When I was a child in the late 1960s, my family lived in Pittsburgh.  I recall my mother telling me one day that there was a new show on TV that she wanted me to watch.  She promised I would like it, especially because the man who made the show lived just on the other side of town from us. 

My memories of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood are focused on two aspects of the show.  First, the fact that it brought me into the host’s house.  I was amazed that we could be in what I thought was his actual house, and that he let us in the house before be even arrived.  Second, I recall being immediately drawn to Mr. Rogers himself.  He seemed so different from other adults.  He was friendly and happy every day he arrived home, and he spoke directly to me, as if he was genuinely interested in me.  But most of all, I could sense, even at that young age, that he was gentle and kind.  I didn’t have the words then to express those feelings, but I knew instinctively that he and his show were special. 

Last year while attending a retreat I heard mention of a new book about Fred  by Shea Tuttle.[1]  By this time, I had a rekindled interest in Fred, primarily as a result of the recent renaissance in public appreciation of Fred, such as the documentary Won’t You Be My Neighbor? (and that amazing coverage of him testifying before Congress for PBS funding).

Ms. Tuttle’s has book deepened my own appreciation of Fred.  His faith, commitment to his vocation, lack of pretense, gentleness and uncanny kindness placed my childhood memories of Fred in a new context.  One story in her book seemed particularly beautiful to me.  It involved a teenage fan of Fred’s who suffered from cerebral palsy.  The boy  invited Fred to his home and, as was Fred’s wont, he agreed to come visit.

The boy had been abused in early childhood and struggled with severe emotional difficulties, including self-hatred and self-harm.  When Fred arrived at the boy’s home, the boy become emotionally overwhelmed and had to be taken into another room to calm down.  Fred patiently waited for the boy to regain his composure and come back into the room.  When the boy returned, Fred spoke with him awhile and then asked the boy, “Would you do something for me?”  On the computer that the boy used to communicate, he typed out his response: of course, he would do anything for Mister Rogers.  Then Fred said,  “I would like you to pray for me. Will you pray for me?” 

When Fred related this story to a journalist who was interviewing him, the journalist complimented Fred on how well he had handled the situation, noting that Fred’s question obviously helped calm and ease the boy.  But Fred responded to this with surprise:

“Oh, heavens no. Tom!  I didn’t ask him for his prayers for him; I asked for me.  I asked him because I think that anyone who has gone through challenges like that must be very close to God.  I asked because I wanted his intercession.”[2] 

This story, like my experience as a child watching Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, touches me on some deep level.  I think that is because the story spotlights one of Fred’s greatest gifts – his compassion.  Fred had such a deep and nuanced compassion for others.  In this instance, that gift allowed him to move beyond sensitivity and tender-heartedness to something more profound – the ability to see a special sanctity in another person.  Fred could see in that boy’s suffering God’s presence.  I would like to think that the boy was able, through Fred’s request, to sense that God was in fact very close to him, and thereby experienced some of the healing that so many others experienced in their interactions with Fred. 

It strikes me that this story about Fred Rogers parallels St. Francis’ famous encounter with the leper.  Traveling one day by horse through the countryside, Francis encountered a leper on the road.  Francis dismounted, and as the man extended his hand to receive the alms he expected, Francis kissed the leper’s hand and then gave him alms.  This was a remarkable act for Francis because, before this time, he had a profound and well-known disgust for lepers.  Kissing the leper was the beginning of Francis’ conversion to life of love and service to others.  As Ilia Delio writes, this story shows “that conversion involves a movement from nonrecognition to recognition; we are invited to see the hidden presence of God.”[3]

As with Francis, Fred Roger’s could see God’s hidden presence in his wounded young fan. 

[1] Shea Tuttle, Exactly as You Are: The Life and Faith of Mr. Rogers (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2019). 

[2] Tuttle, 122-23.

[3] Ilia Delio, Compassion: Living in the Spirit of St. Francis (Cincinnati: Franciscan Media, 2011), 10-12.

November 9, 2023