Unitarian Universalist Church of Palo Alto

A Wagon Full of Sardine Barrels

Reverend Alicia McNary Forsey, PhD
May 20, 2007
Palo Alto, CA

The historian in me is always surprised at the remarks made about history by people who think history is something in the past — not relevant anymore, and therefore useless. My own experience is that history really does repeat itself — in different costumes, like a play written by Shakespeare repeated over and over again up to current times, with the same relevant message. As I taught history at the UU seminary in Berkeley over the years, I began trying to include the voices of the missing — women, the poor, the marginalized. Finding the women who were referred to in history books as “the wife of” was very difficult. I have a long hallway in my house. I put up butcher-block paper all along the wall and began recording the names, dates, locations and achievements of each woman I located. I came to call these women “My Women” because I feel I am related to them. I color-coded the chart, and gradually there emerged a web of interconnected exchanges and friendships between many of the women.

These women were all radical for their time, which was between 1510 and 1559. Women who call themselves “feminists” today and then state which “wave” they identify with are, in my opinion, way off-base. The so-called “first wave” was not begun with Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique — it was actually with the first women who dared to write about matters other than family and household during the period we call the Renaissance. The radical reforming women I became engaged with came along a couple of generations later. Feminists today who know their history might tell you that they are in the 20th wave if a wave represents any kind of motion forward for women. Some generations were static, or perhaps retrograde, but there are so many generations that have “worked in a row and passed the bags along” (Marge Piercy) that it is just not accurate to give the impression that feminism began with the generation of Betty Friedan. The big difference is that radical reforming women risked everything, including their lives, to demand equality and their right to use of reason. Betty Friedan, brilliant scholar and one who deserves a place in the feminist hall of fame, risked her comfort only in the sense that she had to deal with a response to her views that caused a major shift in thinking. She said in an interview that, had she known what she was provoking, she might not have had the courage to publish The Feminine Mystique.

Who were the women radical reformers?

The first three that caught my attention were Marguertha Blaurock, Anna Mantz and Otilla Sattler. I did not know their names at first, and when I found them, I felt like I was redeeming them from the prison of silence they had been sentenced to by western history. Marguertha was the wife of George Blaurock, Anna was the mother of Felix Mantz. Felix and George were two of the group that split from the Lutheran Zwingli in Switzerland, around 1525. Conrad Grebel was the third member of the group who split off into what came to be called the Anabaptists, but Conrad’s wife was not in favor of her husband becoming a radical and putting their safety and comfort at risk. The direct descendants of the Anabaptists today are the Mennonites and the Amish. And, Unitarians are cousins if you trace lines of influence upon that side of our movement.

Re-baptizing people who were capable of understanding the commitment they were making to their faith became a capital crime. The Catholics and the Protestants did not want to loose hold of their power, their dogma — which included the need for infant baptism because a child is born in sin and will be sent to hell if death comes before baptism. Infant mortality was high during this period. The Anabaptists did not believe in Original Sin, and did not think it was reasonable for any individual to make a commitment unless they fully understood the commitment they were making.

This faith spread like wildfire, and the response from both the Catholic and the Protestant Inquisitions was devastating. When Felix was in prison for his Anabaptist zeal, which he often was — though he had a talent for escape, it is Anna who carried on the Anabaptist meetings in her home. When George was in prison, Marguertha teemed up with Anna. They made regular visits to the prisons where George and Felix were trapped, attended their trials and hearings and, in the end, sat in a pew in Zwingli’s majestic church in Zurich to hear the sentence of death passed on Felix and the sentence of exile passed on George. The sentencing in these trials were usually carried out immediately. Felix was taken outside the church and put in a wagon. The wagon, the officials, the townspeople moved to the place of execution along the river Limmat. The crowd gathered as Felix was put in a boat, taken to the center of the river and drowned. Screams from Anna exhorting Felix to not betray his faith were heard from the riverbank. You see, the body took second place over faith. The body was temporal but heaven, or a place at the welcome table, was everlasting. The Anabaptists called for a restoration to the teachings of Jesus, and were certain that their practices reflected the true Christian way, even though they were branded as heretics and killed off in massive numbers. If a heretic recanted, it didn’t save the individual from physical death, it saved the soul according to what that meant to the people who were killing heretics.

