for you. He took your place. He bore God’s wrath that you deserve. He rose again, conquering death itself. You are made new: not improved, but remade from the inside out by the Holy Spirit’s power. You are adopted into God’s family. You are loved not because of what you do or what you become, but entirely because of what Christ did.” We become new creations, not improved versions of our old selves (2 Corinthians 5:17). This is the work of God’s grace alone, not human effort.
Frank Cross’s joy flows from moral achievement: he conquered his sin through his own determination. He changed himself, and now he can live differently. The joy is real, but it’s fragile. It depends on his continued effort and virtue. If he lapses, if he fails, if his willpower falters, the foundation of his joy collapses.
Gospel joy flows from grace received: God did it. God accomplished it. I didn’t earn it through effort, and I can’t lose it through failure because it’s not based on my performance or my virtue. It’s based on Christ’s finished work and God’s unchanging character. That’s a different kind of joy altogether. It’s deeper because it’s not dependent on my ability to maintain myself. It’s unshakeable because it’s rooted in God’s covenant love, not my consistency. It endures through my failures because it’s grounded in Christ’s perfection, not my reformation. It’s rooted in permanent reconciliation with God Himself: a relationship that cannot be broken because it’s sealed by Christ’s blood.
The Gospel Pattern
This is the pattern Scripture shows us:
Conviction (awareness of sin, its cost, its grip on us)
Repentance (genuine turning around, not just regret)
Faith in Christ (receiving what Christ has done for us, not trusting in our own reformation)
Transformation (the Holy Spirit making us new, producing fruit)
Joy (the result of being reconciled to God, loved completely, made new)
Frank Cross goes through the first four steps (in a human way). But the Gospel adds what Frank Cross (and indeed, what Scrooge before him) doesn’t have: the substitutionary work of Christ, the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, permanent reconciliation with God, and the full measure of Christ’s joy in us.
When Jesus tells His disciples, “I have told you this, so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete” (John 15:11), He’s offering something altogether different from Frank Cross’s experience: His joy. Not the joy of being a better person, but the joy of being loved by God, of being made His child, of knowing your sins are forgiven not because you reformed yourself, but because Christ paid the price.
The Gift of Faith
But how do we receive this joy? How do we move from guilty sinners to forgiven children of God?
Paul answers: “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith: and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God: not by works, so that no one can boast” (Ephesians 2:8-9).
Notice what Paul says: grace saves us, and faith is the instrument (the means by which we receive that grace). Faith is not something we work up or achieve. Faith itself is a gift from God. It’s the Holy Spirit opening our spiritual eyes to see Jesus as He is: the substitute who took our place, the one who bore God’s wrath, the risen Lord who defeated death.
When we believe in Jesus (when we trust Him instead of ourselves, when we rest on His finished work instead of our own effort), we receive justification. We are declared righteous, not because we are righteous, but because Christ’s righteousness is credited to us. “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:21).
This is the difference between Frank Cross’s experience and Gospel salvation:
- Frank Cross trusts in his own moral transformation
- Gospel faith trusts in Christ’s substitutionary work
The joy that follows is completely different. Frank Cross’s joy depends on his ability to sustain his reformation. Gospel joy rests on the unchangeable, finished work of Christ.
That’s Gospel joy. And that’s what Advent prepares us to receive.
Joy as Generosity
“God loves a cheerful giver,” Paul writes (2 Corinthians 9:7).
Frank Cross’s radical generosity in Scrooged flows from joy. He doesn’t give reluctantly or grudgingly: he gives with laughter. His joy overflows into restored relationships and radical provision for others. He’s not checking a box. He’s not trying to buy his way to peace. He’s experiencing joy so deep it has to express itself through giving.
This is the pattern we see everywhere in Scripture:
Grace received → Joy experienced → Generosity expressed
When you truly understand that you’re forgiven, reconciled, loved by God, the natural response isn’t grim duty. It’s not obligation. It’s joy. And when you experience that joy, it overflows. You can’t help but give, help, restore, connect. Not out of guilt or shame, but out of gladness. Out of the simple truth that you’ve been given everything, and now nothing you have belongs to you alone anymore.
