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During the years I was watching children's TV with my kids, I stumbled into the basement of clinical depression. A major factor in my fall was my attempt to do most of the ministry myself. I burned out. That's when my own neighbors surrounded me.

On Sunday, I sat on the front row with my wife while Martin gave the announcements, Clyde read the Scripture, Judie led music, and Bill took the offering. During the week, church members assumed leadership of visitation, small groups, and pastoral care.

Not only did I regain my emotional health, my congregation received affirmation for use of their ministry gifts. Church became community, and neighbors became teammates and friends.

Fred Rogers disappeared about halfway through each show, then returned just in time to change out of his sweater and sneakers and wave goodbye. While he stayed in the "real world," he sent viewers into the Neighborhood of Make Believe, where the puppets lived. Mister Rogers was never seen there.

What most kids didn't know was that Fred was under the castle supplying the hands and voices for the king and queen. Fred never seemed to care that to many kids the puppets were as much the stars as he was. He was in cramped spaces, willingly working shoulder to elbow with other puppeteers to bring fantasy to life.

As one who enjoys the limelight, I learned the lessons of behind-the-scenes service somewhat reluctantly as an unofficial custodian after late-night fellowship meetings, when no else was around to take down the chairs for the next day's activities. On Saturday mornings, when a few guys cooked breakfast for the rest of the men, I discovered that scrubbing pots and pans while others visited wasn't all that bad.

Some aspects of pastoring, like Mister Rogers's puppetry, are not about pulling strings, but instead it's about getting involved up to your elbows, whether anybody knows it or not.

One of my favorite residents in the Neighborhood is Daniel Striped Tiger, a shy, threadbare puppet with a scratchy little voice, like a 3-year-old with a two-pack habit. There was only one person with whom insecure Daniel confessed his fears—the lovely, human Lady Aberlin. She knew the tiger's flaws and loved him anyway. Often after he unloaded his heavy heart, Lady Aberlin would rub his nose and say "ugga-mugga." I think it meant, "I care about you and you're going to be okay."

When I was wrestling with depression, I needed someone to do that. Not the nose rubbing, but the listening and appropriate offering of assurance.

Every pastor needs a confidant who is also free to confront with difficult truths. I had that in a therapist for a time, but once my therapy was ended, I decided I wanted what Daniel had all the time. I needed a friend to hear me, challenge me, and sometimes console me. I sought out another pastor by the name of Doug. Over coffee he listened and urged me to stay alert to my tendencies toward discouragement and an unhealthy need for attention.

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