My Deepest Spiritual Experience
A Sermon Given
by Rev. Roger Fritts
September 20, 1998
at Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church
Bethesda, Maryland
In the summer of 1996 I was in the city of Koloszvar, with
four other folks from this church. In Koloszvar I talked with the
Unitarian bishop of Transylvania, Dr. Janos Erdo, a thin man about
seventy years old. The headquarters for Unitarianism in Transylvania
is in an impressive three story building, near the center of the city.
Fifty years ago the headquarters had included not only attractive
administrative offices, but also a large seminary used to train
Unitarian clergy. In 1948 communists took over the building, closed
the seminary and turned the space into a high school. They took the
chapel that included likenesses of important Unitarians of the past,
and covered the Unitarians with posters of Marx, Lenin, and other
famous communists. The communists limited the Unitarian headquarters to three small rooms.
Bishop Erdo explained that after the revolution in December
of 1989, they reclaimed the chapel, took down the Marxist pictures,
and restored the images of the Unitarians. I said to the bishop, "It
must have been a wonderful feeling to come into this space and
reclaim it." He gave me a big smile and nodded.
Dr. Erdo spent years in prison during the communist period
because of his liberal religious faith. I asked him about this experience. "I was in a forced labor camp
for four years," he told us. "It
was along the Black Sea. In secret I taught classes in theology and
the history of religion. Twice the guards caught and punished me.
One student in the class had taken notes. The guards found the notes
and forced the student to tell where he had written them down."
We thanked Dr. Erdo and headed on to see the First Unitarian
Church next door. As we stood outside waiting for the church's
assistant minister to unlock the doors, the bishop passed me on the
street and we nodded to each other. It is my last memory of him,
making his way down the sidewalk of a busy street in Koloszvar.
Nine days later, this friendly and gracious man, this Unitarian Bishop,
died of a sudden brain hemorrhage.
My visit with the Unitarian Bishop of Transylvania was a
spiritual experience. I want to explain what I mean when I used the
word spiritual. What I find helpful in trying to define the word
spiritual is its etymology. The dictionaries say the word spirit has a
common Latin ancestry with the word breath. This etymological root
invites a comparison between the experience of breathing and the
experience of spirituality. We breathe in the spiritual; it fills our
bodies and gives us new energy for living, just as a breath of clean
fresh air fills our lungs.
A little over two years ago, when I visited Unitarians in
Transylvania I took in a deep breath of fresh air, a deep renewal of my
spirit that was so refreshing the feeling of renewal has stayed with me
and still gives me energy today.
I was in Transylvania in 1996 to visit the partner church of
this congregation. Transylvania is a small land located between
Hungary and Romania. Today it is politically part of Romania. More
then 50 percent of the people living in Transylvania today are
Romanians. However, two and a half million people in Transylvania
are Hungarians. Of this two and a half million, 5 percent are
Unitarian. Transylvania has 178 Unitarian Churches with a total
membership of more than one hundred thousand people. Unitarianism developed during the
Reformation more than 400 years ago. The
belief that separated Unitarians from other Christians was their belief
that Jesus was a human being, not God. In the Hungarian Unitarian
Catechism it says:
We know that Jesus was a real man from the Gospels,
where he first called himself a man, and the son of
man. But his real humanity is verified by his whole
life as well: He was born, grew up in body and spirit,
was happy, sorrowful, hungry, thirsty, suffered and
died. Jesus was considered to be a man by his disciples and his contemporaries as well.
These churches came to be called Unitarian as opposed to
Trinitarian because the trinity is based on the belief that Jesus is God.
Modern efforts to increase contact between Unitarians in
Transylvania and Unitarians in the United States began in 1988.
Contact increased dramatically after the fall of the communist
government in December of 1989. American churches have donated
hundreds of thousands of dollars to partner churches in Transylvania,
to help build new churches, buy tractors for villages, feed seminary
students and aid retired ministers. In the past several years, many
American Unitarian Universalists have traveled to Transylvania.
Nevertheless, when members of this congregation first
suggested that I travel with a delegation from this church to visit our
partner church, I was doubtful. The economic situation in
Transylvania is very poor. The average monthly wage is 96 dollars.
The cost of travel from the United States to Europe is high. It seemed
to me that we would better serve our partner church if we took the
cost of my airplane ticket and sent the money instead of sending me.
However, when I stated this view at the Unitarian Universalist
General Assembly, one of my colleagues pulled me aside. Pointing
a finger in my face he said, "A visit by the minister from the United
States partner church is essential. Far more important than money,
they need to know that they are not alone. Symbolically the value of
a visit from their partner church minister is enormous. You must go."
