By Reed Kirkman
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November 10, 2026
SCRIPTURE Psalms 78 (The Inclusive Bible) “Listen, my people, to this teaching; open your hearts to wisdom. I will share stories and sacred mysteries, wisdom passed down through generations. We will share these stories with those who follow, proclaiming the wonders of the Holy One, the power of Divine Love, and the sacred wisdom of our ancestors.” WORDS OF HOPE Sesame Street Day Today is Sesame Street Day, and I have a confession to make: I was raised on the street—Sesame Street, that is. As a toddler, I didn't know I was receiving an education. I thought I was watching television. But there was Sesame Street, teaching me my ABCs and 123s, colors and shapes, counting and patterns, words and eventually how to tell time. A triangle had three sides. Numbers could be fun. Learning could involve singing, dancing, monsters, cookies, and the occasional very large yellow bird. And somewhere between “one, two, three” and “A, B, C,” I was learning something else: how to be a human being. Sesame Street gave me a vocabulary for feelings. Happy. Sad. Angry. Scared. Confused. It taught me that feelings weren't something to be ashamed of or shoved into a closet. They could be named, shared, listened to, and worked through. It taught me friendship, sharing, taking turns, helping others, making mistakes, apologizing, and trying again. PBS gave me other teachers, too. I loved Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. Fred Rogers reminded children that their feelings mattered, that they mattered, and that someone was willing to listen. I still try to strive to be a little more like Mister Rogers—to slow down, listen carefully, notice who is being left out, and make room. Then there was Arthur, teaching me about friendship, family, disagreements, mistakes, and growing up. And Bob Ross, painting happy little trees and quietly teaching me that a mistake doesn't have to destroy the canvas. Sometimes you can turn it into something beautiful. Looking back, these weren't merely children's programs. They were some of my earliest teachers in curiosity, empathy, creativity, patience, imagination, and wonder. Apparently, some of my earliest theology came from PBS. Now I get to watch Sesame Street with my nephew, Maverick. Seeing him discover the same neighborhood that captivated me decades ago feels almost like watching the toddler I once was sitting beside the uncle I've become. And then there is that question: “Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?” When I was little, it was simply the beginning of a television show. In 2026, it sounds almost like a prayer. How do we get to a world where LGBTQIA+ children know they are loved—not merely tolerated? Where disabled people aren't treated as afterthoughts? Where children of different races, cultures, religions, languages, and families can look around and say, “I see myself here”? Where immigrants and refugees are recognized as human beings carrying names, stories, families, dreams, and sacred worth? Maybe Sesame Street has been showing us the way all along. Look at that neighborhood. Big Bird is big. The Count loves counting. Snuffy is unmistakably Snuffy. Cookie Monster is, well, Cookie Monster. And somehow, they all belong. The neighborhood has welcomed guests like Michelle Obama, Elton John, Stephen Colbert, and Jimmy Kimmel. And honestly, I would like to be there, too. I want to walk down the street, sit on the stoop with Big Bird, share a snack with Cookie Monster, and maybe bring coffee. Although Cookie Monster may have other priorities. Nobody has to become less of themselves to belong. Maybe that's why this feels theological to me. Jesus spent so much time widening the definition of neighbor. The Good Samaritan wasn't exactly a lesson in keeping the neighborhood comfortable. Your neighbor isn't necessarily someone who looks like you, believes like you, worships like you, or lives like you. Sometimes your neighbor is the person you were taught to overlook. The street gets wider. The circle gets wider. The table gets wider. Perhaps that's what I want to remember from the child I once was: stay curious. Childlike, not childish. Ask questions. Say, “I don't know.” Listen before judging. Be amazed. Leave room for the possibility that the world is bigger than the little box you've been handed. Maybe getting to Sesame Street isn't about finding a place on a map. Maybe it's about becoming the kind of people who build that street wherever we are. A place where everyone can say: “I belong here.” PRAYER Loving God, Mother of mercy and Source of wonder, teach us to see the world with children's curiosity and the courage to pursue justice. Help us build neighborhoods where every child is cherished, every difference is treated with dignity, and nobody must earn love. Give us Mister Rogers' gentleness, Bob Ross's imagination, and the courage to stand beside those pushed aside. May our homes, churches, classrooms, and communities become places of welcome, laughter, learning, and radical love. When we forget the way, remind us that building a wider neighborhood begins with how we treat one another. Amen. DEVOTION AUTHOR Reed Kirkman