SERMON: "Living As Love Demands: What David Ferencz Said"
Rev. Paul Beedle
November 11, 2007
When we recall the story of how Unitarianism began, we always tell the story of the Edict of Torda. In that city on January 13, 1568, the parliament of the independent kingdom of Transylvania adopted the first law – anywhere in the world that we know of – declaring religious tolerance and freedom of conscience. David Ferencz – born Catholic, past superintendent of first the Lutheran churches and then the Reformed churches in Transylvania, and now founder of a new faith which was being called simply “the religion of David Ferencz” – persuaded the king and parliament to pass this law.
David embodied the open and tolerant spirit of Transylvania, where “there were many debates among the different theologians, [and] no force was ever used as a tool in these debates.” [1] His philosophy was, “If they offer something better, I will gladly learn.” [2] And he sure lived it! We often quote his remark: “You need not think alike to love alike.” Sometimes we remember his words about conscience: “The most important spiritual function is conscience, the source of all spiritual joy and happiness. Conscience will not be quieted by anything less than truth and justice.” Occasionally we wrestle with what he meant when he said, “Sanctified reason is the lantern of faith.” What sanctifies reason? Most often our answer is that testing it in mature dialogue in a faith community is what sanctifies it.
David also said, “Religious reform can never be all at once, but gradually, step by step.” But how can you do that if conscience cannot be quieted? If, as David said: “We must accept God's truth in this lifetime. Salvation must be accomplished here on earth.” — how can religious reform proceed only gradually, step by step? The community may be able to hold that tension with a measure of peace, but that is much harder for an individual with an unquiet conscience. And therein lies the story of David Ferencz we don't often tell: how he came to die in prison.
Sitting beside King John Sigismund in the famous portrait of the Edict of Torda is a young man who looks like a teenager, but who would have been about 35 years old at the time. He is Steven Bathory, who would succeed John Sigismund to the throne in just three years. John Sigismund's last official act was to recognize Unitarianism as one of the four “received religions” of Transylvania, giving it equal legal status with Catholicism, Lutheranism and Calvinism. The next day he was injured in a carriage accident, and died two months later at the age of 30. Steven Bathory, eager to keep peace in the country, affirmed the status of Unitarianism and the policy of religious tolerance.
King Steven had ambitions beyond Transylvania. He married a princess of Poland, and five years after ascending Transylvania's throne he became the elected King of Poland. Poland, like Germany, was then ruled by a parliament of princes who each was sovereign over some part of Poland's territory. The princes elected a king to lead their parliament, but retained a measure of independence within their territories. That's why the liberal religious community could thrive in Rakow. The town of Rakow was built by one of the princes as a safe haven for members of the Minor Reformed Church in Poland – liberals who broke away from Poland's Calvinist movement, the Major Reformed Church. The Rakow community was the other Unitarian group established during the Reformation. The brilliant theologian, Faustus Socinus, came to live with them and influenced their dialogue and publications, and consequently they became known as “Socinians.” But for the protection of their prince, they would have been in great danger of violent persecution. They just questioned too many things. They did not take religious reform gradually, step by step.
During King Steven's reign, they were in contact and in dialogue with the Unitarians in Transylvania. King Steven, possibly influenced by attitudes in Poland, wanted no more religious innovation among the Transylvanian Unitarians – he was eager as ever to keep the peace. But David Ferencz's conscience was unquiet. It was the custom to pray “in Jesus's name” and even to address prayers to “Christ.” He was having trouble doing this in good conscience when leading worship. He stopped doing it. He preached about why he stopped doing it:
“The strict command of God is that no one is to be invoked save God the Father, Creator of heaven and earth; Christ, the teacher of truth, taught that no one is to be invoked beside the heavenly Father; true invocation is defined as that which is paid to the Father in spirit and in truth; the forms of simple prayer are directed not to Christ but to the Father.” [3]
This was innovation, just the thing King Steven didn't want.
It could be argued that it was only a small step, that David was taking religious reform gradually, step by step. But that's not how it felt to the king, and probably that's not how it felt to Transylvania's Catholics, Lutherans and Calvinists. They were just getting used to the fact that a new “received religion” had been recognized by one king and confirmed by another – and that a Catholic king had confirmed a Unitarian king's decrees. So for this new “received religion” to start changing – for a lot of people, that must have been just too much! This religion of David Ferencz had to be something, it couldn't just be anything it wanted to be, changing from one day to the next! What might have felt step-by-step to David as an individual felt much too fast to the people of Transylvania as a group.
