Transylvania, the faraway place that most people associate with vampires and werewolves, is a sort of holy land for Unitarian Universalists. During my study leave in August, I embarked on a Pilgrimage to visit sites of historical significance and to become better acquainted with the lives of my Transylvanian Unitarian brothers and sisters. My fellow pilgrims included five Unitarian Universalist ministers and two ministerial students. The eight of us held a great deal in common, as well as being UU ministers, all of us studied at Starr King School for the Ministry in Berkeley, CA and are young adults in our late twenties or early thirties.

The trip was often referred to as "The Survivor Tour". Where many church groups hire air-conditioned tourist buses, we traveled by train, public bus and sometimes on foot. I purchased my first hiking backpack and loaded it up for my two-week adventure. The Partner Church Council has been active in some form since World War One, pairing up American and Transylvanian congregations. These connections have been significant. My trip was inspired by stories that I had heard from First Parish in Brewster, MA and the UU Church of Berkeley, CA. Our trip was a little different in that instead of visiting one church community, we traveled to many different areas.

The two-week journey was a memorable experience. The sights, sounds, tastes, and stories have stuck with me in a profound way. The political, cultural and religious issues that I discovered in that part of the world are complex and I continue to sort through them for greater understanding. This morning I am going to share some of my most significant experiences with you.

Transylvania no longer exists as a separate country. As a result of the treaty of Trianon that followed World War One, Transylvania became a part of Romania. The current economic instability of Romania became quite clear when I exchanged money at the Bucharest Airport. When I exchanged forty-five American dollars, I instantly became a millionaire with a million Romanian Lei. We learned to simply ignore the number of zeros. The inflation is so extreme that children use multiple large bills just to buy a soda.

My colleague, Lazlo Kiss, met our group in Bucharest to serve as our guide for the first half of the pilgrimage. Lazlo is a Transylvanian Unitarian minister who was a visiting scholar at Starr King School the year that I graduated. Cecilia Kingman-Miller was the principal leader and organizer of the pilgrimage. She is a staff member of Project Harvest Hope and spent several months in Transylvania as a part of her ministerial internship.

Our time in Bucharest brought the political climate into focus for me. We spent a day exploring this capital city where the predominant color was a dull gray. The streets were lined with communist block housing built to be functional not beautiful or comfortable. The buildings were constructed of concrete with metal grating on the windows- not a far cry from a prison. During his regime (1965-1989), Nicolae Ceausescu uprooted many people from village life and moved them into cities to work in factories.

In 1984, Nicolae and his wife, Elena, began construction of the Palace of the Republic. We were able to take a tour. The building is nothing short of monstrous- three times the size of Versailles and larger than the Pentagon. In order to construct this Palace, churches, a theatre, a stadium, and homes for fifty thousand people were razed. Walking through the classical architecture with marble columns, intricately carved ceilings, curving stairways and crystal chandeliers, it was hard to believe that this institution of government was built as recently as the eighties; harder still to imagine the arrogance and power of the dictators who ordered laborers to work around the clock. In front of the Palace there is a boulevard with fountains down the center and two large marble buildings on either side. It is a constructed façade, for behind these matching buildings are much more modest structures. Ceausescu planned to give speeches from a balcony of the Palace to the people gathered below on the boulevard. The irony is that the Ceausescus never actually lived in this Palace and it remains only two-thirds finished. Several of the rooms complete with high-tech. equipment for language translation are currently used for meetings and conferences.

From there, we walked over to Republic Square and the site of the much more modest Communist party headquarters. This was the first time that Lazlo had been to Bucharest and he was visibly moved to be standing where the Revolution took place in December of 1989. He explained to us what he remembered watching unfold on television. After an uprising in Timisoara that had been squelched by the Securitate, Ceausescu appeared on the balcony of the headquarters to give a fervent speech. Where the crowds had been forced over the years to cheer and wave banners, this time they shouted "Down with the Dictator!" Ceausescu's face turned white, he went back inside and was never seen in public again. The people refused to disperse. A shower of bullet holes left in the stone buildings of the Square and the burnt shell of the library, stand as testaments to the violent battle that took place. Even though this revolution was in fact televised, there is still a great deal of mystery about the parties involved. The Ceausescu's were captured and quickly tried and executed.

My colleague Lazlo Kiss poignantly reflected on the surge of popular excitement during the Revolution. At last the oppressor, who had ruled for a quarter century was over thrown. The biggest change in Romania has been in greater freedom. The rationing of food and electricity has ended. Ethnic minorities can speak their native languages again and teach their children about their heritage more openly. Television broadcasts include shows from the United States and Europe. A greater variety of products line store shelves. However, Lazlo told us with a sigh that if you ask the average person whether life is better today than under Ceausescu, most would say "No." There may be more things in the stores, but no one can afford to buy them. Old people barely survive on pension payments of $50 a month and struggle for bread and milk each day. He stated simply, "We were all so hopeful during the Revolution. People have lost hope."

The next morning we left Bucharest and took a five-hour train ride into Transylvania. There were enough of us that we filled our own cabin with facing seats. The scenery changed as it passed by our windows. The industrial cityscape of Bucharest soon gave way to a lush green countryside with fields of sunflowers and corn.

