Why 'It's a Wonderful Life' Speaks to us

 It's that time of year for nostalgia. Or for bracing yourself to get through the holidays, if they seem to produce stress of every kind.

It's that time of year when hallmark movies may just be tolerable and the time we allow for more cliche than usual. (Well, granted, maybe this is true for some, not all, of you...)

It's that time of year when the pressures and busyness mount, and soul pressure builds as well. When we long for reflecting on spiritual depths, but simply can't find time for that. There's shopping to be done, baking to be done ('It's tradition!'), gifts to wrap, parties to attend. And the traditional viewing of movies practices. 

For some it is Charlie Brown's Christmas special, which I watched for the first time in my life last year.

For some, it's A Christmas Story, with the gaudy stocking lamp.

For some, it's A Christmas Carol with Tiny Tim. 

For some, it's The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (which I have yet to see in its entirety...yes, I'm behind on my cultural adaptation!).

For some, it's Miracle on 34th Street (the old, or the new).

And then, for just about everyone, I imagine, the traditional Christmas Movie is:

It's a Wonderful Life!!

There are reasons to love this movie, and most do (and, to be fair, there are reasons not to).

But I was thinking, 'What is it about this movie that makes it so heartwarming, so endearing - so appealing?' And I realize it is that the story has universal appeal: we all feel like George Bailey - some more than others. I think I'm a George Bailey type. Except for the fact that he seems larger than life and still so much better than me in what he's done in his fictional life.

The holidays induce a sort of melancholy in people like me. That serious reflective stuff that I dwell on year round only intensifies with sacred days, reverent music, theological wonders. George Bailey encounters some serious difficulty in every part of his life and simply wants to throw in the towel.

He's suicidal.

I've dealt with suicidal ideation for most of my life.

I get George Bailey. But for me, I don't just hit that wall when life falls apart. I live staring at that wall most of the time. Yes, even with a wonderful life, with husband and children and a modicum of stability. Thankfully, it doesn't always plague me. Thankfully, I've learned what this means for me and others. But I share this so you know that when I say 'I get George Bailey,' I'm not just blabbing some ridiculous pseudo-empathy here. I really get him.

And the movie is so sappy, predictable, fantastic and still heart-warming even if you've seen it a thousand times. It meets so many because it hits at something deep within all of us: A need to know that I matter.

George is about to end his life and an angel takes him on a journey to witness his impact on the world.

This is what we may secretly long for: an opportunity to see evidence of fruit in our lives. It is a privilege, a rare gift, to be able to witness and receive the blessing of this kind of insight. I think this is sometimes the motivation people have in living a life of self-sacrificing service - to pour out one's life, knowing it made some kind of difference for the better in the world. It's why fair-trade, eco-marketed, micro-loan, local-business, hand-made-by-the-struggling all have a place in our purchases and inclinations. Because we want to know that our existence in the world yields something good, something wholesome, something 'difference-making'.

These are good desires. I don't want to disparage this very good inclination. But I think the movie draws us because we long for something we can see, experience, and know, that perhaps isn't ours to see, experience and know. It may be. But it may not.

As a child of God, my basic calling is one of surrender and trust. To set my affections on the King I serve, to yield my life to Him, to give myself fully to His service, even if I never get the benefit of seeing the fruit of my life.

I'm not making this up, friends.

Really, take a look at Hebrews 11. It's the hall of fame of the Faithful Ones. And what does it say towards the end, about all these heroes - the Who's Who of awesome ones in the Biblical narrative?

It says, "These all were commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised, since God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect."

Halfway through the writer takes a break in listing off the stellar saints of old. It reads, "All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own...Instead, they were longing for a better country - a heavenly one."

Did you catch that? They didn't get to see what they endured so much FOR!! They admitted that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. They sought a better country - a country built with heavenly hands, not human ones. It says, "The world was not worthy of them." 

What were they commended for? Their good deeds? Impact on society? Did God take them on a fly-by of their life and work and pat them on the back and say, 'See, you did well!' ?? Well, did He?

The answer is obvious. NO. No, God didn't send an angel to each dying saint - some being sawn in two, some tortured and starved and beaten and harassed. God didn't send Clarence the angel to clear up their confusion. 

God commended them for their faith. For their longing for a heavenly home. God says the world was not worthy of those who lived and died without getting the benefit of seeing the fruit of their labours.

I don't want to burst anyone's bubble if 'It's a Wonderful Life' is your favourite movie. But I'm going to. This movie feeds the flesh. It dampens faith. It deepens pride.

I want to be known for doing good and having an impact. I want my life to count for something. But I want my reward to be in the heavenly realm. And sure, I'd love to know there's some kind of fruit from my humble offerings to God of the ways I serve, give or sacrifice. But even if a certain Clarence were to come and show me the highlight reel of my life, I'd be mortified to realize all the time I didn't fill with caring, loving, self-giving acts. The highlight reel of my life would blur out, or whiz past, the self-indulgent times. The times I languished in self-absorption, or simply could not give of the broken self that I have been.

I'm not saying these things are to my shame - not at all. Even the brokenness in me seems to have some worth to God, because it seems people with deep struggles like mine don't always feel free to speak up and talk about it, and I don't mind. (If you wonder why I don't mind, it's because if you come away thinking I've got a few screws lose, or that I'm a dozen cards short of a full deck, or simply flounder about without much to offer in the way of what the world deems awesome, you'd be totally correct, and you may as well know the truth of me, rather than expect me to be all whole, sane, sound, and reasonable. I'll tell you now - I have no shame in sharing my struggles. Because my struggles are where God meets me, and where His strength is poured into my life. Yeah, so that's why).

I still like the movie, 'It's a Wonderful Life.' I can still watch it and enjoy it. But I just proclaim loudly to anyone nearby: 'Hey, it's a great movie, but it's terrible theology.'