Rev. Joseph Boyd
When Jennifer and I were visiting Transylvania a few summers ago, we went to this remote village out in the countryside on Sunday morning to join them for worship. Driving in the countryside of Transylvania, nearly all of the villages in the vicinity were Hungarian speaking Unitarian people, and the view was striking: on top of a hill you could see one white steeple in every village, one church in every village, and that one church was Unitarian. When discussing with our local guide, they would often refer to them as “Unitarian villages,” and they were – churches that had survived during communism, and then lived into a world when Western Europe opened up its borders, and many of the youth left these farm villages seeking economic opportunities in the capitalist market place. So Jennifer and I drove out to one of these villages in the Homerod Valley in our small rental car. The streets were unmarked and made out of mud: we went past the point of pavement that eventually became gravel and then just mud. It was the summertime so fortunately we didn’t get stuck. Church is very traditional in Transylvania, so I made sure to wear my suit, and when we arrived at the village I rolled my suit pant legs up, so they wouldn’t get covered in mud. I felt kind of silly and I asked an older woman using a Hungarian translation book if the church was open yet. We arrived about 15 mins before service started, later than I anticipated arriving. She said something I didn’t understand and couldn’t translate in Hungarian, and she didn’t speak any English, and so we simply walked on the mud road to the only white steepled church in the village. I tried to open the door, thinking there surely must be people inside by now, and it was locked. I then saw a man in a suit walking down the same mud road carrying a Bible under his arm. I walked up to meet him, and he greeted me in English: hello. I said “Hello, I’m American, and I’m visiting.” He said “I know.” I asked what he was preaching on as we walked, and he said he was preaching about the Apostle Paul under house arrest. I replied: “Great!”

This was the first time I saw him smile, and he mirrored back in a good natured but slightly mocking way: “Great!” When we spoke hours later, he told me he knew I was American right away from a distance. He must have seen me try to get into the locked church. He said “Your energy is unmistakably American.”

When he opened up the church there was nobody there. I knew service was going to begin in about 10 minutes, and I was wondering where everybody was. It was dark inside, but beautiful, and on the wall to the right was a Hungarian flag hanging, a notable sign since Transylvania is actually now Romania not Hungary. Laoge, the minister, told me that the flag was from the Communist era. Laoge went in the back and put on his black robe and stole, something that we had in common, a shared heritage to Protestantism in the 16th Century during the Reformation when one Catholic Priest, Francis David, said he believed that we all worshipped One God, and thus started the Unitarian movement that would eventually travel West to England, and then to and throughout the United States influencing the founders of this country and many across every stratosphere of class and society.

In fact a Unitarian quote is on a rug in the Oval Office, a quote by a Unitarian minister Theodore Parker that was lifted to new heights of depth and dignity by Dr. King: “the moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” I thought about this while I was sitting in a still empty church seeing Laoje with no pretense but great respect don the robe and put his Bible in the pulpit before he sat down next to it. 5-6 elderly people from the village came in and sat quietly in a pew. Laoje led the entire service in Hungarian, and Jennifer and I stayed in the pew while he greeted the parishioners afterward, shaking their hands as they left. Then he sat down next to us, and I said “I wasn’t sure if many Americans had come all the way to his village.” He said: “They all come here.” He went on to say that the last two presidents of the Unitarian Universalist Association traveled up this muddy road, as well as visitors like myself. I was intrigued. I said I personally knew one of those presidents, Bill Sinkford who was my minister in Portland, Oregon. He said “Oh yes, Bill sat over there, and pointed to a pew.” Laoje invited us to his home, and introduced us to his wife Katerina. She was really pleased to see us, and immediately greeted us in English: Come, we’re going to have lunch soon, sit down. I assumed living in a country village with less than 50 Hungarian families far away from any major Romanian city, they wouldn’t know much English. I was wrong. Katerina and Laoge both studied in Berkeley, California, and Katerina explained how she reads in English voraciously, having Amazon book deliveries constantly being brought to their home. I was imagining delivery trucks being stuck in the mud, as she spoke. Laoge said that while in Berkeley he was asked to become minister of a Hungarian speaking congregation there, but felt a calling to come back to a village near where he grew up, and try to preserve Unitarianism in this region the best he could. He said the youth want to go where the money is understandably, and when they get the opportunity they leave this place. I told him I thought it was beautiful – it looked like I could be living in the 16th century with horses, sheep, mud roads. It was peaceful and green, and there was no industry, and you heard nothing electronic, no street lights, nothing. He invited me to climb into one of the lookout towers overlooking for miles the various Unitarian villages in the area. He asked me if I’d like to do that. I said excitedly “Sure!” Again in a kind, smiling way, he mirrored back “Sure!.” Jennifer added an “Oh boy!,” laughed, and said yes, he’s very American.

Why am I telling you this story? I’ve told parts of this story when I returned from Transylvania, but this year during the pandemic I’ve thought fondly of both Katerina and Laoge. I imagine every president from our American denomination traveling up an unmarked mud road to a single church wanting to see a worship service. I think of Amazon trucks delivering endless books in English to Katerina. And it makes me think of beloved community. I think our new national anthem should be about the sentiment: “my bones are your bones and your bones are my bones, and isn’t that enough?”  I think of Laoge who maybe thought he was preaching to seven people, including Jennifer and myself. But since then I’ve shared this story with you, and he and Katerina have shared their story with countless others through the individuals who traveled there and shared their experiences with countless others. The world came to Katerina and Laoge, and this morning Katerina and Laoge are here with us, through story.

Beloved community is about coming into contact with ourselves in a deep and profound way, and offering a bridge to another world, that is actually just this one world. There is a partner church program, where Unitarian and Unitarian Univeralist Churches across the world: In India, in the Philippines, in Hungary and Transylvania, churches and schools all across the world want to engage with a church like ours in the United States. I think building global partnerships is a part of our commitment to a beloved community. Especially given the technology, these kinds of relationships have never been more accessible. Finding ways to learn and grow together, to practice a different language, learn a different culture, learn other interpretations of our faith tradition, and come to a deeper understanding of our own context and expression. This has been on my mind and heart this past week, as we consider all those that make our life what it is, and help us realize and become more whole. Katerina and Laoge, as well as others who Jennifer and I met have had a great impact on my understanding as an American and as an American Unitarian Universalist with a history that goes far deeper than this context. What do you think about becoming a partner church with a church or school beyond the borders of North America? Would you want to be part of that? Would you want to build relationships across the globe with those who value freedom, reason, and tolerance? It’s a honest question: I would really like to know. Because we can. I looked at the partnership website, and there are churches and schools right now in India, the Philippines, Transylvania and Hungary seeking a US partner to engage and get to know. We could really do this if there’s interest. I’ve learned that the terms local and global are not as binding as we think, especially now during the pandemic. We are all part of a beloved community together, no matter where we live, if only we can realize it.