By declaring what they believed true in light of what they had read, Martin Luther and those following his lead fashioned a religious culture that prized access to Scripture, pastoral interpretation, and (with qualifications) lay interpretation as well. When “what’s true” is open to debate, so too are claims to being a legitimate authority. Those religious traditions that prize the decentralization and democratization of truth-claims tend to have the same in church governance. Those churches which culturally try to limit who can declare “what’s true” also tend to centralize authority and expect submission to hierarchs. Institutional cultures can be powerfully enduring, even when confronted by other powerful ones. Cultural legacies of the Reformation were evident centuries later in communist Eastern Europe, in “atheist” societies where state agents attempted to centralize and manage church bodies. Even in Romanian Reformed or Soviet Baptist village churches, attempts by state agents and cooperative church hierarchs to normalize and centralize religious institutions struggled against enduring protestant cultures. The focus-case for today’s paper is the Reformed Church in communist Romania, although I will make some brief comparative remarks to other denominations in Romania and the Soviet Union. In these countries after World War II, religious law indicated there was supposed to be a separation of church and state and the freedom of conscience—the freedom to have one’s own convictions. Officials in the Soviet Union and Romania perceived that while privately held convictions did not threaten public truth claims or power, mobilized groups of people proclaiming alternative truths could delegitimize those claims and those in power. Thus state actors worked to centralize truth and ideology; there were not supposed to be any communist Martin Luthers nailing theses on Presidium doors, only communist “popes and bishops” who tried to prevent public interpretations of truth and provided “truth” didactically. Just as the state organs were centralized, with considerable power reserved at the top, state representatives wished to be able to communicate to church leaders their initiatives and trust the leaders to pass those on to obedient clergy, who would then shape the believers. To communist authorities, religion was pragmatically acceptable only when it appeared routine and individualistic in nature and did not inform believers’ behavior beyond basic moralistic concepts like honesty, industry, and loyalty toward the government. Church and state actors then monitored religious activity for instances where religion was “activating” and then tried to delegitimize such religiosity by saying “fanaticism” was being “ignited,” or “extremist” tendencies were displayed. Although every society defines its own fanatics and extremists, most church circles would have considered communist definitions of these to be applied to healthy church life, where people attended regularly and clergy inspired believers to greater religious adherence. Authorities blamed excessive religiosity on instigators, typically clergy, but not on people’s religious appetites. The process of state centralization of the churches varied from church to church. The Orthodox Church was historically a very centralized institution, and it also had a culture of emphasizing the submission of believers and clergy to their leaders, both church and state. Because the Protestant churches were less centralized, cooptation took more effort. In the Soviet Union in 1944, at state agents’ behest, Evangelicals were to merge into a Union (the All-Union Council of Evangelical Christians and Baptists), with a president, general secretary, and the like. These leaders were expected to tell congregations and pastors what the rules were and shape church culture, expecting the latter to submit. Also, state representatives worked to shape theological training toward didacticism and ritualism, and they, along with amenable clergy in positions of power, discouraged excess zeal with threats, transfers, and even more ignoble and aggressive ways if priests proved insensitive to early, subtler warnings. The Reformed Church of Romania, ethnically Hungarian, had had bishops since the sixteenth century, a more hierarchical structure than most protestant denominations traditionally have had. Its bishops had the power to appoint and transfer associate pastors among parishes, but not full pastors. Congregations had the right to choose their head pastor, subject only to what would usually have been perfunctory approval by the Dean and/or Bishop. The communist authorities did not change the Reformed