At the same time Felix was being executed, Marguertha and George were forced to watch, then ordered to continue to the Niederdorf Gate which led them to exile. While they walked, jailers whipped George with rods until he was blood-soaked and almost unable to comply with orders to continue beyond the gates of Zurich. Marguertha and George made it to his place of birth, a village called Chur in the Greyson Mountains, a range that divides Italy from Switzerland and always a hotbed full of heretics in hiding. There he began holding Anabaptist gatherings that got so large he held them in open fields. Marguertha was his accomplice. These gatherings became so important to the spread of Anabaptism — though Anabaptists were being slaughtered like sheep elsewhere, in some locations for bounty — they were attended by the most highly recognized leaders of the Radical Reformation, including Michael Sattler, who drafted the first Anabaptist Confession of Faith in Schlictheim, Switzerland in 1527.

On one occasion George began singing a hymn he composed, in his beautiful, resonate voice. That hymn is still sung by Mennonites today. Two of the thirteen stanzas breath the spirit of an unconquerable faith:

Lord God, how do I praise thee,
From Hence and evermore.
That thou real faith didst give me,
By which I thee may know
Forget me not, O Father,
Be near me evermore;
Thy spirit shield and teach me,
That in afflictions great
Thy comfort I may ever prove,
And valiantly may attain
The victory in this right.

Marguertha lost George when he was burned at the stake on September 6, 1529, for his refusal to stop spreading heresy. The three men who began the Anabaptist movement in Zurich on January 21, 1525, known to some as “Meteors Against the Night” were dead by September, 1529. Otilla, once a nun in an order called the Beguines, lost Michael when he was horribly tortured and then burned at the stake in 1527 because of his leadership of the Anabaptists. A wealthy woman who had observed Otilla’s behavior during Michael’s trial offered to hire her as a maid and got the officials to spare her on that condition. Otilla needed no time to think it over. No, I will be with my husband, she said. She was drowned two days later.

These first three women were poor. They are obscured from our history books, as are countless others who were captured and killed on the spot — some individually and some in numbers, where they lived or where they met for worship. Approximately one third of the victims of the Inquisitions were females.

We may not know the lives of most victims of the Inquisitions, but they ask us the question: What, if anything, are we willing to die for? How committed are we to anything that would in turn cause us pain and much suffering — suffering onto death? Death, for most of us UU’s does not translate to taking a place at the welcome table. Our bodies are who we are, and if you don’t believe it, look at how our culture responds to us as we age, look at how our culture responds to us if we are considered not beautiful — for any reason.

Unfortunately, little is known about the poor during the 1500 hundreds and the 1600 hundreds. We know what they wore thanks to an artist who was first to paint peasants, Bruegal the Elder. But the poor were mostly illiterate, with a life expectancy of 29 for women and 40 for men. Their lives were harsh with little time for much beyond trying to survive.

What we know about women who were aware of their condition, determined to speak their minds and successful in doing so are from the lives of nobles and aristocrats. And, women who gained an education in convents. Convents were not for poor women. Convents were filled with women who had no particular religious zeal, but were sent to them from impoverished noble and aristocratic families who could not afford more than one dowry for the eldest daughter. Marriage was not about romantic love, it was about status and power. No woman in her right mind would consider going against the wishes of her parents to marry for love. To save all available resources for a dowry that would either elevate or simply maintain the status of a family often required any remaining daughters to go to a convent, for a price — but a much smaller price than a proper dowry. One such woman in a convent was Katherine Von Bora.

