A photo of Fred Rogers from 1988.
Stock Photo (Credit: Family Communications Inc./Wiki Commons/https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Fred-Rogers_1988.jpg)

Back in the day, when I taught sections of our “Introduction to Religion” course, we would discuss the role of religion in public life. I would enjoy asking, “Do you know the TV minister who has enjoyed the largest viewing audience of all time?”

Students would answer with the usual names of celebrity preachers, which varied by decade, including Billy Graham, Robert Schuller, Charles Stanley, Joel Osteen and a lineup of various televangelists.

“Nope, not any of them,” I would reply.

Then I would offer clues.

“He’s a Presbyterian.” 

No help. 

“He lives in Pennsylvania.”

No help here either. 

Then I would offer, “His first name is Fred.” After someone would invariably blurt out, “Flintstone,” someone would “get it” and realize I was talking about Mr. Rogers.

This usually opened the door for a healthy conversation about the nature of ministry, which is broader than some of its traditional images. For some, that was a new line of thinking.

I suppose Fred Rogers is and remains my favorite “TV minister.” He has become a legendary model of integrity and authenticity, especially at a time when both are lacking in the public sphere, endangering the very fabric of our society.

I often recall a quote of his that often circulates in anxious times. It has taken on particular relevance in the challenges faced by faith communities caught in a state of helplessness and despair. 

Rogers said, “When I was a boy, and I would see scary things on the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

It is becoming increasingly apparent that we are experiencing an effort to dismantle the framework of our national life, guided by a vision and a plan that is at odds with the vision of our constitution, which was formulated at the beginning of our republic and refined over the 250 years since then. 

The image of an ideological prize fight, with the Constitution in one corner of the ring and Project 2025 in the other, is an apt one, and it is difficult to know what round of the fight we are in.

Communities of faith have faced a particular challenge while sitting ringside.  Some, mostly mainline churches, have chosen to take a side. 

Others, usually aligned with the “evangelical “ part of the faith family, have chosen the other. Still others with mixed loyalties have attempted to maintain a kind of awkward neutrality, fearing the alienation of parts of their communities if a lean toward allegiance to one side or another is detected.

As many have noted, the parallels with the challenge faced by the Church in Germany are hard to miss. 

The German national church aligned itself with the vision of Hitler’s brand of nationalism. The Confessing Church stood in resistance. That conflict is similar to the kind of tension we are experiencing.

The fight between the Constitution and Project 2025 has spilled over into the crowd, and it doesn’t appear that the breach will be healed anytime soon. History’s lessons suggest that descents into the kind of anti-democratic governance envisioned by the architects and programmers are not sustainable in the long term. This may be the glimmer of hope we need.

For over three decades, Mr. Rogers offered children a sense of worth (”I like you just the way you are”) and of belonging (“Won’t you be my neighbor?”). He pointed toward an ideal of inclusion and community across what, for his time, were boundaries of race, class and other distinctions sanctioned by popular culture.

We can look back with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment that his sharing a footbath with the Black police officer Clemmons was controversial. He was a pioneer in that era’s challenge to injustice.

Perhaps his most compelling suggestion is that, in times of crisis, it is the helpers—agents of recovery and reconciliation, worthy of emulation—whom we should look to.

When the crusade to dismantle democracy reaches its inevitable and possibly catastrophic end, communities of faith—some of whom may have been ambivalent during the struggle—will be called to embody Micah’s vision of justice, mercy, and humility (Micah 6:8). Their commission will be to serve as the “helpers” who bring recovery and restoration. It will be a moment of genuine hope if the victims of the crisis turn to the helpers and find them in communities of faith.