I took his words to heart. Encouraged by both members of
this church and my colleagues in the ministry, I departed for Budapest
in July 1996.
Our delegation consisted of seven people. Five of us were
from Bethesda. Besides myself, there were Bill and Charlene Zellmer
and their two children. Rev. Aniko Harrington, a native
Transylvanian Unitarian minister, was our guide and translator.
Aniko is now a member of the Romanian Parliament, representing
ethnic Hungarians. She is married to the American Unitarian minister
Don Harrington. Helping Aniko was our driver, Mozes, who lives in
Aniko's village.
After Koloszvar we drove south to the town of our partner
church, Dee-cha-szent-marton, arriving at 5:00 p.m. The minister,
Rev. Endre Fazakas, had prepared a big welcoming meal for us.
Many church members had come to celebrate our arrival. We ate
dinner, drank toasts and everyone, except the Americans, smoked.
Many of you met Endre and Lydia Fazakas when they visited our
church in June of 1997.
At 8:00 p.m. my hosts, a father and son, took me to their home
where I was to spend the night. The home was an apartment inside
one of the grim prison-like apartment buildings built during the
communist period. The outside was ugly, crumbling concrete, with
cracks and stains. Inside we walked up several flights of grim stairs.
They ushered me into a small apartment that serves as the home of
four people. Both of the children spoke some English and served as
translators. I had mastered about six words in Hungarian.
In contrast to the dreary exterior of the apartment building,
inside the small apartment it felt like a warm and loving home. Roses
were on the dining room table. The father's special pride was for a
two hundred-year-old clock on the wall of the dining room. His
profession is that of a clock and watch repair person.
The family greeted me with great warmth. In the background
the TV was usually on. They receive ten channels, including, in
English, CNN and the cartoon channel. Both boys know enough
English to follow the English TV programs. They invited me to take
a bath and I declined. I later discovered that they have hot water only
every other day, and on the days they do have hot water, it is shut off
at 10:00 p.m.
I asked my hosts whether things have improved for them since
the December 1989 revolution. "No," they said. Life had gotten
much worse. The 19-year-old graduated from school after attending
a Hungarian language high school in Koloszvar. He has been unable
to find work. Apparently the communist system would have
guaranteed him a job.
We drank beer and a cherry liqueur and at nine I went to sleep.
I slept in a foldout bed in the dining room. Later I discovered that
this is normally the bed for the father and mother. While I was
visiting, they slept in a foldout bed in the nineteen-year-old's room.
The two sons shared a bed in a bedroom at the end of the hall.
Saturday morning July 20, we ate a breakfast of meat, cheese,
bread, and more liqueur. After breakfast we headed east for a day of
church visiting.
Our first stop was the childhood home of the wife of the
minister of our partner church. In the court yard were dogs, chickens,
pigs, rabbits, a garden and a grapevine for growing the grapes that the
family would later make into wine. This is how people live on $96
a month. They grow and raise their own food. Many clergy we met
had large gardens and many farm animals. We went into the home
and I had my second drink of the day. The custom when special
visitors come to a home in Transylvania is to have a drink of a strong
sweet liqueur.
We drove on to see a resort town, famous for its spas and lake.
A beautiful forest surrounded the lake. We walked to a flea market.
A salesperson gave Rev. Fazakas a big plastic bag to carry his
purchases. Printed on the side of the bag were colored photos of
beautiful naked women. I asked if carrying around such a bag in
public would get him in trouble with his congregation. He said, "Not
at all, we need pictures like this, so that it will encourage people to
make love so they will have children. Because of the depressed
economic conditions, most young people are afraid to have children."
We had lunch at a small restaurant. In the background,
gypsies played music. It appeared that everyone in Transylvania over
the age of ten chain-smokes. We had wine and beer to drink. Music
and smoke filled the room. Men wore their jackets over their
shoulders, their arms free. Every five minutes someone offered to fill
my glass with wine. Everyone talked, waving their hands as they
spoke.
We drove through the hilly countryside, through green farm
land, past many farmers with horse-drawn carts harvesting hay, and
through small villages. We arrived at a flood control dam built in
1981. There we got out and stood at the edge of the giant earthen
dam and our hosts talked about the dam with energy and anger in
their voices.
Aniko told us that the Romanian government built this dam,
as part of its campaign against the Hungarian villages. The dam
waters had flooded a Hungarian village. The village had a population
of 400 to 500 people with a Unitarian church and a Catholic church.
Rev. Fazakas said that he had been involved in the negotiations with
the government. Officials had promised to pay for the rebuilding of
the church, but it had never happened.