Church’s hierarchy, nor did they require a complete change in church practices. They must have felt that the oversight of the Department of Religions and the presumed cooperation of loyal hierarchs would be sufficient to effectively manage church personnel. After all, to be paid, pastors had to obtain authorization from the Department of Religions; this gave state officials significant leverage to manage potentially unruly clergy. PRESENTATION OF CASES One aspect of the culture of the Reformed Church that state authorities considered threatening and therefore forbid was the custom of open discussion of Biblical truths in small groups. Any Bible studies or Seminary classes had to be didactic in nature if they were going to be approved. But another legacy of the Reformation that communist officials battled that will be the focus of today was in ecclesiastical polity—namely, pastor-choosing. Despite having bishops, the Reformed Church also had elections for leadership positions, and congregations chose pastors. Due to the colliding sites of power represented by the bishoprics, deaneries, pastors, and congregations, centralizers pejoratively described these processes as prone to “dissension,” factions, and “anarchic manifestations.” ADDIN ZOTERO_ITEM CSL_CITATION {"citationID":"5RuMIkvs","properties":{"formattedCitation":"{\\rtf Direc\\uc0\\u539{}ia Jude\\uc0\\u539{}ean\\uc0\\u259{} Mure\\uc0\\u537{} a Arhivelor Na\\uc0\\u539{}ionale, \\uc0\\u8220{}Departmentul Cultelor,\\uc0\\u8221{} 109.}","plainCitation":"Direcția Județeană Mureș a Arhivelor Naționale, “Departmentul Cultelor,” 109.","dontUpdate":true},"citationItems":[{"id":1401,"uris":["http://zotero.org/users/360725/items/TUJ5EQ5J"],"uri":["http://zotero.org/users/360725/items/TUJ5EQ5J"],"itemData":{"id":1401,"type":"article","title":"Departmentul Cultelor","author":[{"family":"Direcția Județeană Mureș a Arhivelor Naționale","given":""}],"issued":{"literal":"19XX/X"}},"locator":"109"}],"schema":"https://github.com/citation-style-language/schema/raw/master/csl-citation.json"} Direcția Județeană Mureș a Arhivelor Naționale, “Departmentul Cultelor,” 1965-1983/345, 244. A holdover from pre-communist times, “calling” a pastor in the Reformed Church typically included the presbytery’s observing of a pastor preaching, a majority vote in favor, an offer of a “call,” and a pastor’s acceptance or rejection. This meant that there was some power in the hands of the people, whose whims state or church leaders might find undesirable. Mureş County had a pastor-saga in Ganeşti in the late 1960s, where, due to a scandal involving a pastor and a young girl in the after-hours of catechism, the position became vacant. A certain pastor had had his eyes set on this post, having grown up in the area with relatives in Ganeşti. His supporters in the town tried to immediately call him to the position without the usual deliberation. But not all members were convinced, and these wished to go through the entire process whereby pastors would be observed and chosen by the customary vote. What followed was several years of tension, defiant parishioners locking church doors, accusations of ballot-fixing, visits and complaints by parishioners to the Department and Bishopric, and the naming of a temporary “administrator” to help de-toxify the congregation. See documents from the Departmentul Cultelor from 1966 on. Two tumultuous incidents in Zalău (Zilah) in the 1970s further reveal the power of religious mobilization. In 1971, the main Reformed Congregation boasting some 4800 members (though with only a fraction participating regularly) no longer had a head pastor, as theirs had recently died. First, the elders tried to elect the existing assistant pastor, but he was technically under the authority of Bishop Papp, who declared the move not “statutory” and did not approve it. Direcția Județeană Sălaj a Arhivele Naționale, “Departmentul Cultelor,” 1971/11, 73. They pursued another from a small town, listened to his sermon, and consorted about the position while the candidate served brandy. But state officials and the Bishop did not like this candidate, due to his evangelical tone and his son’s escape from Romania. Ibid., 74. The Bishop, his clerk, and the state inspector cautioned the presbytery about this candidate, but they neglected the advice and voted to call him. Although it appeared the presbytery had found their man, their little toast of brandy ended up costing them dearly, as the rules of pastor-calling declared that if the potential priest “employed unlawful methods” of bribery like “hospitalities, offers of alcoholic drinks, of money”, etc., the selection would be void. Direcția