We all live in Pottersville now

What are you going to do about it?

I just watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” again, for the hundred and umptieth time. I used to hate this movie. I wanted George Bailey to get to college, to travel the world, to build bridges and skyscrapers — to get to achieve all the dreams he had that were continually thwarted by his commitment to protect Bedford Falls, his hometown, from the miserly, monied, bitter grasp of Mister Potter, the local banker/slumlord/millionaire/capitalist pig.

But, as bumbling angel Clarence shows him in the movie’s dark, “you’ve never been born, George. Look how things suck without you” sequence, it was the persistent, sometimes-embittered, community-focused presence of George Bailey that kept Bedford Falls from turning into Pottersville—a strip of pawn shops and strip shows, cocktail bars and pool halls, where everyone was angry, resentful, and fiercely defensive of their own little miseries.

Well, we had that election, didn’t we? And the looming presence of the Orange One reminds me that America has voted—not for Bedford Falls and that shabby old Building and Loan, but for Pottersville. Here we go. It’s already begun, with the billionaire tech bros like Elon Musk ruling us like the rabble they think we are. And there is no George Bailey standing between us and all the Mister Potters who want a piece of us.

But here’s why I stopped hating “It’s a Wonderful Life,” and why this movie has become a touchstone for me in my own life. One day, many years ago, I took a walk. I was upset about many things. My own vocation seemed thwarted—I had thought God was calling me to be an Episcopal priest, but that was not happening. Instead, I was a stay-at-home mom with two little kids. That was by choice, because day care cost about what I earned as an editor, so why not enjoy their childhood that was so fast and fleeting? But still, day in and day out with toddlers, especially when there is this dream, this nagging vision always picking at you, is draining.

So I took a walk, chewing on all of this. And as I walked, I began to see how everything fit. I saw my kids for the wonderfully magical and idiosyncratic people they were. I saw my husband, and how faithfully he endured my swirlings and worries. I saw our little house—big enough for the four of us, but not too big. I saw my friends, beautiful in their own struggles to work and create and mean something, all while wiping noses and packing lunches and driving car pool.

And by the time I walked up the front steps, I got it. “Oh. It really is a wonderful life.” It all made sense. George made sense. His choices made sense. His rage and frustration made sense. His fevered joy at the end, when he got everything back and more so, all made sense.

And so, I have tried ever since to live my life like George Bailey. (Or even better, like Mary Bailey, who always knew it was a wonderful life and who — while George was out having his spiritual crisis—actually went out and quickly and practically solved the whole problem!)

I have focused on the community where I lived and served (as a priest—yes, it all happened in God’s own time). When I came to All Saints in East Lansing, I asked first, “if this church disappeared tomorrow, who in the community would miss it?” Then second, “What if we opened our doors and looked around the community right where we are? How would God be calling us to serve?” I have thought of myself as a miniaturist—I don’t need to paint gigantic landscapes; my work is small, and focused, and very, very local. During my tenure, All Saints answered the second question with fervor: an after-school program for teens, two anti-protest parties in the parking lot (the first when Westboro Baptist Church came to town, the second when Richard Spencer came to speak at MSU), a personal needs bank, acting as a sanctuary church during the last Trump administration, helping asylum seekers and refugees, working with a local, Black-led justice group to offer reparations, working across denominations and faiths to make our community one caring neighborhood.

All Saints is amazing. I am sure it will continue to be amazing, and that its members will keep looking around at our little college town and finding really important work to do.

But I no longer have a church to lead in answering those questions any more. My work there is done. And the question still persists. If I look out my front door at the community where I live, how is God calling me to serve?

Because I don’t think any of us should stop living like George Bailey just because it looks like Old Man Potter has won the day. I’m sure if George had to live in Pottersville, that he wouldn’t have stopped pushing back against Potter or fighting for the flourishing of his neighbors. In his heart, he would hold the dream of Bedford Falls, even if all he saw was a flashing neon sign saying “Pottersville”.

It makes a difference—what one person does or does not do, in the face of dehumanizing greed and narcissistic power. None of us may ever get to see what effect we have had on the world. But we each have an effect.

So I am imagining how I might be George Bailey in my retirement. I am thinking about the coming crackdown on refugees and immigrants. Our greater Lansing community has been a widely welcoming community for refugees for decades. There are people here who deserve to stay here. There are children here who are U.S. citizens, who deserve to grow up with their own parents, in their own families, regardless of their parent’s immigration status. I am looking for ways to help protect them from the coming onslaught. I hope I can help.

I know that the community has needs, and I am listening for God’s call to me for ways I can be of service. I am not afraid of Pottersville, or any Mister Potter that thinks he can grow rich off others’ misery.

And aren’t we all George Baileys, if we choose to be? No angel is going to show us what our impact on the world we inhabit has been. But each of us has an impact. Each of us can choose whether to go crawling to Potter or to keep pushing back. To keep pushing, even when it seems it doesn’t matter, even when we can’t see any forward progress. We don’t know all the good we are capable of.

We don’t have George Bailey to stand between us and Potter.

But we can be George Bailey. Wherever your little Bedford Falls is, it’s worth defending against all the Potters. Your people, your community, your neighbors, your dreams…don’t let the Potters of the world have their way.