The Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Salem, Oregon

Publications

Memories of Simenfalva

by Rev. Richard R. Davis

Sermon to UUCS 11/5/06

It’s Sunday Morning, June 11, 2006, and the Reverend Szen Sandor, minister of the Unitarian Church of Simenfalva in the Transylvanian region of Romania, and I are walking over unpaved streets through this small rural village – we’re on our way to church for Sunday morning worship. A few members from that congregation and the other members from this congregation – Don Cleveland, Leroy Kline, Brian and Annie Reeder, join us as we approach the river that flooded and caused so much damage in Aug. 2005. Buildings that survived the flood have water marks 4-6 ft. high. After crossing the bridge, we begin climbing the gently sloping path on the edge of town that leads to the 400 year old church, one of about 130 such old Unitarian churches in this region, most of which trace their history back to the late 16th Century (1500’s) 

The church bell is ringing, calling the faithful to worship, as it has every Sunday for hundreds of years. We enter through the gate to the church courtyard and pause at the entry way to the church, and Sandor hands me a long black robe, identical to the one he begins to don. All Transylvanian Unitarian clergy wear these robes during services, and I can’t help but note how much it’s like the robe worn by the mythical Count Dracula. (In fact, the ruler who came to be called “Vlad the Impaler,” who was the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula, was born just a few miles away.) In the short time we had been together I had really come to like Sandor – it seems that a firm foundation for a lasting friendship is quickly being laid. Sandor is a tall, strong man, full of life – he often laughs, gestures dramatically with his hands when he speaks; he has a very expressive face and more importantly, a good heart. 

We confer a moment about the service before entering the church. My role is to deliver the sermon, and Sandor will conduct the rest of the service, which always follows the same format. There is no written order of service – it is written in the hearts and minds of the members. Any change in this order would have to be approved by a Unitarian Bishop, and no one seems to desire any change. The only thing that has changed recently is that every Sunday there is a candle burning in the center of the sanctuary in recognition of the friendship they have with us here in Salem, Oregon, USA. 

We enter this ancient village church which, like many Unitarian Churches in the region, probably pre-dates the beginnings of Unitarianism in this land over four centuries ago. Many of these old churches were originally Catholic. They became Unitarian after King John Sigismund converted to Unitarianism in 1568 and much of the population followed suit (but not because they had to do so – King John was a great, liberal soul who decreed that there was to be freedom of conscience and religion in his realm and that people were free to choose the faith that satisfied their hearts and souls.) 

The interior layout is the same as the majority of Unitarian churches in the region. There are pews on both ends of the rectangular floor space which face toward the middle; there are balconies on both far ends with an organ on one end and extra seating on the other. The pulpit is in the very middle, built into the side of the wall about six feet high and has a large, ornate crown which hangs above the preacher’s head. 

As we enter all the women go to one side and all the men go to the other, and the separate sexes sit, facing one another. (I should add that women serve in positions of leadership and some are beginning to enter the ministry. This is a traditional society and the modern winds of change are just beginning to blow here.) 

The service begins with a hymn which everyone, except the five American visitors from our congregation, knows by heart. I look over at Szofie, Sandor’s beautiful 10 year old daughter. Her usually bright countenance becomes dramatically transformed as she begins singing - she looks as solemn and serious as the older people around her - they are all wearing the same utterly somber expressions and singing in the same plaintive manner as I imagine their parents, grandparents, great grandparents and all their forebears did in days long gone by. I don’t understand the Hungarian words they sing but still, I know it is variations on universal themes – remembrance of ancient stories of hope, faith in the undying goodness at the heart of life, the courage and fortitude it takes to bear the trials and tribulations of life. 
Their grave expressions make me realize that they and their forebears have been through harsh ordeals and are mostly accustomed to be singing from a context of sorrow and suffering and uncertainty. 

