An Interview with Valdis Tēraudkalns
Valdis Tēraudkalns grew up during the late Soviet period in a Latvianspeaking family in Riga, now capital of independent Latvia. He continues to live and work in the city as a professor of church history and history of religion at the University of Latvia’s faculty of theology. He is additionally associate minister at St. Savior’s Anglican Church on Anglikāņu iela [Latvian: Anglican Street] in Riga’s Old Town and general secretary of the Latvian Bible Society.
In early February the editor of the East-West Church Report joined Valdis (and his two British Blue cats) via Zoom for a conversation about his church activity and the role in Latvian public life played by the revived theology faculty. The interview was conducted in English.
Did your upbringing in Soviet-era Riga have a Christian element?
My parents were not active Christians. I was baptized, however, and I do remember being taken secretly from school to a Christmas service. Christmas was not a holiday during the Soviet period, and children were definitely not encouraged to attend services. Being in a crowded church was quite an experience for a young person—it had a kind of dissident atmosphere. That is one of the reasons why I started to become interested in Christianity—to my mind, and the minds of many young people back then, this was something not quite legal; it was against the system. I also remember telling my mother once during Soviet times that I even wanted to study church history. She was horrified! It was probably the worst scenario, ruinous for one’s career! But once the Soviet system collapsed, that is what I did.
Was the church you were taken to at Christmas as a child a Lutheran church?
It was, but I later became involved with the Baptist Church because the Baptists were working with young people much more actively. They also started to use contemporary forms of music and had many links with foreigners. These were not just official links—all churches had international relations controlled by the Soviet system— but grassroots-level contacts. I remember tourists visiting from Finland and Sweden, as well as émigré Latvians. It was a space relatively free from state control. Your school education was in the 1970s and 80s.
How strongly did you feel atheist propaganda in school? Did it fluctuate during those years?
There was definitely an aggressively repressive system working—even in details that were probably not regulated, which shows how people were intimidated. For example, we had to write essays in our high school classes in Latvian literature. In one essay I mentioned Christmas, for which I used a capital letter. The teacher told me off for this, saying that we do not use a capital letter for such festivals. This was not in fact a question of grammar, the message was: “No religion, please! If you must mention it, you should show that it has nothing to do with proper [i.e. Communist] festivals.”
This was in the early 1980s. But even at the very end of the decade, when perestroika was in full swing, I remember someone calling me with a request to meet. This person turned out to be from the KGB, and he hinted that the international contacts I had might prove problematic. He was well informed about my involvement in the church, using phrases known only in church circles. This incident shows that the system was still working right at the very end. Later on, of course, we learned how many church activists were involved in informing the KGB.
Have the churches that were functioning in Soviet-era Latvia addressed this issue?
The KGB archives were opened some years ago—anyone can access them. Many names, including top leaders in the Orthodox, Catholic, Lutheran, and Seventh day Adventist Churches, were found there. Some of the people who were identified as agents in these files talked openly about how they were recruited. Others said publicly that they did not know why their names featured there as informants, as they simply had international contacts. Of course, there is no proof in either direction to say whether this is true, but at least they talked about it openly. Others have never said anything in public, including Metropolitan Aleksandr (Kudryashov) of the Latvian Orthodox Church, who appears in the KGB files under the agent code name Chitatel’ [Russian: “Reader.” See Oksana Antonenko, “Latviia otrkyla arkhivy KGB,” BBC Russian Service, 21 December 2018, https://www.bbc.com/ russian/features-46653022.] So this is still a live issue. I would say that we cannot deal with the past with silence—by simply saying nothing.
Presumably there was no Anglican community in Riga when you were growing up. What drew you to the Anglican tradition in particular?
Yes, the historical Anglican church here was closed in the early 1960s during the USSR’s anti-religious campaign at that time—from the 1940s onward it had been used by the Lutherans. The building then became the students’ club of Riga Technical University—one of the very first discos started there in the 1970s. Now it once again belongs to the local Anglican community, which is very multicultural, including Latvians, Russians, Swedes, Dutch, and so on. Very few in the community are from the UK, however, so it defies the stereotype that Anglicanism is something peculiarly English. I began to become interested in Anglicanism in the 1990s, when I was a visiting student in the UK. I attended Anglican churches in Manchester and Oxford. What I really liked about it was that it was comprehensive—not confessional in the Lutheran manner. On the same street you could find an Anglican church that was almost Catholic, as well as one that would be strongly Charismatic or Evangelical, with a worship band playing and no vestments. Very importantly to me, it also had a strong liberal wing—theologians at grassroots level standing for inclusivity: the rights of women, of LGBT people, and so on. This way of keeping things together and allowing space for different ideas and worship styles really attracted me. Looking back now, I can see that things were more complex—like any other church, Anglicans struggle with many issues.
Latvia is situated where three major Christian traditions meet: Lutheranism to the north, Orthodoxy to the east, and Catholicism to the south. The Pew Research Center’s 2017 study “Religious Belief and National Belonging in Central and Eastern Europe” found Latvia to be “religiously mixed” almost evenly along these lines [http://www.pewforum.org/2017/05/10/religiousbelief-and-national-belonging-in-central-and-easterneurope/.] Is there a sense locally that any particular faith is quintessentially Latvian?