Joy in Suffering: The Paradox
Here’s where Christian joy gets truly countercultural: it coexists with suffering.
The apostle Paul, writing from imprisonment, tells the Philippians: “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4). He doesn’t say this when circumstances are comfortable. He says it while chained in a Roman prison, facing possible execution.
Later in the same letter: “I am being poured out like a drink offering… yet I am filled with joy” (Philippians 2:17-18).
Peter echoes this: “In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials” (1 Peter 1:6). And more directly: “Dear friends, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that has come on you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed” (1 Peter 4:12-13).
Notice what they’re not saying: they’re not saying suffering is good, pain is wonderful, or trials are enjoyable. Peter explicitly acknowledges the “fiery ordeal.” James writes: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance” (James 1:2-4).
This isn’t toxic positivity. This isn’t denying real pain. This is the testimony that joy (rooted in God’s sovereignty and our reconciliation) can exist alongside genuine sorrow and pain.
Think of it this way: a mother sitting vigil at her child’s hospital bed at 2 a.m., exhausted and terrified. In that moment, she receives a text from a friend: “I’m praying for your son right now. You’re not alone.” In that same moment (while the fear remains, while the uncertainty hasn’t changed), something else becomes true: she is loved. She is held. She belongs to a community that sees her pain and shows up. That’s not happiness about the situation. That’s joy underneath the sorrow. Grief and gratitude, fear and faith, simultaneously.
Paul himself testifies to this paradox: “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing” (2 Corinthians 6:10). Grief and joy, simultaneously. Not one replacing the other. Both true at once.
This isn’t contradictory. This is the reality of Christian joy. Joy isn’t the absence of difficulty. Joy is confidence in God’s presence within difficulty. It’s the deep knowing that your suffering is not meaningless, that Christ suffered too and conquered death, and that you belong to Him regardless of what happens.
And that confidence has power. Real power. When life is threatening to crush you (whether through loss, betrayal, illness, injustice), Gospel joy becomes a stronghold. It’s not a feeling that makes pain go away. It’s a deep knowing that enables you to endure. The joy of the Gospel sustains us when circumstances would otherwise crush us.
As Paul writes elsewhere: “I can do all this through him who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13), spoken in the context of contentment and joy even in hardship, not luxury.
Advent Week 3: The Breakthrough
Advent moves liturgically through the seasons of the soul:
Week 1 (Hope): Longing for God to come, the promise that deliverance is possible
Week 2 (Faith): Acting as though God’s word is true, moving our feet even when outcomes seem impossible
Week 3 (Joy): The breakthrough: experiencing the grace we’ve been waiting for and responding with celebration
Week 4 (Love): Understanding the source of it all
We don’t arrive at joy through effort. We arrive at joy through grace. And when grace breaks through the walls we’ve built, when reconciliation becomes real, when we suddenly understand that we’re loved: the response is joy. Not manufactured. Not forced. Not a decision we make through sheer willpower.
Joy.
What This Means for Us
Frank Cross’s transformation in Scrooged echoes something deeper: the pattern of conviction, repentance, and change we see in the Gospel. But here’s the crucial difference: Frank’s joy flows from human moral reformation. The Gospel’s joy flows from Christ’s finished work and our reconciliation with God through His substitutionary sacrifice.
Advent reminds us: transformation is possible. It’s not too late to turn around. Grace is available now. The response to grace is not grimness or obligation. The response is joy.
Our culture peddles manufactured happiness. It tells us joy comes from consumption, achievement, distraction, control. It tells us if we work hard enough, acquire enough, achieve enough, we’ll finally be happy. But that joy always points to the next thing. It’s never complete. It never satisfies.
Advent offers something different: deep joy rooted in reconciliation with God. This joy isn’t earned. It’s received. And it produces the opposite of self-interest. It produces generosity, connection, restoration. It produces the kind of joy that overflows into the world around us.
