Sermon: “Where Is Our Holy Church”
A Sermon by Charles Blustein Ortman, October 26, 2003
This morning, as we welcome new members into our fellowship, it’s good to recognize that, as in all life, the issues and energies in congregational life never stand still. We are continually defining and redefining ourselves. What is the most appropriate answer to the concerns at one moment in time may not be so pertinent in the very next. That’s one of the reasons why I love church work so much – it requires a constant adaptation and freshness in order to provide leader-ship for a community dedicated to meaningful religious life. The dedication is constant; the dynamics are ever changing.
One of my favorite stories in Unitarian history is one that I often go back to when I’m trying to figure out how to best understand the balance between the consistency of that vision and the variability of the dynamics. The story is told by the preeminent Unitarian historian, Earl Morse Wilbur in his voluminous, History of Unitarianism. Set in Transylvania in the 16th Century, the story identifies an integral quality of our ongoing Unitarian Universalist character as it was evi-denced in that very early day of our past.
Just prior to the development of Unitarianism in Transylvania, there was in Poland an enclave of Socinians, followers of Faustus Socinius, who were uni-tarian (anti-Trinitarian) in theology but not in name. The Socinians, once a pow-erful and influential force on the religious and social landscape in Poland, fell into the disfavor of the Polish throne and their community was literally decimated. The men were executed and the women and children were sent into exile. A gifted Italian physician who was also a staunch unitarian, Socinian, Giorgio Bian-drata, had been part of that Racovian enclave, had escaped the onslaught with his life. He wandered east into Transylvania where he was taken into the employ-ment of Queen Isabella to serve as physician to the royal family.
At the time, Transylvania was a boarder state between the Ottomans and the Romans. National loyalties swung back and forth between those two empires, and the pressures for her allegiance were great. Biandrata’s service was to Queen Isabella, who had been held up on the throne by the Ottoman Sultan. Her reign was that of caretaker until her son, John Sigismund would be old enough to rule.
Sigismund and Isabella had been greatly swayed by Biandrata’s anti-Trinitarian teachings. So had Francis Dávid, the leading preacher in the capitol of Kolozvár. Together they created the foundations of the Unitarian Church for all of Transylvania. Some of the local princes who were loyal to Rome challenged this new religion. A Diet was convened where a great debate took place. Repre-sentatives of the Catholic, Calvinist and Lutheran Churches participated against Dávid, but they were no match for the leading scholar. In a subsequent Edict of Toleration, John Sigismund declared all four faith traditions to be valid and to have equal protection of the crown.
Unfortunately, Sigismund died a few short years later, at a very early age. He was replaced by a Catholic cousin, Stephen Báthory, whose loyalty was to the Romans in the west. Stephen did everything within his power to rescind the Edict of Toleration. Failing that, he modified the edict to limit the theologies of the four accepted religions to what they had declared at the time of the edict. Nothing new could be added to the written or the spoken word. This had little impact on the other three, but to the newly emerging Unitarian theology it was perceived as a death threat. For Unitarianism to grow, so must its belief systems. This sets the stage for the point of this story.
Francis Dávid was the ultimate theologian of the new faith community. There were now Unitarian churches throughout Transylvania and Dávid was their recognized leader. He was determined that the new religion would not be reduced by the political interference of the new king. Freedom of conscience was an ideal of the highest order, and his would not be compromised. Neither would his preaching.
Giorgio Biandrata’s commitment and devotion to Unitarianism was no less. But Biandrata had lived through some very dark days in Poland. He knew that it was possible for this new religion to be completely wiped out. He pleaded with Dávid to bide his time, to work with what he already had, and not to risk fur-ther interference from the throne by violating the new conditions of the edict. He felt that in time the situation would ease, and then, when it was safe, Unitarianism could move forward into its fullest potential. He was afraid that Dávid would in-advertently cause the ruin of the fledgling religion that they had both worked so hard to spawn.
When Dávid refused to yield, it was Biandrata himself who reported Dávid to King Stephen. Dávid was charged with heresy. He was imprisoned where he died of pneumonia some months later.
Ever since that time at the very beginnings of our religious tradition, there has continued to be a tension within Unitarianism that remains at the core of our Unitarian Universalist moral fiber to this day. That tension exists between the rights and the needs of the individual on one hand, and the common good of the institution on the other. Though the story that introduces these dynamics into our history is indeed a sad one, the dynamics themselves generate a very creative ten-sion. The religious process, at its best, whether it be liberal or any other religion, is always a dance of balance between the one and the many.
The spiritual quest is always an effort on the part of individuals to dis-cover who they are in relationship with whom and what is around them and with All That Is. Religion is the institutional, community setting where we bring our individual spiritual quests in order to pursue them in cooperation with and in the company of kindred spirits.
Indeed, in our new member welcoming we say, “We ask that you care, both for your fellow church members and for this institution that embodies the liberal religious principles that we enjoy.” What does that mean?
Individuals require room to grow. Institutions protect and nurture that space, but at a very real cost to the individual. Voluntary membership to any or-ganization or institution requires a willing sacrifice of resources including free-dom. Hopefully, the sacrifice that is made is then redeemed by the synergy gen-erated from the cooperative effort of the many in the promotion of the greater common good.
The outcome of the tension need not be death, as it was for Francis Dávid. Instead, it can be quite the opposite. It can be life giving by providing the founda-tion for a creative community that is cooperative in promoting both the whole group, as well as the individual. Such interdependence is a very delicate dance, a delicate balance. It is up to us as Unitarian Universalists to hold up both sides, to take the part of both Dávid and Biandrata.
