The very bedrock of our Unitarian tradition is the free practice of religion, first articulated in the Edict of Torda in 1568. If people ask you when Unitarianism started, that is as close to a solid inception date as can be offered. It was a doctrine of radical tolerance of religious diversity, and a bold way forward in the context of the blood-soaked Reformation. Here's the crucial bit of that edict:
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| Tweet-able form" We need not think alike to love alike.: |
"...in every place the preachers shall
preach the Gospel according to his understanding of it, and if the congregation
like it, well. If not, no one shall
compel them for their souls would not be satisfied, but they shall be permitted
to keep a preacher whose teaching they approve. Therefore none of the
superintendents or others shall abuse the preachers, and no one shall be
reviled for his religion by anyone..."
And so from that time, "freedom of the
pulpit" and its corollary, "freedom of the pew", have been among
the most hallowed traditions of our faith. In our tradition, no one is compelled to
preach any particular doctrine, nor is anyone compelled to accept what is
preached. What prompted this radical
commitment to freedom was nothing less than a maelstrom of factionalism and the
blood of countless martyrs.
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| There are many ways of roasting someone alive. This is the old-school method. |
Five hundred years later, this Unitarian's
admittedly limited experience of our congregations here and abroad, as well as
the history of our movement, suggests that this deep foundation of freedom is little
spoken of, and thus is poorly understood. And that's probably because, like
most deep assumptions, we haven't looked closely at it for a long while. We should. We should look at this, to better understand
our unique identity and institutional power as Unitarians. And we should also look at this to minimise
the body count of our own internal martyrdoms, the blood on the hands of those
who fell them, and the trauma of those who happen to witness it.
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| Every martyrdom leaves traumatised witnesses. |
This I do know: When we don't like what we hear, Unitarians,
for all their intellect, are not above eating our own, even when our own happen to be persons of actual
acknowledged genius. For example,
William Ellery Channing, the most prominent Minister in America and
famously called the 'Father of American Unitarianism', whose sermons packed
public halls and parks, was unceremoniously kicked off the pulpit of the
Federal Street Church in Boston. His
offence? Vocal support for the abolition
of slavery. Likewise, Theodore Parker
so offended the Boston upper-classes with what today would be seen as a non-literal
reading of the scriptures, that they blocked him from the preaching rotation of
Boston churches. His offence? Just not Christian enough. How times have changed.
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| Abolish slavery, Channing?!? Get the firewood! |
And haven't changed...the common parlance among
my UK colleagues for ministries that end up in a shunned heap is a 'failed
ministry'. But if Channing's and Parker's
ministries were 'failed', where does the failure truly lie? In these ministers? In those congregations? Both? Or
maybe there's something inherent in the twin freedoms of pew and pulpit that
tends to make us fly apart?
My own sense is
that many of us still have 'the bends' from previous experiences of dogmatic,
hierarchical religions. Like
scuba-divers who have surfaced too quickly, our systems convulse when confronted
with preaching that is not in our spirit.
We can feel as bitterly oppressed and shamed by that free expression as
by a papal edict. But also, as free
beings in the pews, we are free to unburden ourselves of these difficult
feelings without fear that our expression of dissent will put us beyond continuing
fellowship (as in an excommunication).
The result of this can be--and has been--carnage within some of our
churches, ironically replaying the darker side of our Reformation past.
Let us, at least, assume the best intentions
of the pulpit and of the pew. Let us
assume no one takes the trouble to ascend the pulpit with anything other than
the intention to speak the truth as he or she sees it, and does so with hours
of thoughtful preparation and with an open heart. Let us also assume that no free person in the
pews of a free church should be the denied the truth of their own experience,
and the right to express it. Let us now imagine
a scenario in which the truths of the pulpit and the pew point in different
directions. So what would be your
default reaction when you hear preaching you don't agree with? Button-holing the minister in a rage during
coffee hour? Secretly gathering a cabal
of dissent, with the intention of exerting pressure to silence such
preaching? Inwardly seething? Slipping quietly away?
What would be the appropriate forum for the
expression of profound disagreement with preaching? Certainly not in our public worship, which,
since it is open to all, is not an ideal place to lift up the burnt offerings
of a church's internal disputes. Many UU
churches have stopped the 'Candles of Sharing' part of the service for this
reason. Coffee hour? Again, probably not. Why should a few hijack our one weekly opportunity
for large-group, celebratory fellowship? Where then?
I'm just a minister, so my answers to this
will probably sound like hackneyed answers. But for me, a first stop-off point before expressing
defiant dissent might be... prayer--a private, internal conversation
between you and whatever is your highest thought, deepest feeling, noblest aspiration,
most peaceful hope. Call it reflection,
discernment...whatever. During that time
of inward reflection, it's not uncommon to feel fears and angers 'dial down'
somewhat. And who knows? Without the big feelings, a sense of
equanimity may result--an opportunity to remember that no one compels you to
accept what you've heard, and the confidence to 'live and let live.'
Having prayed about one's disagreement with
a preaching, but still troubled by it, a pastoral dialogue might be the
logical next step. After all, any pastor
will want to know of things troubling the hearts and souls of those in his or
her spiritual charge. With immediate
post-worship feelings dialled-down, and without an audience to play to, both
the minister and the member can speak more calmly and openly. And who knows? If not a meeting of minds, certainly a mutual
respect for each other's positions becomes more possible in such a
context. If no such meeting of minds or mutual
respect results from pastoral dialogue, there is then a tough choice to make.
Our pulpit can't be both free and
coerced. And no one can, or should be, compelled
to listen to more of what one finds offensive to one's spirit. The pew is indeed free, and that means free to
leave it altogether, for a while or for good.
What makes such a choice more difficult is the fact that people may come
to church for more than their spiritual lives; they also come for
community. And it would be hard to leave
a place where you'd found that. Truth-telling
or harmony? This can be a vexed choice.
In some cultures, like China, social harmony
is prized over truth. In some cultures,
like the USA, individuality is prized over social harmony. The 'downsides' to both these extremes should
be obvious. Is it too much for us to
imagine that BOTH the truth of the individual’s experience AND their need for
social harmony can live together in a perpetual tension? Like the yin and the yang, like Kali and
Shiva, like Jacob and the Angel, they have wrestled for all time.
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| Spoiler: The Jacob v. Angel match was a draw. |
And that means our challenge as a truly free
church is to accept that we live within tensions created by our mutual freedom which
never resolves one way or the other, and knowing that, to still covenant to
bear each other up nevertheless.
Maybe
that's not such a hackneyed answer after all.