Jesus wants you to have His joy. The full measure of it. Not because you’ve earned it. Not because you’re worthy of it. But because grace is real and reconciliation is possible and His joy is available to anyone who receives it.
But this isn’t just theology for your mind to understand. This is an invitation your heart can receive right now.
Stepping Into Joy This Week
If you’re facing a season where joy feels distant (grief that won’t lift, circumstances that won’t change, pain that’s carved deep grooves in your soul), this invitation isn’t for you to manufacture a smile. It’s an invitation to something deeper.
It’s an invitation to consider: What if reconciliation with God is real? What if the full measure of His joy is available to you? Not in spite of your circumstances, but underneath them. Beneath the sorrow. Available in the present moment. Not a promise that pain will go away, but a presence that will sustain you through it.
like Frank in Scrooged: We experience the explosive, irrepressible, almost reckless joy of being made new. Of being given a second chance.
It’s an invitation to demolish the walls we’ve built: the ways you’ve protected yourself, isolated ourselves, convinced ourselves it’s too late for grace. An Invitation to turn around. To let the Spirit encounter us and say: “You are mine. You are loved. You are reconciled.”
And then, like Frank in Scrooged: We experience the explosive, irrepressible, almost reckless joy of being made new. Of being given a second chance. Of having the relationship with God restored. But more than that: to experience the Gospel joy that goes even deeper, that rests not on your continued effort but on Christ’s finished work.
And to let that joy overflow.
The Joy of the Gospel
The angel didn’t approach the shepherds with grim duty. He approached them with news so good, so radically transformative, that it demanded celebration. Good news. Great joy. A savior born. Reconciliation made possible.
That’s the Gospel. That’s the news Advent prepares us to receive. And the response? The response is joy. Wild, irrepressible, uncontainable joy.
That’s the Gospel. That’s the news Advent prepares us to receive. And the response? The response is joy. Wild, irrepressible, uncontainable joy.
That’s available to you. Not because you’ve earned it. But because grace is real.
In Advent Week 3, we celebrate that breakthrough. We acknowledge the moment when longing becomes reality, when faith moves toward fulfillment, when grace breaks through and joy becomes possible.
Frank Cross laughed with a joy that transformed not just him, but everyone around him. His generosity changed lives. His reconciliation healed relationships.
But Frank Cross’s joy, while beautiful and real, ultimately depends on his sustained effort and moral reformation. Gospel joy (the joy Advent points us toward) depends entirely on what Christ has accomplished and what God offers freely.
What might happen if you let that Gospel joy in? The radical regeneration of being made entirely new? What transformation might be possible? What walls might break open? What reconciliation might be restored? What generosity might overflow?
That’s the invitation of Advent Week 3.
That’s the Gospel joy that can’t be contained.
As you move through this third week of Advent, consider: What walls have you built that might need to come down? What reconciliation has the Gospel made possible for you? And what joy might be waiting on the other side of repentance?
Don’t just consider it. Name one wall. This week, speak it aloud: to God, to a trusted friend, to yourself. Invite Him to break it open. Let Him encounter your hardened heart. And then: celebrate it. Don’t contain it. Let it overflow.
Looking Ahead to Week 4: Love
As Frank Cross discovers in Scrooged, joy without love is incomplete. His transformation isn’t just about his own happiness: it’s about how that joy overflows into love for others. His generosity, his reconciliation, his restored relationships all flow from a heart that’s been broken open and healed.
That’s where Advent Week 4 takes us. From the breakthrough of joy to the source of it all: love. God’s love, poured out. Grace made visible. The love that broke through Frank Cross’s walls and makes transformation possible.
Next week, we’ll explore what it means to truly put a little love in your heart: not as sentiment, but as the deepest reality of what God offers us in Jesus.
Until then, let that joy overflow into every relationship you touch.
Grace and Courage to you this week.
The Midkiffs 