It was not so many years ago that the Totalitarian Communist Ceaucescu regime was on the verge of razing this village and sending everyone to live in concrete block apartment units in a program of forced collectivization. How threatened they must have felt at that time. During our visit we went to a lake where a Unitarian village had been flooded by that regime. We could see the steeple of the church above the water. Fortunately that oppressive regime fell before too many villages were destroyed. 

And it was not so many years before that when the Romanian Secret Police came in the dead of night and arrested their minister, the Rev. Imre Gellerd, as “an enemy of the state.” Strong currents of shock and horror, fear and suspicion ran through the village long afterwards. Rev. Gellerd nearly died during his many years in prison, and he never returned to Simenfalva. Eventually, trapped in a mood of profound despair that grew out of his sufferings, he committed suicide.

And it was not so many years before this that the Nazis ruled over the land and took all the Jews away, never to return. These minority Unitarians must have wondered if they might be next. 

Not so many years before this, right after World War I, these Transylvanian Unitarians (ethnic Hungarians) learned that due to a peace treaty, their home land was now part of Romania, not Hungary. They were stunned and dismayed, cut off from their larger homeland.

Which is not to say that life was easy in earlier times. During the long years that their land was ruled by the Catholic Austro-Hungarian Empire, these Unitarians suffered a great deal of oppression because of their unorthodox theology--they believed that Jesus was a great teacher and prophet, but not the virtual incarnation of God in human flesh as did the majority Trinitarian Christians. All the Unitarian churches in the big cities were confiscated by the Catholics and all that remained was the Unitarian Churches in the smaller towns and villages. 
Indeed, during their four plus centuries of existence, these Unitarians had known official favor for only a few brief years during the reign of the Unitarian King, John Sigismund. Other than that, the best these Transylvanian Unitarians knew was a begrudging toleration. They were allowed to exist, but not to change theologically or to preach their purportedly heretical Unitarian views to others. Actually, it’s remarkable that they were even tolerated and more remarkable that they did not die and cease to exist altogether. The only way they could keep the faith was to stay the same and keep a low profile. They have been forged in the crucible of hardship and oppression. This must be why they appear so grave and solemn as they sing on this beautiful June morning.

After the hymn, Sandor stands in the lofty pulpit and prays. His words flow freely. I can tell that he is eloquent and sincere. He gazes heavenward as he speaks from the heart - many words which I do not understand in my mind, but in deeper ways I do understand. 

After another solemn hymn it is time for me to preach, and I climb the spiral staircase to the pulpit. As far as I know, I’m the first American Unitarian Universalist minister to speak from the pulpit in this ancient church. I convey warm greetings from this congregation and speak of the value of our friendship. I must pause after each thought to allow time for our translator and tour guide, Magda, to translate my words. Magda and her sister Csilla, are the daughters of a well respected, now retired Transylvanian Unitarian minister, so she is well qualified to translate my remarks. 

I tell my listeners what a special moment this is for me, how I have known about their ancient Unitarian tradition by virtue of my studies, but now I am experiencing this living tradition first hand. Since no one except my American travel partners and Sandor and the translator can understand my remarks in English I heighten my sense of dramatic gestures and vocal dynamics to communicate my strong, deep feelings. 

For centuries these good people and their forebears faithfully defended the theological ground that is the foundation of our liberal faith – they embraced a theology that got many imprisoned, exiled and burned at the stake – it is a humane theology that is grounded in freedom and reason and tolerance, not dogma imposed from on high by church authorities that people are told they must accept on faith. And I tell them that they have much to teach us – about forbearance, patience, persistence, how to inculcate faithfulness to one’s spiritual tradition from generation to generation. 

Yet I also tell them that we might have something to teach them about being flexible and creative in response to the changing cultural and religious landscape of the world. So let us build and strengthen this friendship, I tell them. None of us knows how long we might have this rare, unprecedented opportunity. For the first time in our long history we have the opportunity to make this connection, to build our friendship and enrich one another.

After my remarks, Brian Reeder presents a financial gift to the Simenfalva Unitarian Church and their treasurer gratefully receives it. The help we have provided over the past decade or so has been helpful and has made them aware that they are not alone, that someone in the wider world cares. 