A priest who visited her convent in Germany to hear the confessions of the nuns gave her tracts by Martin Luther. She was convinced that his teachings were what she wanted to follow, and she shared the materials she received with close friends in the convent. She began a correspondence with Martin Luther. Eventually she asked him to help her and her friends who also wanted to follow him to escape their cloistered convent. This convent was in enemy territory to Martin Luther. Still, he asked a trusted merchant to help him with a plan to free the women. There were six or seven of them altogether. The merchant was known to the convent because he made regular deliveries of supplies. He took a wagon full of sardines, which were in barrels, to the convent. Then he put the nuns and the empty barrels in his wagon, covered them with a tarp and returned to Whittenburg. It is not known if the nuns were in the sardine barrels or packed in the back of the wagon with them, but they all arrived safely in Luther’s territory. Some took husbands, others took positions in households. Katherine declared that there were only two men she would consider marrying. One was not available and the other was Martin Luther. Luther, though he had urged other priests who had become Lutherans to marry, had not married himself because at this point in his career he was considered a radical, a danger to the Catholic Church, and he did not want to risk the life of a wife who would surely be killed with him if he was caught in the snares of the Inquisition. Katherine persisted and won her case. Luther became conservative as he gained power, but he obviously loved Katherine (referring to her as “kette”, which means chains, in letters to friends) and his children, and was one of the first religious leaders to make a case for the husband helping the wife with care of the children. She ran the household, the finances, fired Luther’s doctors and cared for his ailments with her knowledge of herbs and plants — sure that the doctors would kill him. She was fluent in Latin and participated in Luther’s famous table-talks. Library shelves all over Europe and North America are sagging with the works of Luther. It was hoped, about five years ago, that one lone letter penned by Katherine had been found. This hope did not prove itself out.

The writing of Argula Von Grumbach, a noble woman, survived because she became a well-known controversial figure by daring to take on the faculty of the University of Ingolstadt. She challenged the University when they denied admission to a young man in 1523 because he was a Lutheran. Argula ignored the expectation that women were meant to write only about family and household matters. Theologians at Ingolstadt responded by stating that they wanted the “silly bag tamed.” She was called a female devil, a heretical bitch, a shameless whore and more. She was put on trial. The trial closed with her husband given permission to disable her in a way that would prevent her from being able to write. Or, if he preferred, he could strangle her and would not be punished by officials. Argula was shunned by her entire family and shunted off to separate living quarters. She wrote to a relative:

Do not let what is said about me scandalize you; as far as my own person is concerned, I pay no heed to their persecution. It is a joy to me to be reviled for the sake of the holy gospel.

In another letter she says:

I beg you not to be vexed if you hear that I am being abused or ridiculed because I confess Christ. Be alarmed only if you hear that I have denied God.

Annekan Jans Von Briel was a young widow, a woman of means with an infant son. She was arrested with her friend, Christina Barents, in Rotterdam, for singing hymns in the street. The actual reason for the arrest was probably due to the fact that she was sending financial support to a notorious Dutch Anabaptist, David Joris who had escaped officials and was living as a model citizen in another country. Joris’s mother did not manage to escape and was drowned. At age 28 Annekan was drowned. As she was being led to her death, she held a purse of money out to the crowd gathered to witness her death, in a plea for someone to raise her son, Isaiah. A letter she left to him, written in Latin, became a popular testament to her faith and was printed several times. It is a lengthy letter which includes:

Therefore, my child, do not regard the great number, nor walk in their ways. Remove thy foot from their paths, for they go to hell, as sheep unto death … but where you hear of a poor, simple, cast-off little flock which is despised and rejected by the world, join them.

Annekan knew the New Testament, chapter and verse. Most women radical reformers could recite all or large portions of the New Testament, even if they were illiterate.

Anabaptists had schools that were hidden in forested areas, spaced within about a day’s walk from each other. Teachers would journey from school to school in order to teach Scripture. Women who could not read had to memorize what they heard by heart. The New Testament was at the core of their faith — at the core of their lives — in their hearts. This is the meaning of memorizing by heart. It shocked the examiners of the Inquisition when they interrogated women who responded to every question with a quote from Scripture. How could a woman be so adept at using the Bible for her own defense? The schools were made illegal. Engaging in one became a capital crime. The schools were perhaps the first example of congregational polity, with each school governing itself, yet cooperating with each other by sending information, needed supplies and urgent warnings of imminent attacks by way of the teacher.