Another Transylvanian Unitarian minister and former Starr King scholar, Sandor Kovacs, met us at the station. Sandor is a professor at the Unitarian seminary in Kolosvar and through out the pilgrimage he would entertain our questions about history and theology.

Our first Unitarian village was Kissolymos. The minister, Ishtvan, and his fiancée, Eniku, welcomed us into the Parsonage. There we lifted our first glass of palenka, a plum brandy that is the customary drink. It is strong, often homemade, liquor served in shot glasses. We learned that palenka is served when entertaining guests and sometimes at breakfast.

The village of Kissolymos could not have been more different from Bucharest. Instead of the asphalt and concrete, there were dirt roads, fields of wild flowers, modest homes brightly painted with tile roofs and pots of geraniums. When we visited the blacksmith, it was as if we had stepped back in time. This wiry man in his eighties hammered away at a horseshoe and used a forge like I'd once seen demonstrated in a colonial museum. Ishtvan spoke of his hope to have a doctor in his village. People have to travel a great distance for medical care and often do not unless there is a dire emergency. Sandor made goulash for dinner in a big kettle over a fire outdoors.

The next morning, we set out on foot. A horse and wooden cart carried our belongings. We felt like true pilgrims walking along the dirt road. The former lay president and his two young sons rode the cart. Ishtvan came along to direct our way. We walked all the way to Rava. The distance is not known for sure but the approximation was ten to twelve miles. It took us five hours. We would stop to sit in the shade now and then but mostly we kept trekking in the heat. When we told Transylvanians about this part of our trip, they returned a puzzled stare. No one walks between Kissolymos and Rava except crazy Americans!

Rava is known as the place where God's hand does not reach. The village was even more humble than Kissolymos. The minister there is named Arpad, although he is known as Charlie. Rava is in a very remote region and many gypsies live there. Gypsies are the underclass of Romania who are looked down upon even more than the Unitarians who are all ethnic Hungarians. So, I was pleased to learn that some of the gypsies in Rava attend the Unitarian church. Charlie, who is in his late-twenties and single, is the authority figure of the village. Ministry is always an all-encompassing position, but in Rava there are no police and so the minister acts in that capacity as well.

Melissa Mummert had been hired as the videographer of our travels. Her digital camera fascinated the local children; a group of about ten kids gathered and posed in front of the lens. Once trust was established, it was very simple to play with these children. We picked up rocks and drew pictures in the dirt. I played hand-clapping games with several little girls. This playful exchange is something that I will never forget- a connection beyond the barrier of culture and language.

We traveled west to Torockoszentgyorgy, the village where the most recent Starr King scholar, Bottand Koppandi or Boti, serves as minister. Sweeping views of lush-green mountains surround the village. Here, we attended our first Sunday service. Unitarian churches are modest wooden structures. Most of the clocks in the steeples are painted on or stuck at a certain time. Inside, the pews, pulpit and altar are draped with traditional Transylvanian embroidery, like this one, which I purchased for our church. The Hungarian words "Egy Az Isten" (Edge Oz Eeshten), which translates simply "God is One" are prominently displayed. In church, the men and women sit separately, facing one another. The single men sit in the balcony. As guests, we all sat together in a special section facing the pulpit. When asked why men and women sit this way, the answer was tradition. I was surprised that this did not seem as awkward as I had anticipated. In a small village, there is actually something kind of nice about family members facing one another. The congregation rose as Boti entered wearing a black suit and his clerical cape. We had been warned that the organist was not very good however I was not prepared for the high-pitched minor key sound of the hymn singing.

Unitarians offer communion four times a year: Christmas, Easter, Pentecost and Thanksgiving. Those tend to be the most highly attended services. Although Transylvanian Unitarians regard Jesus as their spiritual teacher, their prayers are addressed to God not Christ. The emphasis is not on the Resurrection but on Jesus as a human example of a life devoted to the principles of love and justice.

The second half of our pilgrimage was spent in Okland. Instead of staying in the Parsonage, this time we were with host families in the village. Okland is partnered with the church in Oakland, CA. This partnership has been a remarkable one. Through the vision of the minister, Levente Keleman, and the support of the Oakland congregation, they have been able to build a mill to grind grain into flour, a bakery that bakes bread, and have just completed a dairy barn. During Ceaucescu's regime, villagers were forced to construct buildings for collectivization projects. Once the Revolution took place in 1989, many villagers in their sense of release and rage destroyed these buildings that were symbols of their oppression. In Okland, these buildings are being transformed due in great part to donations from American Unitarian Universalists. This partnership has been so successful that they have created a non-profit organization called Project Harvest Hope. It is also deeply meaningful that they are able to bake and sell their own bread for under communism, bread was rationed and was often stale.

Levente is a ruggedly handsome man with a powerful voice and clear vision for his village. He also taught us to dance the chardis, a traditional Transylvanian folk dance. The chardis is danced in pairs with several different steps. When we women danced the chardis with Levente, he spun us around with such speed that we actually became air-born. We were able to try out our new steps at the ball on Saturday night dancing in a smoke filled hall with people of all ages. On Sunday, Levente addressed us directly in his sermon, "I taught you to dance the chardis because I wanted the youth to know that there is no shame in their tradition."

