I may have mentioned that I’ve watch more than a few MisterRogers Neighborhood episodes in the past few months.
In truth, I think I’ve gone a little overboard with my love
of Mister Rogers, but I think that’s genuinely OK, given the times
we’re living in.
Part of this new fascination included purchasing new coffee cup,
a DVD set, watching a stellar documentary and reading this children’s book -- loaned
from the library – to my young sons. Mister Rogers has been a steadying voice in the background of our current turbulence.
For myself, I checked out a little tome when the library
opened back up. It’s called “Exactly as You Are: The Life and Faith of Mister Rogers” by Shea Tuttle. I fondly gave it the nickname “The Book of the Church of Mister Rogers.”
I mean, the man should be a saint, right? I would wear a WWMRD
bracelet. Seriously. I don’t think Jesus would feel slighted in the least. If
Jesus wore the bracelet, I think he would smile as he was reminded to feed the
fish or feed the people fish. Or something like that.
But anyway.
The book speaks to the theology of the character of Mister
Rogers, so close to the actual man Fred Rogers. I always admired Mister Rogers’
universal message of love and kindness and joy in the little things. He didn’t
bang his theology over your head. He welcomed you into his neighborhood and let
it live and breathe as he did, in sweet, measured and overflowing terms.
I think I remember what many of us remember about Mister
Rogers meeting a little boy in a wheelchair. His kind, open comments. I’m
always nervous speaking to people who are different than myself, afraid to let
them see how I don’t want to hurt them by the things that could tumble out of
my mouth. When I read that the segment was not rehearsed -- generally laid out but
not scripted -- I felt the love of Mister Rogers even stronger. He was confident
in his ability to be OK with making mistakes and saying “I’m sorry,” but even more
than that, he was transcending the need for apologies because he expected a
connection with that little boy – his name is Jeff Erlanger by the way – that was
exactly as he was.
My faith now is of the universal sort. I’m Episcopalian by
label. Mister Rogers was Presbyterian. The somewhat exclusive nature of his faith is at
times so familiar to me. You’re never quite sure for sure for sure if you’re
going to go to heaven. I grew up in an evangelical church. I thought the only
way to be a Christian was to believe one way. And even if you were on that
path, you needed to continue to re-examine yourself to make sure you hadn’t
fallen away. I still believe in examining yourself, but my understanding today
is a little less self-flagellation and more love. When I decided that my Christian
upbringing didn’t match with the world that I experienced, I opened myself up
to more understanding of God’s love in all people. That didn’t mean I watered
things down, though many people would probably think that. No, oh no, my faith and
love for God has gotten stronger in reaching out to others in my neighborhood. That’s
what Mister Rogers was saying all those years ago to us as kids. And he didn’t bang
you over the head with it. That’s what makes the message beautiful -- its open
nuance is something that, again, I think Jesus would appreciate. Be universal.
Bring people in and you will find love and be loved because, after all, God is love.
There is a passage in the book and also in the documentary “Won’t
You Be My Neighbor?” about Fred Rogers as he was dying. He asked his wife if he
was a sheep. I grieve knowing that he asked this, and I totally understand it. He questioned whether he would be acceptable to God as a sheep and not a
reviled goat, as scripture has it. He questioned whether God would bring him
into his kingdom in heaven. His wife, Joanne, answered, “Fred, if ever there
was a sheep, you’re one.” I guess we’re all going to ask this, but I wonder why
our faith has to be so torturous as we lay dying. We all should be able – after
a lifetime of struggle and pain and questions – to finally find rest in the knowledge
of God’s love and understanding. I really want that. I really want to be able
to believe and know that God knows my heart and will find me acceptable
in all my flaws and hurts and scars and sadness and joys. Period. End of
discussion. Let me just friggin’ die in peace. Mister Rogers. Friggin’ Mister
Rogers didn’t have that peace. Can anyone then? Has the faith that we’ve clung
to our entire lives going to tear us apart when we need it the most? I hope
not. I hope he was comforted in his final days and found rest in the wholeness
of God that I think we all need to “get.”
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Aside from the theological business of the book, I really
appreciated its look into Latrobe and Western Pennsylvania – where Fred Rogers
was born and grew up -- which I miss so much right now amid this pandemic.
This passage by Shea Tuttle is perfect in its description of
Latrobe.
“The biblical story of the Garden of Eden is not just a
story of beginnings or of any idyll. It is the story of a fall. Present-day
Latrobe, though certainly not a fallen ruin, is a city that seems to embody
paradox: parking spots are all metered as if in high demand, but the majority
of them are empty; streets are one-way, as if to manage great flows of traffic,
but those streets are mostly quiet. There are plenty of boarded-up storefronts
and spaces for rent, but the city doesn’t feel deserted; there are also plenty
of businesses that have been holding their own for decades, and others that are
new and thriving. Latrobe gives the distinct impression that it had a heyday
and that heyday has passed, but it also has an unmistakable, stubborn, steady
hum.”
The town is close to my heart – it’s where I would go thrift
shopping with my mom and sister at the St. Vincent de Paul (the best because it’s
the cheapest with the best vintage clothes and bric a brac). It's where my beloved grandmother passed. Latrobe has the
best sugary pizza you can ever imagine. It’s also where my university’s sister school,
St. Vincent College, is located and where I first covered a president in my
career (GWBush) at Arnold Palmer Regional Airport. It’s also where I fly in on Spirit
Airlines and curse cardboard cutout seat cushions. I love seeing Latrobe in my
mind and in my heart. Mister Rogers and I had that in common.
