Ebenezer Scrooge: What's in a Name? by Dr. Terry Harman
- Dr. Terry Harman
- 2 days ago
- 7 min read
Ebenezer Scrooge: What’s in a Name?
That question echoed in my mind as I prepared to step into the shoes of Scrooge as an understudy in a musical adaptation of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. I’ve portrayed many biblical figures over the years, but Scrooge was different. He wasn’t drawn from Scripture or remembered among the saints. And yet, his story of isolation, greed, and eventual redemption felt deeply spiritual to me. I thought I understood the character and even the moral of the tale. I was wrong.
As I began to study the world Dickens created, I found myself transported to 1840s London, a city both glittering and grim. The streets were crowded with children begging for bread, the air thick with soot from coal, and sickness spreading through places where hunger had already taken hold. The contrast between wealth and want was staggering. In that world, I began to see how a man like Scrooge could build a fortress around his heart, brick by brick, coin by coin, until compassion became a foreign language.
The deeper I went, the more uncomfortable the process became. Scrooge’s story wasn’t just his; it started whispering to me about my own hardened places, the walls I build to protect myself from disappointment or pain. I realized that every act of withholding love, every refusal to see another’s suffering, is a small death of the soul.
In Hebrew, the word ḥesed (חֶסֶד) captures something of what Scrooge lost, and what all of us long for. It means steadfast love, mercy, and kindness that travails even when it isn’t deserved. It is the essence of God’s heart, a love that softens, restores, and redeems. Scrooge’s transformation, from bitterness to generosity, mirrors the spiritual journey of every heart that dares to receive ḥesed. His story reminds me that redemption is not a single event but a quiet awakening, a grace that begins the moment we allow our hearts to feel again.
As with every character I study, I began with his name: Ebenezer Scrooge.
And again the question echoed within me:
What’s in a name?
Ebenezer: The Biblical Roots of His Name
As I dug deeper into the name Ebenezer, I discovered something that stopped me in my tracks. Though Dickens may not have intended it, Scrooge’s first name is profoundly biblical. Ebenezer comes from two Hebrew words: ’Even (אֶבֶן), meaning “stone,” and Ezer (עֵזֶר), meaning “help.” Together they form ’Even Ha-Ezer - “stone of help.” The name first appears in 1 Samuel 7:12, where Samuel sets up a stone as a memorial of God’s mercy and deliverance. In the Jewish Publication Society (1917) translation, the verse reads:
“Then Samuel took a stone, and set it between Mizpah and Shen, and called the name of it Eben–ezer, saying: ‘Hitherto hath the LORD helped us.’”
(1 Samuel 7:12, JPS 1917)
When I read that, something inside me stirred. The meaning of Ebenezer, a marker of divine help, clashed against the image of Scrooge, a man who trusted only himself and the weight of his own coin purse. Yet in that contrast, I saw the very heartbeat of redemption. Scrooge’s journey wasn’t just about generosity; it was about remembering what it means to be helped and to be healed by grace.
In Hebrew thought, a name isn’t just a label; it carries a person’s essence, purpose, and calling. I began to wonder: what if Dickens, consciously or not, had given Scrooge a name meant to foreshadow his restoration? Ebenezer, the “stone of help,” points to a love steadfast enough to break even the hardest heart.
That realization touched me. As I wrestled with my own doubts and dryness in preparing for this role, I realized how often I, too, forget my “stone of help” -those moments when God’s ḥesed carried me through my own cold seasons. Maybe that’s part of what drew me to Scrooge’s story. In his name, I saw my own story mirrored - a reminder that no heart, however hardened, is beyond the reach of divine mercy.
Scrooge: The Implication of His Morality
Intrigued by his name, I discovered that Scrooge may have originated from an old English term found in dialects around Hamburg and northern Europe, connected to the English words, scrouge or scrudge, meaning to squeeze, press, or crowd. In the alleys and marketplaces of 19th-century London, it became slang for someone miserly, a person who “squeezed” others for profit, especially the poor and unknowing. Dickens’ choice was no accident. The name itself paints a portrait of exploitation and tight-fisted greed, a man whose life revolved around taking advantage of weakness rather than showing mercy.
Scrooge’s Spiritual Transformation: A Parable of Teshuvah
When I think of Scrooge’s awakening, I can’t help but see within it a living parable of teshuvah, the Hebrew word for repentance or, more literally, “return.” In Jewish thought, teshuvah is not merely sorrow for wrongdoing; it is the sacred journey of turning back toward the heart of God, the source of ḥesed, steadfast love, and covenant mercy.