As we come to consider the question “where is our holy church,” let me place the dynamics of that delicate balance within a more contemporary context, as seen through comments made by A. Powell Davies and Mark Morrison Reed. A. Powell Davies was a Unitarian minister who died in 1957. He served other congregations as well but was most known for his time at All Souls Unitarian Church in Washington, D.C. For decades he provided a powerful liberal reli-gious voice by combining a passion for civil rights with a deep concern for both spiritual and worldly issues. Mark Morrison-Reed. Mark is one of our very few African-American clergymen. He is co-minister of the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Toronto.
Davies said, “Let me tell you why I come to church. I come to church be-cause I fall below own standards and need to be constantly brought back to them . . . I must have my conscience sharpened [and] I must feel again the love I owe to others . . . not only hear about it but feel it.” In a sense he was saying, I come to church in order to reckon – in the context of the sacred and of the sacred commu-nity – I come to church in order to reckon with me, so that I might be capable of being the best me that I can become.
Several decades later Mark Morrison Reed responds to that same inclina-tion towards being made more whole by citing the purpose of the church as pro-viding a means of gaining a sense of personal wholeness by connecting that per-sonal spiritual goal to the more global moral goal of promoting the common good. “The central task of the religious community is to unveil the bonds that bind each to all. There is a connectedness, a relationship discovered amid the particulars of our own lives and the lives of others. Once felt, it inspires us to act for justice.”
We come to explore our deepest depths and our highest aspirations. We come to take stock of our shortcomings, to seek forgiveness and to learn to offer it. We come to find hope, to build faith, and to experience love. We come to seek communion with one another and with that which we find most holy. We come to find meaning in our lives so that when it comes time for us to die, we might take that step with confidence for having found a great deal of meaning in our lives.
And in all the exploration and in all the experiences we come to find relig-ion – a word that comes from Latin roots meaning to bind, to hold together. We come to find our religion and the task of the religious community is unveiled to us as those bonds that bind each to all. And what begins as exploration and experi-ence leads to the expression of the love and compassion that we find and create within our community of seekers. And… “together our vision widens and our strength is renewed.”
As members of this community we accept certain responsibilities, like Francis Dávid, we are each responsible for exercising our freedom of conscience; each accountable for tending to our personal spiritual health, for determining our beliefs and for living up to them.
And like Georgio Biandrata, we each share the onus of promoting and pro-tecting the integrity of the whole community, for determining our shared aspira-tions, and for being together in right relationship as we strive to fulfill those hopes. Like it did for Biandrata, membership in this community comes with a commitment to participate in the creation, the support, and the nurturing of this religious environment, this institution.
Where is our holy church? From an inside view this is where it is in the dynamic flow of inner and outer religious life. It is in the balance between the one and the many. It is in each of us and in all of us.
But of course it can’t stop there. If it did it would go no further than the walls of our building. Just as we cannot come into a religious community and somehow remain in isolation, so too our congregation is part of a larger commu-nity. And that community is ever expanding into yet larger communities until ul-timately we are part of an expanding world with compound and complex needs. And those needs are really quite closely related to the urges that brought all of us here in the first place. So when we look to see where our holy church is, we can see it in a never ending relationship with a world that needs for us – and for Uni-tarian Universalism – to be in it.
How can what we do here make us responsible for the well-being of the world? The Dalai Lama put it this way:
“Responsibility . . . lies with each of us individually. Peace, for example, starts within each one of us. When we have inner peace, we can be at peace we those around us. When our community is in a state of peace, it can share that peace with neighboring communities, and so on. When we feel love and kindness towards others, it not only makes others feel loved and cared for, but it helps us also to develop inner happiness and peace. And there are ways in which we can consciously work to develop feelings of love and kindness.”
It is to find and strengthen those ways of working with ourselves and each other that we come together in religious community.
This morning as we welcome new members into our community, we might all do well to ask, where is our holy church? And then we might do well to answer that our church is where ever we take it, whether deep within or expanded to the furthest limits we might imagine. And we might do well to remember our history so that we don’t have to repeat its mistakes. And so that we might be sure to carry its lessons forward, keeping the balance between the two – between the needs of the one and the needs of the many – as a fluid balance in a well partnered dance.
How do we respond, if indeed we find such an answer to the question, where is our holy church? How do we care for this institution that we are a part of, that is a part of us, and that is one of our chief means of making a difference in our lives and even in the world?
In responding to that challenge I offer these thoughts by a man named Percy Hayward who was a member of our Community Church in New York City. Mr. Hayward expresses rather strong feelings about the relationship of a church community with its members in these words that were published 48 years ago on October 25, 1955 in the Community Church News Letter:
“I am your church. Make of me what you will. I shall re-flect you as clearly as a mirror. If outwardly my appearance is pleasing and inviting, it is because you have made me so. If, within, my spiritual atmosphere is kindly, yet earnest; reverent, yet friendly; worshipful, yet sincere; sympathetic, yet strong; divine, yet humanly expressed, it is but the manifestation of the spirit of those who constitute my membership. But, if you should, by chance, find me a bit cold or dull, I beg of you not to condemn me; for I show forth only the kind of life I receive from you. I have no life or spirit apart from you. Of this you may always be assured. I will respond instantly to your every wish practically expressed, for I am the reflected image of your own soul. I am your church.”
Where is our holy church? It is in our hearts and our minds. It is in our hands and our actions. It is in our very souls and it is in our great and wonderful world. And it will be what we make of it.
|