Județeană Sălaj a Arhivele Naționale, “Departmentul Cultelor,” 1971/11, 73. Bishop Papp declared him an invalid candidate, and for months the presbytery fought with its Bishopric, accusing him of wanting “to suppress the traditional forms of democratic election.” Bishop Papp tried to stabilize the situation by appointing an outsider as “Managing Priest” to Zalău. Direcția Județeană Sălaj a Arhivele Naționale, “Departmentul Cultelor,” 1971/11, 75–76. Believers responded by not permitting him into the church, considering his position “an entirely illegal function.” Believers complained to the state inspector that Papp was trying to replace their “traditional rights” to choose a priest “in a democratic spirit” with a “foreign” procedure. Bishop Papp called back his managing pastor, but still refused to approve the prior candidate. Direcția Județeană Sălaj a Arhivele Naționale, “Departmentul Cultelor,” 1971/11, 78. After nearly a year of fighting, the congregation eventually found a new candidate they liked, Kálmán Adorján. Although the Bishop’s opinion was that Adorján was too evangelical, the state inspector found that the “competent organs” of the respective county “are of the view that the priest could occupy the post; they have nothing against it.” Direcția Județeană Sălaj a Arhivelor Naționale, “Departmentul Cultelor,” 1972/16, 229–30. The pastor-choosing was only act one of this drama. Things started well for Adorján, with good numbers in attendance. But beginning in 1975 until 1978, church and state bodies accused and tried to discipline Adorján for unauthorized Bible studies, of unauthorized distribution of Bibles, of misuse of church donations, of copying catechism pages on his typewriter without pre-approval, and failure to declare certain earnings for tax purposes. It is difficult to assert the truth of the situation, whether all of these in fact occurred, or whether authorities would routinely overlook such “technicalities” in other cases. But it is clear that the bishop was not hesitant to take disciplinary measures with the backing of local authorities. Direcția Județeană Sălaj a Arhivelor Naționale, “Departmentul Cultelor,” 1975/43, 51–52. Adorján and his loyal elders were at loggerheads with Bishop Papp, and the state inspector acted as mediator by telling all parties to keep this inner-church problem within the church. Yet, in Adorján’s opinion, "Despite all of this, or just because of this, the church was full every Sunday, for Bible study even 200 came." Petitions defending Adorján were collected on several occasions for his defense, with signatories numbering as many as 3000. László Miklós, Akik Imádkoztak Üldözőikért: Börtönvallomások, Emlékezések [Those Who Prayed for Their Persecutors: Prison Testimonies, Memories] (Kolozsvár [Cluj-Napoca, Romania]: Erdélyi Református Egyházkerület, 1996), 27. Due to disciplinary proceedings, on June 2, 1977 a delegation of church leaders came for “the handover and takeover” of the parish from Adorján, but Adorján and his supporters refused to vacate. The general assembly of the church district was making moves to suspend even the presbytery of the church. On December 31 more than 2000 were in the church for a general meeting, in which the congregation begged him and his wife to "carry out [their] service and not give in to force." The bishop called for the assistance of the authorities in removing him from his position and the parish since he had failed to obey his authority. 50-60, even as many as 100 members of his congregation were routinely present around the parish to try to prevent his forceful removal, creating a tense environment. Finally, at a meeting with state organs and the two Reformed Bishops in Bucharest, they threatened him, saying that if he would not renounce, he would be detained, his wife would be thrown out of the house, and the five children from their school. He decided to give up the battle. Ibid. The people of Zilah did not give in so easily. Some of them had decided to lock up the church and the pastor's office, declaring to the authorities "we are awaiting the return of our pastor, and then we'll open up the church." The police and secret police used their sources to identify the leaders of the “rebellion,” fined them for "disturbing the peace,” and re-opened the church. About two months after Adorján left, services finally started again with a temporary appointed pastor who made negative references of the Adorjáns for some time after their departure. By October 1978 the congregation chose a new pastor to whom the authorities granted permission. Ibid., 29. In Zilah, we see that although the “right” of pastor-choosing was