Katherine Zell was one of the first women to publically marry a Catholic priest. There were seven priests who married in the city of Strassbourg around the same time. All were excommunicated. Katherine was also one of the first women to model a co-ministry with her husband. She dared to speak in church, though from the floor and not the pulpit. She tended to those who needed pastoral care and performed ceremonies after the death of her husband Matthew. One of her last acts was to officiate at the funeral of an Anabaptist who was refused the services of Katherine’s late husband’s replacement. She had to be carried to the ceremony because of her infirmities. She wrote to the minister who refused to officiate at the Anabaptist’s funeral:

You behave as if you have been brought up by savages in a jungle. The Anabaptists are pursed as by a hunter with dogs chasing wild boars … you young fellows tread on the graves of the first fathers of this church in Strassbourg and punish all who disagree with you, but faith cannot be forced.

For her work she was disdained and threatened with prison as a “disturber of the peace of the Church.” She responded with:

A disturber of the peace am I? Yes, indeed, of my own peace. Do you call this disturbing the peace that instead of spending my time in frivolous amusements I have visited the plague infested and carried out the dead? I have visited those in prison and under sentence of death. Often for three days and three nights I have neither eaten nor slept. I have never mounted the pulpit, but I have done more than any minister in visiting those in misery. Is this disturbing the peace of the church?

Katherine would have been put on trial, but she died before the officials arrested her.

What, in the stories of radical reformers is translatable — workable — in the context of the 21^st Century? Most of us, if we are Unitarian Universalists, do not share the theology of the radical reformers. Most of us do not expect the Second Coming of Christ and our reward for keeping the faith is not a seat at the Welcome Table.

And not commitment only when it is convenient or comfortable, but when it is right. We share this kind of knowing on some level with our forebears, but not many of us manage to live completely by what we know is right. There are plenty of obstacles, to be sure, even for those who put a priority on being fully committed to one or more of the values we covenant to strive toward in our Unitarian Universalist Principles and Purposes.

Julia Hill is a good 21^st Century example of what we are capable of doing. She was brought up by a conservative minister and a mother who did not approve of her more liberal leanings. Julia was in a car accident in her early 20's. She realized that she could have been killed, and this raised questions in her mind about what it was that she would have missed doing in her lifetime. What was it she cared about the most? Her highest priority as far as how she wants to contribute to a larger good than herself is in working to save the environment — working to save the planet.

Julia drove to Humboldt county in Northern California to where the Sequoias and Redwood trees are plentiful — one of the last places on earth where that is so. Sequoia trees can live to be 3,000 years old. Pacific Lumber was busy cutting these trees down. These trees would take centuries to grow again. Julia found a tree blue marked — which means it was going to be cut down. It is 240 feet high. She named it Luna, rallied a support team and climbed almost to the top, where she built a platform. She stayed in the tree, with the help of her team below, for two years. She weathered terrible wind storms, icy rain and the hatred of men who made their livings in the lumber industry. She was harassed by men in helicopters who threatened her. One of her colleagues was in another tree, which did get cut down. The young man died. Finally Pacific Lumber agreed to save a grove of the ancient trees, and to donate funds for research to Humboldt State College as well. Julia climbed down. Julia would tell you that her purpose is to speak for living beings that cannot speak for themselves — at least not in a language that we humans can understand.

Julia did not begin her journey as a vegan — it turned out to be the only logical conclusion to her commitment — to speak for beings that cannot speak for themselves. When Julia does not know what or who she should turn to in discerning what is right, she asks herself “What would the Divine do?” The answer to that question guides her decisions.

What or who do you turn to? Is the Divine to Unitarian Universalists most accessible to us through communion with nature? It seems to me that this is so, just as it was for Emerson and Thoreau.

The fact that our planet is in great peril may bring us, like Julia, to the logical conclusion that we really do belong to the interconnected web of all beings. I’m working on it, and I slip just about every day — but my awareness is changing and my behavior is trying to catch up to it.

Adrian Rich, in her poem called Transcendenal Etude says “no one ever told us we had to study our lives, make of our lives a study, as if learning natural history … ”

Surely we come together as Unitarian Universalists because we want to work on our lives. Surely we don’t have time to argue amongst ourselves over perceived divisions within our movement. Now is the time for us to build bridges over the false dichotomies we have created. Then we can cross over those bridges and follow our paths— when we are prepared to ask: What would the Divine do? And follow the answer, which will be the right thing to do.

Peace be with you.

 

Reflection: Acting on our Principles