After the service I stand at the door way with Sandor and shake everyone’s hands, exchanging the traditional greeting “Isten Aldjo” – “God Bless You.” I see the weathered, wizened faces of people who have often faced harsh elements and hard times – people whose culture and language and history is different than mine. Yet we are both Unitarians, and deeper than that, we share a common humanity, and I sense a deep recognition and connection as I shake their hands. Yes, Isten Aldjo Meg, I think – “God Bless You.” 

I try to imagine what our visit means to these people in this beautiful remote village with uniform red tile roofs in the Transylvanian region of Romania - this village with unpaved roads, where every house has a beautiful carved “Szeky” gate topped with a dove’s house at the entrance, where cows wander out to pasture in the morning and back again to the village at night, where they grow much of their own food and distill their own brandy and raise their own pigs and chickens, where the men expertly wield their scythes to cut the hay and the women weave and embroider just like their mothers and grandmothers and great grandmothers. It’s hard for me to realize what our visit and our friendship means, but I believe it means a lot. During my visit I begin to discover how much it means to me.

During this time Sandor and I are fast becoming good friends, and I hope we have many more opportunities to see one another – I really miss seeing him. Not to mention his wonderful family that has warmly accepted me into their home, wife, Csilla, 12 year old son Sandor and daughter Szofie and 7 month old Andrus. “You’re not a guest. You’re a member of the family,” they tell me. Each of us visiting from Salem has stayed with a different family, and each one has formed a special connection with their host. 

How interesting it has been to follow Sandor around and witness some of the ways he ministers in his country – troubleshooting, teaching, organizing, inspiring, admonishing and caring for others. Practically everyone on the village of almost 1,000 people is Unitarian so his work is never done. Yet he takes it all in joyful stride. 

Before long, our visit is drawing to an end. On our last evening our hosts cook a large pot of spicy goulash over a fire outside the parish house, and they bring loaves of their home baked bread to share. Our glasses are filled with the home brewed brandy – Palinka – which goes down like liquid fire – and then we are offered red Hungarian wine. We toast our friendship. For dessert they surprise me with a birthday cake (my birthday had been a couple of days earlier) and sing the traditional birthday song on English. 

After dinner Sandor announces that they want to sing a special song – it’s an old Szeckler hymn about keeping the faith and surviving during hard times. They were not allowed to sing this song during the communist era, but they kept the song alive in their hearts, and they all know it by memory and they sing it full volume with great passion in the small parish hall. It has deep meaning for them, and they want to share that with us.

In response I walk over to get a copy of our hymnal which Sandor has, and I tell them that I want to sing a song for them – the first hymn we ever sang in this sanctuary – “May Nothing Evil Cross this Door.” I have trouble singing because I am overcome with deep emotion. Something meaningful is happening, jumping right over the language and cultural barriers. Through this ritual of singing we begin to realize that an emotional bond has formed between us. I don’t know what I expected out of this trip, but I did not expect to experience such deep feelings of fondness and affection. 

The next day the van comes to pick us up. Our hosts gather to say goodbye to us. Each of us has lived with a different family and formed our own attachments – deeper than I think any of us has realized. Tears roll down cheeks, theirs and ours. Saying goodbye like this is very poignant because such a great distance separates us and we don’t know when we will see one another again. Will we return again? I hope so. Will some of you choose to make this special journey for yourselves? I hope so.

The centuries old Unitarian Church of Simenfalva has one Partner Church in this world, one friend in the outside world, and that is us. There is much good that we can do for them if we want to do so, things that no one else will do – we can provide modest high school scholarships for their children who cannot otherwise afford higher education. We can help renovate the century old parsonage where the floors are sagging. We can help them build a fellowship hall where they can gather to socialize and where guests could sleep when we visit. All these things cost a small fraction of what they would here. Yes, if we take this partnership seriously, there is much good that we can do, and there is much good that can happen for us in the process and much good that will help preserve our liberal, life affirming religious tradition, both here and abroad.