entrenched, authorities could manipulate it by disciplinary proceedings, denying necessary authorizations, and freezing a bank account. Yet state and church authorities had to proceed with care, lest they antagonize the believers and their pastor enough to cause them to bond together in defiance. Those same raw ingredients of 1978 made for revolutionary potential in 1989 in Timişoara: a young, dynamic, and stubborn Reformed Priest, a loyal and determined presbytery and congregation, the same stalwart and tactless Bishop Papp, and democratic choices which conflicted with the wishes of church and state authorities. But as the comparison of these cases makes clear, these ingredients alone did not make a revolution; they only guaranteed a confrontation. László Tőkés had a prior history of confrontations with Bishop Papp and the authorities when he received an appointment in a failing congregation under the leadership of Papp’s rival and pro-communist pastor Leo Peuker in Timişoara in 1986. In 1983 Tőkés’ congregation in Dej tried to elect him permanent assistant pastor, meaning that he was supposed to be theirs and not the bishop’s, but Church and state authorities determined that this procedure had not been authorized, and the Bishop transferred him to a remote village. Felix Corley and John Eibner, In the Eye of the Romanian Storm: The Heroic Story of Pastor Laszlo Tokes (Old Tappan, N.J.: F.H. Revell, 1990), 86; László Tőkés, With God, for the People: The Autobiography of Laszlo Tokes as Told to David Porter. (Hodder & Stoughton, 1990), 65. Tőkés and the congregation protested, but to no avail. Tőkés’ appointment to Timişoara likely stemmed from Bishop Papp’s hopes that Tőkés and Peuker would annoy and distract one another from any other ambitions. But Peuker unexpectedly died of a heart attack only half a year later, and the dynamic and energetic Tőkés began renewing congregational life. Before long, the church was routinely full. Tőkés, flouting conventional communist religiosity, began to draw people by organizing new cultural events and preaching without the self-censure that most preachers employed in the communist era. He flouted several moves by the church to discipline him. On April 13, 1989, the deanery’s disciplinary committee voted to have him suspended. The accusations tellingly included “disturbing the life of faith” and “serious violations endangering the peaceful life of the congregation.” Corley and Eibner, In the Eye of the Romanian Storm, 157. On May 21, after a sermon in which Tőkés tried to encourage his congregation to “choose the narrow path,” the local presbytery “resolved to support [Tőkés] with a new petition” which opposed his transfer and used their “statutory right” to appoint him as full pastor János Antal and Joel David, Rev. Revolution (Orefield, Pennsylvania: Partium Press, 2009), 106. and voted his dismissal and suspension by the bishop to be “illegal and invalid.” Corley and Eibner, In the Eye of the Romanian Storm, 183. On August 28 the Department of Religions revoked his permit for this position. On October 20, the city court wrote an eviction notice for Tőkés, as he had defied church authorities. “Struggle and Construction Temesvar (Timişoara), 1989: The Twentieth Anniversary of the Regime-Change,” accessed April 2, 2014, www.temesvar1989.ro. Members of the congregation made appeals by letter and in person to the Deanery and Bishopric, while state agents used threats and violence against him and members of his congregation to get him to submit to Church authority. Tőkés invited his congregation to witness his eviction, which officials told him would happen December 15, 1989. Believers assembled in respectable numbers on the streets, effectively blocking his entrance. Likely emboldened by the fall of other regimes in Eastern Europe, onlookers and people of anti-state sentiment joined, and the peaceful protest of a somewhat nationalistic Hungarian pastor’s removal blossomed into an anti-government protest by all ages and background. Although after two days the government was able to drive away the protestors and remove Tőkés to a remote village, the protest spread to Bucharest, where the people toppled Ceauşescu’s regime. In Zilah in 1978, residents did not universalize the congregation’s grievances. Just over ten years later in Timişoara, Church and state authorities were not so lucky. In this case, a stubborn Hungarian pastor and his loyal congregation became a “Romanian” cause around which people rallied. We see how the Reformed Church’s tradition of democratized truth claims and authority helped legitimize the mobilization of a group of believers. Fellow citizens saw believers’ mobilization as a legitimate cause, and together these groups eroded the claims to legitimacy of state and Church authorities. Comparisons To further consider the importance of institutional culture, let’s consider other Protestants, the Baptists in the Soviet Union, followed by the Orthodox Church. In the Baptist Church in the Soviet Union, Officially the Evangelical Christians-Baptists Church. I use Baptists as short-hand here. lay believers and lay-pastors mobilized around truth claims in 1961, when the Khrushchev regime pressured Baptist Church leaders to issuing stricter limitations on religious practice in the church. A group of believers were outraged that church leaders would forbid things like evangelism or the bringing of children to services. They accused the leaders of flouting Scripture, called on them to repent, and urged congregations not to heed their authority, which they now considered illegitimate in doing the work of “Satan.” They convinced hundreds of congregations to leave the Baptist Union, and failing to reconcile, they eventually established their own Union which state agents pursued relentlessly. In this case, the traditional protestant culture of decentralized interpretation of Scripture trumped the tradition of submitting to church authority, rendering a split. Like the Reformed Church, the Baptist Churches also had issues of pastor-choosing and voting that proved contentious on several occasions. Trusted lay believers or untrained pastors sometimes rallied members of their congregations against Church leaders’ wishes if they could make convincing justifications. The Orthodox Church provides some intriguing points of contrast. Although some observing religion in communist lands have described the Orthodox Church as highly submissive to state wishes, lacking the unruliness of protestant denominations, there were many notable priests and a few hierarchs who attempted to speak out against state limitations to religious practice and the complicity of certain Church hierarchs. In the region of Moscow from the late 1960s until around 1980 there was a cohort of nonconformist Orthodox priests who gained followings and attempted to protest or circumvent religious conventions, but such attempts always had in mind renewal of the Orthodox Church, never a schism—so strong has the anti-schism, “true Church” concept proven in the Orthodox Church. But during this era, the Orthodox hierarchs avoided the delegitimization and schism that occurred due to Sergii’s proclamation of loyalty to the Soviet government in 1927 and remained intact in the eyes of enough priests and believers. The nonconformist priests were fairly easily marginalized by state- and church-applied epithets like “fanatic” and “extremist” as well as by various forms of discipline. In some cases, believers wrote letters of protest, but the situation never spiraled out of authorities’ control. The same occurred in Romania in the early 1980s, when a group of young priests in the Timişoara region attempted to dynamize their religious practice and encourage renewal movements. Authorities removed the “problem” by transferring and exiling the priests abroad. In response to believers’ protests, hierarchs explained the priests’ marginalization as self-imposed for flouting church authority and conducting the liturgy “not in church form.” CONCLUSION: In conclusion, the point is not to suggest that the Reformation caused Protestant churches to protest while Orthodox Churches remained completely submissive. Both are exaggerations—most Protestant congregations conformed to state and church leaders’ expectations most of the time. The Reformation was not a guarantee of protest or spirited negotiation over truth in Protestant Churches, nor did the non-Reformation in the Orthodox Church preclude independent attempts at debating truth. Yet hierarchical structure of the Orthodox Church along with its customary discourse which included its claims to being the “One True Church,” the horrors of “schism,” and seeing the Protestants as sectarian in nature bolstered well-centralized claims to truth and legitimacy. To debate truths was, in effect, to question Church authority, thereby limiting dialogue. In Protestantism, both sides could potentially be on equal footing in accusing the other of going against Scriptural truths, of being the arm of Satan, etc. For Protestants in these communist countries, however, democratized battles over truth and authority led to church disunity, even a schism in the case of the Baptists—perhaps a darker legacy of the Reformation. “Reformation Church Culture and Church-State Battling in Communist Romania” By Ryan J. Voogt 8