Loving Self
I spent the second to last week of January in Pittsburgh, the neighborhood of the perhaps the greatest advocate to being a neighbor, Mr. Fred Rogers. I am dating myself, but I’ve likely already done that in numerous ways. I jokingly say that Mr. Rogers is the only babysitter I remember. His show was a regular program throughout my childhood. In fact, I can recall still watching him when I’d stay home sick during my middle school years.
Pittsburgh was this year’s location for the coursework and conference for the Association of Presbyterian Christian Educators. And, because Fred Rogers was an ordained Presbyterian pastor, there was some “Mr. Rogers Theology” that was inescapable.
What I mean by this, in part, was the incredible gift I received in remembrance of how Fred Rogers led people through his gentle presence, a soft voice, deep connection and embodied human dignity, to love and care for one another. He was leading in a way that seemed so simple but richly encouraged people to strengthen their own internal system, presence, and ability to love, and then extend that love outward to another. To all others. How essential it is, truly, to establish a rooted presence, available to love and listen and stand in the strength of integrity amidst reactivity and the louder voice of fear.
One of our speakers (who has an incredible Substack called The Blue Room), Mary Anne McKibben Dana, spoke of a long-beloved book, A Failure of Nerve, by Edwin Friedman, and his call to strong leadership. I revisited this book in the past week and read Friedman’s call for leadership that begins with the individual work of maturing oneself.
This is leadership that is about presence more than skill or ability. It’s leadership that is strong enough to engage in deep listening, speak truth to power, avoids the herding instinct of the loudest voices, and avoids reactivity through a calm and steady presence. This is leadership that considers the whole environment and takes responsibility for personal harms that have contributed to an unhealthy environment. It is the presence that is willing to avoid a quick-fix mentality and focus instead on enduring change, willing even to navigate discomfort over symptomatic relief. It requires attention to maturing our own system in order to be the be the “strength in a system." How to do this hard work, during days and times when hope, faith, courage, and both physical and mental resources are being seriously tested?
After the conference, I couldn’t leave Mr. Rogers behind in Pittsburgh. I began watching old clips and episodes of his iconic show, found myself singing his songs around the house. One clip that I couldn’t stop thinking of comes from episode #1065 which aired May 9, 1969. I watched the full episode and then rewatched the clip multiple time, found by clicking here. In the clip, it’s a hot day and Mr. Rogers is soaking his bare feet, when Officer Clemmons, a Black man, arrives. Mr. Rogers invites Officer Clemmons to join him and the two enjoy a good soak and the shared resources of water and towel.
In the tiny 3 minute, whimsically delightful clip, Mr. Rogers has brought his strong and steady presence to make a statement about human dignity, about loving one another, and about inviting each other in. Even more, his actions make a statement about what it means to be a “neighbor” and what it means to be the kind of leader who values humans as each and all equally created in a beloved image of God.
It’s all seemingly so simple, but you see, if you’re not familiar with what was happening in the world outside Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood, the news was not good. This was a time when public pools were being called to desegregate and the ongoing reactivity against human rights had made pools the location of riots as well as acts of hateful violence, with many public officials deciding to close or destroy pools rather than integrate. You can read a short summary of this history here.
The voices outside Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood were loud, pulling people into a herd of shared angry mob mentality. Mr. Rogers’ voice was softer, a steady presence. He separated from the herd, risked hatred for his simple act, looked to plant seeds of long-term relationship, all without ever diminishing his human dignity through mutual acts or words of angry hatred toward another.
How can this be possible, I wonder? This past week I rewatched A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, the movie in which Tom Hanks plays Mr. Rogers. There’s a scene I haven’t been able to stop thinking about in light of this question. In the scene, the character of Joanne Rogers, Fred’s wife, is asked by the reporter writing about Mr. Rogers, what it’s like to be married to a “living saint.” She bristles at this characterization and responds, “You know, I'm not fond of that term. If you think of him as a saint, then his way of being is unattainable. He works at it all the time. It's a practice. He's not a perfect person.”
The real-life Mr. Rogers struggled with difficult interpersonal relationships, a temper spurred by anger and disappointment, depression. But he practiced loving self so he could love neighbor. I imagine this work as the co-regulation to peace and steadiness that makes for a much more responsive, mature internal system of living. The work of this is truly not easy, but it is attainable. And I think necessary. Because I long to live in the kind of neighborhood that loves one another into being, the kind of neighborhood where we recall our creative and resourceful presence, where we rise together into a way of life that is beautiful and life-giving. It happens often in the simplest ways imaginable.
Dear friends, I do believe there are enough of us working to be this kind of presence in the world. I believe I’m not the only person longing for this kind of neighborhood or asking, where do we begin? where do I begin? So, before I leave you for today, I’ll offer some tools for the week ahead. Rest as you need friends. Take good care of your body’s needs. Call a beloved friend. Feed the birds. Eat something delicious and nourishing. And perhaps try these below:
Watch some Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood (and perhaps let yourself sing along to the all of the songs). Here’s the full episode of that 1969 clip: May 9, 1969 episode #1065
Cultivate some truly grounded strength out in your body accompanied by deep nervous system decompression in this week’s yoga class with me. Full disclosure, this edition is full of real-life moments! :) Yoga With Christa
Read this beautiful poem by Naomi Shihab Nye (I read this at the end of the yoga class above if you want to hear it). This is the kind of neighborhood I want to live in and truly believe it’s possible. All is not lost indeed:
Gate A-4, by Naomi Shihab Nye Wandering around the Albuquerque Airport Terminal, after learning my flight had been delayed four hours, I heard an announcement: “If anyone in the vicinity of Gate A-4 understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately.” Well—one pauses these days. Gate A-4 was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian embroidered dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing. “Help,” said the flight agent. “Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be late and she did this.” I stooped to put my arm around the woman and spoke haltingly. “Shu-dow-a, Shu-bid-uck Habibti? Stani schway, Min fadlick, Shu-bit- se-wee?” The minute she heard any words she knew, however poorly used, she stopped crying. She thought the flight had been cancelled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for major medical treatment the next day. I said, “No, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just later, who is picking you up? Let's call him.” We called her son, I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and ride next to her. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her? This all took up two hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling of her life, patting my knee, answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemademamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—from her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the mom from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There is no better cookie. And then the airline broke out free apple juice from huge coolers and two little girls from our flight ran around serving it and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend— by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, with green furry leaves. Such an old country tradi- tion. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and I thought, This is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in that gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.