Other Unitarians understood that. Standing behind King John Sigismund in the painting is his court physician, Georgio Biandrata, who was also a leader in the Unitarian movement. Biandrata tried to slow David down. He promoted the idea that more dialogue was needed, more time for Unitarians, much less their neighbors of other faiths, to absorb what David was saying before any changes in official Unitarian practice were made. Otherwise King Steven might change his mind about recognizing Unitarianism, and the whole movement might be in danger of violent persecution as the Minor Reformed Church was in Poland. In fact, Biandrata invited the great theologian of Rakow, Faustus Socinus, to come and help facilitate such dialogue.
Socinus came and stayed – as a paying guest – in David's home. For more than four months they discussed David's ideas. David set forth his ideas. Socinus refuted them. David refuted Socinus's reply. Socinus refuted that. And so on. They did all this in writing, so that each had time to reflect and consider the other's ideas. Finally, at an impasse, they decided to send all that they had written in this dialogue to the community at Rakow for their opinion. After that, they would call a general synod of Unitarians to make a final decision on the matter of praying in Jesus's name.
David's conscience was still unquiet, however. He called a synod on his own, before their writings were ever sent to Rakow. His synod declared that “to refine existing doctrines in order to free them of superstition and error did not constitute innovation.” [4] This made Georgio Biandrata angry. He knew that King Steven was likely to have his own ideas about what constituted innovation and that he had the power to enforce his definition over that of the synod. And besides, David had agreed to hear from the Rakow community and to have the synod after that. Biandrata had worked hard to create a framework in which religious reform could proceed gradually, step by step, at a pace the king and people could absorb. And there goes David, half-cocked and not honoring his agreements with others – not really respecting anybody. It broke their friendship of many, many years.
David went on to preach a sermon about how praying to Christ was no better than the Catholics worshipping Mary and the saints. Catholics may honor Mary and the saints, but they would not say that they worship them. Now David was being unkind to his neighbors from the pulpit. King Steven put him on trial. He had to travel three days from his home in Kolozsvar to the town where the trial was to be held. He became ill on the journey, but was well enough to appear and speak in his own defense. He said that he held his views about praying to Christ before the edict of tolerance was passed, and claimed that Biandrata and other Unitarians also held his view. He was taken out of the room, and Biandrata and the other Unitarians truthfully denied that they held such views. The trial was speedy. David was sentenced to life in prison, and locked up in a dungeon in the castle at Deva, where he died a few months later.
Biandrata and the others went on to build and preserve Unitarian institutions. David became a hero and a legend. The story of the Edict of Torda was told often; the story of David's trial came to be told as his betrayal by Biandrata. Which, after all Biandrata did to keep the Unitarian community safe both before and after David's death, is just mean.
So what can this story teach us? That how we move through change together affects how we tell our communal stories and which stories we prefer to tell. It affects what we remember. It can affect our understanding of the values that are supposed to unite us.
David was way ahead of most Unitarians in his thinking through of the affirmations they shared. His conscience was unquiet, and his passion was great and heartfelt. Biandrata and others in the movement weren't as sure of David's conclusions. They had attachments to old and comforting formulas of worship, and they had earnest and realistic fears of violent persecution if they adopted ideas and practices that offended their neighbors. Under King John Sigismund they had been as protected as Rakow under its prince. They were free to worship in peace and to develop their religious ideas. Under King Steven, it was not the same. Their position was not as secure. They needed to be careful.
The core liberal religious values of tolerance and dialogue are related: tolerance depends upon dialogue. Through dialogue, we reach that better, deeper part of ourselves that makes room for difference and finds love for our neighbors. Because in dialogue we make safe space to struggle peacefully with our differences, as Transylvanians did when first Lutherans and then Calvinists and then Unitarians appeared among them. And after we struggle, after we reflect, after we formulate our considered thoughts, we arrive at a place where rich conversation can happen.
One of the hardest differences we can struggle with is when we feel differently. Yes, we can take responsibility for how we feel and make good choices about how we express them in our words and in our behavior, but we can't help how we feel. That's what makes it hard. And change makes us feel all sorts of things, not least of all we feel afraid. And when we feel that something important is at stake – peace with our neighbors, our physical security, our assets – we feel more intensely and that makes it all the harder to make good choices about what to do with how we feel.
May we move through the changes in our lives – in our families and in our faith community and in society – with sensitivity to others' feelings about those changes. Some of us are more ready to move on than others. May we remember that, and stay in dialogue about it. Because that's what love demands. May we face into the storm together, so that we remain together when the storm has passed. So may it be. Amen.
[1] David Gyero, “The Edict of Torda: The Painting and the Story” (2002)
[2] This and the following quotations in this and the next paragraph are in Singing the Living Tradition, #566.
[3] Charles A. Howe, For Faith and Freedom, p. 104.
[4] ibid., p. 105.