11.22 // Mr. Rogers

The Mr. Rogers movie, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, comes out in theaters today.
Tom Hanks, that red sweater, the “neighbor” song untampered by the likes of Daniel Tiger— I really can’t wait to see it.
And so throughout the day, I’ve had two specific memories about Mr. Rogers come to mind over and over.

The first is a dream I had as a young child.
I was in the backyard at our house on Gale Road on a warm, summer afternoon. And Mr. Rogers just happened to be over reading and talking with us. Suddenly, and completely out of character, he struck a massive cone-shaped beehive and sent a swarming bees after us. I ran and ran, zigzagging and panicked until I tripped there in the grass. And just as the buzzing started to overtake me, I woke up.
I was probably five or six years old when I had that dream, and I never watched Mr. Rogers again.

Rather, I never watched his television show again.

My second memory about Fred Rogers took place a few years later, listening to his Lifetime Achievement Award acceptance speech. It must have been quite good because it was used as a model speech in school, and I still remember his gentle tone (and how odd it was to see him in a formal tuxedo instead of khakis and. again, that red sweater).

I was reminded of this speech when I read a quote from it this morning. The message of it radically changed how I perceived gratitude today:

All of us have special ones who loved us into being.
Would you just take, along with me, 10 seconds to think of the people who have helped you become who you are, those who cared about you and wanted what was best for you in life.

To be loved into being.
Its one of the truest aspects of being human.

We are born out of love and into love.
And as believers we are reborn out of Love and into Love.
Its the only way to be truly alive— to let love completely transform us.

I consider people I know or students I’ve taught who believe that no one loves them. Now, they may not admit this or phrase it in this way, but their life is built on the belief that the love the experience conditional love, a rug that could get pulled out from under them at any minute. Its a fearful, frustrating, self-protecting way to live.
And often times, they have been hurt by those who claimed to love them.
Other times, they simply could not accept the fact that people did, in fact, love them— no strings attached, despite failure, always, and yet imperfectly. They were loved. Maybe not by everyone, but they were loved by at least a few “specials ones,” as Mr. Rogers said. We know this is true because at some point, all of us have struggled with our own worthiness to receive and live out of love.

Yet I am discovering more and more that we cannot live without love.
We will never take risks; or be vulnerable; or show our true self; or say what we really mean; or dream outside of the box; or share our hearts; or make a big change.
We won’t live full, brave lives unless we believe that there will be love along the way.
Acceptance.
Belonging.
Love is vital to being fully alive.

Love awakens us.
Love invites us to create.
Love empowers us to accept our weakness and past failures and move forward.
Love allows intimacy, vulnerability, and transparency.
Love enables us to forgive.

If we are struggling to live in our bodies or in our given lives, I would wager it is because we struggle to accept that we are loved.
We struggled to accept that we are lovable.
And we cannot “be” without love.

So I have found myself repeating that first step of examen often today— gratitude— with that Fred Roger’s quote in mind, transforming the way I approach this simple act of thanksgiving:

Who are those people who have loved me into being?
Can I name them?
How did their love bring me to life?

So while changing diapers or drawing with Olivia or reading to Benson, I’ve stumbled upon names of dozens of people who loved me into this moment. My list started small, but then grew longer as those ten seconds occurred sporadically into the afternoon and evening. I found myself recalling names that I had not thought about in years. And then those I talk to almost daily.

My parents, my extended family, my siblings, Jackson and the kids.
Pastors from a number of churches, denominations, backgrounds, and towns.
Teachers and coaches and professors who became dear friends and mentors.
Friends from childhood, middle school, teen angst, college, and into adulthood— along with their families.
Neighbors who showed up and stopped in and shared life, meals, and season with us.
My mom’s friends who prayed for me since I was a kid, who still pray for me.
Musician friends and worship bandmates and running teammates and roommates and classmates.

I thought of their names and imagined their faces, listing them one by one.
Yes, it took all of this love to get here today.
I am who I am because of each ounce of their love, their willingness to make space for me.

This afternoon, I got lunch with a old teammate and friend who was passing through town. Kaitlin taught me so much when I entered college, and I wanted to be just like her. Actually, what was so great was I didn’t have to be like her— she invited me to just be myself. Kaitlin was strong and gutsy, and yet hilarious and free. Being loved by her during that crazy transition was such a gift of belonging. Her friendship during those years of running together kept me grounded through great races and terrible races, thriving semesters and months of stress. She let us hang at her house with other upperclassman, she shared her life and experiences with us, and she always listened to us, too.

Eating lunch with her today— and laughing really hard— brought me back to that same space of belonging. I realize that here, too, I was loved into being.

There is an Orthodox theology named John Zizioulas who wrote a book called Being as Communion: Studies in Personhood and the Church. Its a pretty dense read, with more footnotes on each page than actual writing. I certainly have not grasped most of it, but the main idea has stuck with me: Zizioulas argues that God’s very essence, the very central part of God, is communion. And this communion is love, trinitarian love. Love that gives and receives freely. And God’s very being is this communion within Himself.

And if we are made in His image, Zizioulas argues, then our very essence is the same: communion. More than our substance (bodies), more than our function (what we do), more than our purpose (why we exist) or whatever philosophical reason for existence you want to throw into the ring.
We are because we have been loved in communion.

Love and communion is our starting point, our basic level of being human.
And the more we lean into this “essence” (communion), the more we will become our truest selves and the more we will know our communal God.

Basically, the more we “love into being,” the more we will become real, alive, whole.
And the more we “love into being,” the more we will know and become like Divine Love.

I end the examen tonight with the final step: intention. Typically, at this point, I ask something like this: Given my present situation and my given life, what are my holy intentions for tomorrow?

And my resolution rises up much faster than normal: to love others into their being.
What a tricky, difficult thing to do.
How personal and complex.
But how necessary, too.

With our kids, our partners, with neighbors and family, to love them into their being— not into my being, not into what others think they should be. Not into a mold nor to meet a particular end.
To simply love into being.
Just as we have been loved into being.

And then to allow their love to bring us into being, too.
This is the holy cycle, the sacred rhythm, of live being lived to full.