Fred Rogers didn’t have a television show as much as he had a televised children’s ministry (he was an ordained Presbyterian minister). His goal was to offer a gentle space and time for fostering the spirits of all children. He made things with items found around the house – cardboard boxes and tubes, crayons, and construction paper. He kept a routine, providing stability every time he walked in the front door, took off his jacket, and put on his sweater and sneakers. Off the air, he was an advocate for children’s rights and the beneficial use of broadcast airtime.

This year, the opening theme to Mr Roger’s Neighborhood was featured in a Super Bowl ad for a mortgage company, complete with a pan-over of a neighborhood similar to the one that started the PBS show. Lady Gaga provided the vocals. It’s a lovely couple of vignettes that tug at the emotions, Redfin showing up on a phone at the start, with Rocket Mortgage and Own the Dream tagline at the end.

This isn’t the first time songs that defined and inspired generations have been used to sell products. Many artists have had their music featured in ads – The Rolling Stones and The Beatles come to mind. Willingly or unwillingly, artists find their music hawking all kinds of products. But something about hearing the opening to Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood hits in a different part of the heart and spirit. At least for me.

I’m convinced that the Holy Spirit is nowhere near as picky as I am when it comes to showing up. Love and the Sacred break into our world in the most ordinary and freaky places. If we have eyes to see and ears to hear, Love for Neighbor, Self, and God surrounds us.

If the Super Bowl ad convinces one person to reach out in love and service to someone else, does it matter that it was all meant to fill the company coffers?

What if the Super Bowl ad damages one soul because it equates being a neighbor with consumerism?

To learn more about Mr. Rogers, visit misterrogers.org

The Music

It’s 500 feet from my door: Wareham Pediatrics. Several doctors, physician’s assistants, nurses, and a competent and caring office staff answer phones quickly, get sick kids in to see someone within a few hours, and deal with the complications of insurance. Both of my sons were patients until they were in college. When they aged out, both were offered help in finding a new practice.

The effects of Wareham Pediatrics go beyond the office doors and local hospital. Like many places, they offer free vaccinations to all children; unlike most places, they advertise this service. I’ve seen the staff waive office visit fees. I’ve seen parents given medications when buying them at the pharmacy would be a hardship. They promote literacy. Parents can find support groups and information on good parenting. Children can ask questions about sex without fear.

One of the signs of the Spirit is healing the sick. They may not do it with the laying on of hands, and they may not understand their work as revealing the love of God, but when I walk by I often hum Surely the presence of the Lord is in this place.

My shrubs front Morse Avenue, just past the dogleg turn. Three of us share the corner, our driveways emptying out into the same piece of pavement. Other than an occasional issue with someone backing into the shrubs, The ninety degree turn in the road isn’t an issue. Until the snow starts falling…

If the driver clearing the road is new, or just careless, the plow pushes the snow on the road into a curved white barrier, blocking in all three driveways. In a decent storm, a wall of snow several feet high is the result (the above picture is a two inch snowfall…)

One of our neighbors is in her eighties, but there are three of us who tackle the snow boulders, clearing the drives and connecting us to the rest of the town. Whoever gets out to shovel or blow the snow clears the pavement so all the driveways are clear – not just his or her own. It’s been the same for all the years I’ve lived here, through seven different homeowners in the three homes. It’s a simple if sometimes tiresome act, this clearing the corner; it’s the grace of reciprocal care. Sadly, not everyone has that.

When the storms come – snowy, political, existential – such grace sustains.

I woke at 5:30am to find the clock on the stove flashing. Sixteen hours of heavy snow caused us to lose power for a few minutes. Still asleep, no one in my house noticed it. The same was not true for the people who live at the end our street – nor for the people who live the next street over – the ones whose back yards share a border with neighboring homes. Marion Road, Highland Court and Avenue, and High Street (pictured above) still have people without power – a half a day outage so far.

My neighbors and I had to shovel out our driveways and walks, but we’ve been able to cook our meals, take hot showers, and keep our houses warm – the last few hours of snowfall nothing more than a pretty happening outside the window, the scene enjoyed with a hot cup of coffee. None of us on this quiet street are worried about medical equipment dying, or phone service to call an ambulance no longer working. Had a neighbor not told me about the local outages, I doubt I’d have noticed – at least not until the sun sets and lights remain off.

It’s that lack of awareness that concerns me. It’s so easy to assume that everyone around me is facing the same circumstances as I am. If I don’t keep my eyes open, if I don’t bother to look closely, I’m going to miss what’s going on in the lives of my neighbors. That would be tragic.

They lived in the house next door when we first moved to Wareham – a family of four plus a hound. He worked in heating and cooling, she as a pharmacy assistant. We were the only residents with young children on a street where most of the original owners of the 1950’s homes still remained.

One of the crankier neighbors lived right across the street from them, an eighty-something widow who took every opportunity to yell at their middle school son and his friends. She complained about the parents to her neighbors. If they had guests, she complained about cars parked in front of her house. The family could do no right in her eyes.

Most people would to their best to ignore such a woman, or even return insult for insult. Not these people. Whenever there was a power outage, they would go check on her. He made sure her fireplace worked and that furnace came back on; she made sure there was enough food and water in the house.

Jesus tells such a parable – when the one who has no reason to help is the one to save a life. It took me longer than it should have to notice the Gospel playing out on my street, just past the hedge…

If you hopped the fence and pushed your way through the thorny growth on the other side, you’d be in the parking lot of the town library. If you went through the front doors and looked to the left, you’d see the main desk. I’ve seen kind acts from each of the people who work behind that desk. Sometimes, it’s listening to someone who has no one else to talk with; occasionally, it’s coughing up a couple of quarters so someone could use the photocopier; many times, it’s just helping people find something interesting to read – or a quite place to do so.

That library is a sanctuary of sorts – a quiet, calm, warm place for anyone who needs it. No one has to buy anything to enter or to linger. Even those who don’t live next to the library are neighbors in the best sense – welcome to drop in for no reason in particular…

It’s the new year that follows a stressful one. The endings and beginnings always bring up questions for me. Since I’ve lived on four different streets in two states and four houses over the last three years, where I am in a geographical sense has been on my mind. And with that, the people that have had streets and property lines in common. So my question this January 1st, 2026: Who Is My Neighbor?

I hope you will explore this question with me – neighbors in conversation, if not location…