We drove on a bumpy dirt road for about thirty minutes to the
flooded Unitarian Church. The small church, built in the fourteenth
or fifteenth centuries, was right next to the water. We walked into its
former sanctuary, now empty. It was early evening and the sky was
beautiful, with a few puffy white clouds, and the air was clear. We
smelled the grass and trees and water. Silence seemed the only
appropriate response as we walked near the remains of this flooded
village at the end of a dirt road in a remote valley in eastern Europe.
The next day was Sunday morning. The Sunday service was
a powerful, emotional experience. Church bells rang at ten and then
again, a few minutes before eleven. We walked from the parsonage
to the church arriving just as the bells stopped ringing. The building
was packed with members of the congregation. Rev. Fazakas gave
me his seat in the church. The men were on my left in pews below
the organ. Women sat on my right. Junior high-aged kids sat in the
balcony. Younger children were in the center directly in front of the
pulpit. They sat respectfully still and quiet during the entire hour and
a half adult service.
What words describe the emotional experience of preaching
on a Sunday morning in a church building nearly a thousand years
old? The people accepted me. They welcomed me and celebrated my
presence. Allowing me to enter the center of their religious space,
they shared their worship with me. All they knew about me was that
I said I was a Unitarian minister from America. I felt that warm
feeling that comes from being trusted and respected by strangers. I
felt both gratitude and humility.
After the service we ate a big meal at the parsonage. We
drank a liqueur. We ate and we drank more liqueur. Our hosts
supplied us with more food and with coffee. As we drank and ate,
our hosts smoked and talked and smoked.
Finally at 4:00 we set out to see four churches near
Dicsöszentmárton. We saw paintings, bell towers, and much hand-carved wood. At the
last church we visited we went to the parsonage
and, drinking a strong liquor, we had toasts. Wine, that the minister
had made from his own grapes, followed. Coffee followed the wine.
All the locals smoked.
For two days after the Sunday experience we drove through
the countryside of Transylvania, visiting villages, farms and churches.
In many smaller villages, populated entirely by Hungarians, the
Unitarian church is the heart of the town. The long rides through the
countryside heightened the impact of entering the Unitarian Churches
in these villages. We drove past homes hundreds of years old, and
through miles of farm land. Riding along roads sprinkled with
potholes we passed horse-drawn carts, and horse-drawn hay wagons.
We saw strong but primitive rakes made locally of tree branches.
When we entered small Unitarian churches, the beauty inside the
church contrasted with the austerity of the farm land through which
we had driven. Colorful paintings covered the ceilings. Red and
white needlepoint cloth hung from pulpits and the pews. Hand-carved wood was on doors. The art
work gave the churches a feeling
of warmth and vitality. The art gave the space a sense of holiness and
a feeling of joy.
Finally the day came for me to leave our group. I was to take
the train from Koloszvar to Budapest. After lunch, our delegation
dropped me at the railroad station. I arrived in Budapest at 11:00
p.m. and took a cab to my hotel. They had held the reservation I had
made when I called from Koloszvar at noon. Silently, I blessed them
for holding my room. I washed my shoes and went to sleep watching
a German movie on the T.V. A few days later I flew home.
Today in my mind's eye I can still see the places and people
I visited:
- I see the memorial posts that graced many churches' grounds.
- I see the beautiful painted ceilings of the churches.
- I see the red and white hand embroidery covering pulpits and
pews.
- I see the flooded four hundred-year-old Unitarian Church at
the end of a long dusty road.
- I see the excited, warm faces of the Hungarian Unitarians who
welcomed me to their homes, their tables, their churches.
- And I see in my mind's eye the gentle face of the Unitarian
Bishop answering my questions about his four years at a
forced labor camp on the Black Sea.
The deeper feelings I experienced on the journey are not easily
expressed. My trip to the birthplace of the Unitarian half of our
Unitarian Universalist faith was a religious pilgrimage, a spiritual
experience.
Of course, I was glad to be home. Not only was I able to take
a hot shower, I could also breathe deep the political and religious
freedom of our country. And inspired by seeing the roots of Unitarianism, I had a much deeper
emotional connection with our religious
faith. After that pilgrimage I can say more firmly than ever that there
is no need to apologize for our religion. We are part of a faith that is
equal to any other in intellectual depth, spiritual understanding and
courageous history. Feeling more deeply our religious roots, I am
more proud than ever to serve as a Unitarian Universalist minister,
and I hope you feel the same pride as members of this great congregation here on Cedar Lane.
Last modified: Fri Sep 25 16:15:14 EDT 1998
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