In Romania, it was not long ago that there was a campaign to root out all ethnic difference. Through out the country, villages tend to be divided by ethnicity and religion; there are Hungarian Unitarian villages, Saxon towns, predominantly Romanian Orthodox and Catholic regions. There was one village that was known for its religious cooperation. In Bozodujafalu, Unitarians, Catholics, Romanian Orthodox, and Sabbatarian Jews, lived in harmony. Ceausescu targeted this village by choosing to build a sizeable dam. The villagers were ordered to destroy their own homes and to move. The Catholic priest and Unitarian minister who were friends decided to leave their churches standing.

On your order of service is a drawing of the memorial wall at Bozodujafalu. Erdely is the Hungarian name for Transylvania. In a country that has almost no Jews left, I was particularly moved to see these religious symbols side-by-side. We prayed, and then walked in silence by a large body of water. The waters have receded enough that we could walk among the ruins of the Unitarian church. The steeple had recently fallen in but the skeleton of the Catholic Church steeple remained pointing skyward. Psalm 137 rang in our ears, "By the waters of Babylon, we sat down and wept when we remembered Zion". As Unitarian Universalists, a village of religious pluralism and freedom is the Promised Land. Like in the lament of the psalm, I vowed never to forget that the liberties that I enjoy are a distant dream in many places.

The congregation that was uprooted has not lost hope. We met with the minister and lay presidents of a nearby village who seek reparations from the government. They gave us a brochure outlining their plan to construct a modern Unitarian church and a small hotel to take advantage of their proximity to Bear Lake, a salt lake that is a popular spa and resort. Cecelia read the following passage from the Song of Solomon, "Let me be as a seal upon your heart, like a seal upon your hand. For love is as fierce as death; jealousy is as cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which has a most vehement flame. Vast floods cannot quench love, Nor rivers drown it."

Often when we are in the midst of confusion and despair, we turn to sacred texts for wisdom and meaning especially in the face of senseless destruction. I do not believe in the Bible in a literal sense, but I do believe that it is a powerful tool for spiritual reflection. The story of the tower of Babel is found in the book of Genesis. The leader commands the people to build a tower. This building is a symbol of power and strength. God looks with disfavor as the tower reaches heaven for it seems that humanity has forgotten their place. Humanity's hubris results in the creation of multiple languages and the people being spread across the globe.

When Alison and I discussed this story, she mentioned that she did not like this God who was so jealous and punitive. This is often true of God's portrayal in the Hebrew Scriptures. However, when I considered the message of this biblical story, I concluded that humanity shows its likeness to God through cooperation and collaboration. When God felt threatened by our power, He confused our language and scattered us into many countries making it more difficult to understand one another and to reach paradise.

The Palace of the Republic is like the crumbled Tower of Babel. The Ceausescus thought they were constructing a symbol of dominance. It is no accident that the Palace is larger than Versailles and the Pentagon, through marble and wood, Nicolae and Elena sought to cement their place as powerful world leaders. The irony is that this structure is largely a façade and that the true cultural riches, the churches, theater and homes were destroyed.

The confusion and intolerance that often accompanies ethnic and religious differences was highlighted in the stories shared through out the pilgrimage, the ultimate example being the flooded village of Bozodjufalu. I was moved by the vision and steadfastness of my Transylvanian colleagues who were able to see beyond the physical destruction and poverty to transform the same buildings that were once vehicles of oppression into opportunity for their villages.

One of the lessons that I learned in Transylvania was one that cannot be put in concrete nor destroyed. There is a power of love working in and among and through the people we met along the way. Each person that we visited, no matter how poor, spread a table before us with their best dishes, and palenka flowed freely. We shared our meals outdoors, sometimes under the stars, laughed, sang, and told stories. The most powerful moments of connection went beyond the barriers of language: drawing in the dirt, hand clapping games, looking at the full moon, dancing the chardis. "Vast floods cannot quench love, Nor rivers drown it." I particularly value the connections with my Unitarian colleagues that will continue over time.

I am also shaken by the fact that I was only vaguely aware of what was happening in Romania. Sure, I had heard of Ceaucescu and knew of orphanages, but I did not really understand the extent of the fascist government. Through my pilgrimage, I am much more aware of my role as a world citizen. I feel a strong tie to my Unitarian brothers and sisters who have endured such hardship and yet held fast to their faith in the unity of God, the example of Jesus and the freedom of conscience. I know that I will return to Transylvania some day. For now, I continually ask myself what is my moral responsibility to these people.

On the two Sundays that we worshipped in Unitarian villages, we sang two American hymns: "We Would Be One" and "We'll Build a Land". As our eight voices blended together, many wiped away tears. The message is one that is as needed today as it was back in August, as it was when some of the words were first set down in the books of Isaiah and Amos.

Come build a land where the mantles of praises
Resound from spirits once faint and once weak;
Where like oaks of righteousness stand her people.
Oh, come build a land, my people we seek.

Let us all join in singing, "We'll Build A Land".