Scrooge’s transformation doesn’t begin with a simple moral decision; it starts with an encounter. He is visited, haunted, even by the truths he refused to see. The Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and the time yet to come peel away his defenses, forcing him to confront the loneliness and fear that shaped his greed.
I found this deeply moving while preparing for the role, because redemption in the story of Ebenezer Scrooge mirrors the way grace works in all of us. Transformation is rarely tidy; it comes when we are finally willing to let the light touch the coldest parts of our souls.
In that sense, Scrooge’s story is not about punishment but restoration. Like a man returning home after years of self-exile, he retraces the steps of his hardened heart; first through memory, then through empathy, and finally through love. His return to life, to joy, to community, that is pure teshuvah.
And here is where I saw ḥesed, God’s lovingkindness, woven through the story. Ḥesed is not conditional; it meets us where we are, not where we “should” be. It forgives before we even know how to ask. Scrooge’s change of heart, his tears, and his newfound generosity are the fruits of that mercy. His heart, once locked tight by fear, becomes the very place where grace moves in and takes residence.
As I pondered all of this in my own quiet prayers, I began to realize that the story of Ebenezer Scrooge is not just a seasonal tale but an invitation, a call to return. Each of us carries a bit of Scrooge within, a corner of our heart grown cold from disappointment or self-protection. And yet, the same God who helped Samuel raise his Ebenezer, the same God of ḥesed and renewal, still whispers to us: “Come back. Begin again. Your heart can live once more.”
Raising My Own Ebenezer
As I reflected on Scrooge’s redemption and the meaning of teshuvah, I realized I, too, have walked my own dark road of returning. My story has not been wrapped in snow or set to music; it has been marked by the shadows of a troubled childhood, a restless adolescence, and the ache of addiction that bled into my early adulthood.
I’ve known the haunt of the closing of jail cell doors and the silence of prison nights, the weight of failed relationships, and the slow suffocation of a crushed spirit by religious organizations. There were years when my heart grew cold, hard, and cynical, a fortress of guardedness I thought would keep me safe but only trapped me within.
But even there, in the farthest place from redemption, ḥesed - God’s steadfast love was already pursuing me. It didn’t come with thunder or demand. It came through broken prayers, through unexpected kindness, through the smallest embers of hope that refused to die. Slowly, painfully, God continued His work of teshuvah in me, not a turning back in shame, but a turning home in love.
When I read Ezekiel’s words, I found my story within his promise:
“A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you; and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you a heart of flesh.”
(Ezekiel 36:26, JPS 1917)
In Hebrew, lev (לֵב) means “heart,” not just as an organ but as the center of life, emotion, and will. It is the seat of both our rebellion and our worship. The “stone,” ’even (אֶבֶן), recalls hardness, resistance, and lifelessness, the same word that forms part of Ebenezer. And the “flesh,” basar (בָּשָׂר), speaks of tenderness, responsiveness, and living spirit. When God promises a lev basar, a heart of flesh, He promises to transform the very core of who we are.
Closing Reflection
Thank you, Malachi Munsey, for pushing me to pursue this understudy role. That promise of redemption and restoration is not an abstraction to me; it’s the reason I breathe today. My heart of stone did not shatter all at once; it was softened piece by piece by the gentle weight of mercy. Like Scrooge, I began to awaken, not through fear, but through love. The God of ḥesed took the shards of my past and began shaping a new creation, one capable of compassion, of laughter, of grace.
Now, when I think of Ebenezer, the “stone of help,” I see more than Samuel’s memorial or Scrooge’s transformation; I see my own. Every scar, every stumble, every unexpected turn has become a stone of remembrance, marking where God met me and carried me forward. I will raise my own Ebenezer and invite you to lift yours. Look back on the places you thought God could not reach, the cold corners of your heart, and name them as monuments of mercy. There, in the very hardness we fear, grace is waiting to make flesh again.
How You Can Thank Me - Help Others
If you enjoyed reading this post and are wondering how you can thank me, here’s what I ask: Take the inspiration you’ve found here and pass it on.
Consider donating your time, talents, or treasure to a worthy cause in your community. Maybe there’s a widow who could use help with her yard. Perhaps you know someone who’s recently lost a job and could use a helping hand. Consider the needs of your local community center, homeless shelter, or school program looking for mentors; step in and support them.
Look within your own religious or spiritual community. What needs do you see around you? Where can you make a difference?
You don’t need a lot. Just do what you can, with what you have, to make this world a better place. Your kindness will ripple out farther than you can imagine. Thank you for being here, for reading, and for choosing to be a light.
Shalom, Terry