We do not have precise statistics. Historically, Lutheranism has been the majority church, but many Latvians are also Roman Catholics. The Orthodox Church would be the main one among ethnic Russians. The Lutheran Church has been perceived by many as a kind of Latvian national church, but not so strongly as in other countries, such as in parts of Germany or even neighboring Estonia. Ludvigs Adamovičs, a famous Latvian church historian, wrote that the idea of the Lutheran Church as a church for the nation is more wishful thinking than reality. He was writing that in the 1920s—a century ago! Our country has become ever more secular since then, and we cannot say that there is one large religious group with which people would associate.
Back in the 1840s tens of thousands of Latvians chose to convert from Lutheranism to Orthodoxy. Is there a strong sense in Latvia today that cultural background need not determine faith identity?
Yes, and this mass conversion to the Orthodox faith was not just due to Russification or financial incentive. It also happened because many people felt alienated from the Lutheran Church, which in the 19th century was a German church with strong links to the nobility. Many people today might think of the Orthodox Church as a kind of ethnic Russian faith, but that is not the case—there are also Orthodox Latvians. Just recently the Orthodox Church in Latvia produced a Latvian translation of the Psalms from Church Slavonic, as well as new Latvian translations of liturgical texts, and there are some Orthodox churches where worship services are in Latvian. With the fragmentation of religious life, of course, many younger denominations have also been introduced— Baptists in the 19th century, Seventh-day Adventists at the beginning of the 20th century. These groups have remained small but they are much more integrated now—they try to maintain ecumenical links with the other churches. There is also a strong Charismatic movement—not just independent Charismatic churches that often have links to the United States, but also Charismatic movements within larger denominational bodies.
How have the changes in Latvia over the past 30 years influenced the attitude of young people towards the Church?
There was enthusiasm at the end of the 1980s and the beginning of the 1990s. Now it is less. You can see this simply by attending churches of various denominations— there are not so many young people there. The main reason is the same as in other secularized Western countries—churches have become less relevant, and many young people now would not accept a church not ordaining women, or not being LGBT inclusive, or having a very negative attitude towards other religions, for example. Of course, there will always be congregations that are attractive to young people—that are open to more experimental kinds of worship, for example. But the general trend is not encouraging.
Turning to your work with students at the University of Latvia: How recently was the faculty of theology re-established there?
The faculty was opened in 1920, after Latvia won independence from Russia. It functioned for 20 years—until the Soviet annexation of Latvia in 1940—but was then closed, except for a short period under Nazi occupation. The faculty was re-established in 1990, when Latvia once again proclaimed independence.
Does this mean there was no theological education in Soviet-era Latvia?
The Lutherans still offered courses in theology. They had a seminary where they tried to follow the pre-war program of the faculty of theology and to maintain academic standards. The Catholics also had a seminary. The Baptists repeatedly petitioned the local government department for religious affairs for permission to start theological courses. By the very end of the Soviet period they had semi-official courses here and also people studying in Moscow, where the Baptists ran an extensive theological program. There was thus some theological education, but it was not part of a broader international scene—that was not possible. Some of the literature used was smuggled in—brought in as single copies by church leaders on international trips. Many books were old, from the pre-war years.
When the faculty of theology was re-established in 1990, it was as an extension of the Lutheran seminary. The students were typically men preparing for ministry in the Lutheran Church—and not only men, as women’s ordination was still possible at that time. [Editor’s note: It ceased with the election of Jānis Vanags—a conservative on the issue— as archbishop in 1993.] That has since changed: among the present faculty staff we have Orthodox, Anglicans, and Adventists, as well as Lutherans. The student body is even more diverse—we have had Muslim students and a Neopagan student, for example.
So today there are fewer studying to become clergy? Much fewer, and people can choose to major in either theology or religious studies. This means that some opt to study Buddhism or another religion, for example. We currently have over 100 students: around 90 studying on the three-year bachelor’s degree program, 11 on the master’s degree program, and two or three doctoral students.
The larger churches now have their own seminary arrangements—the Lutherans have an academy, and the Orthodox, Catholics, and Baptists also have seminaries. Yet many pastors are graduates of our faculty, or would still choose to study with us for an advanced degree.
We try to cooperate with the church-connected educational institutions, but it is not easy. Our goals are obviously different as we are part of a secular university. We are also perceived as “liberal,” although I would say that this is an oversimplification, as not all staff and students would regard themselves that way. There is also more than one definition of what theological “liberalism” means. Here we are trying to create a space for free thinking and critical analysis. I believe the church should be a place where people are not told what they have to believe, but where they find out for themselves—they develop their own understanding rather than being told in a strict manner what the dogmas are. Every denomination has its own identity, but it should be broad enough to include various viewpoints.
In what particular fields of research are faculty staff members engaged?
Research on the Soviet period is one—together with some colleagues, I am personally involved in that area. It helps that we are acquainted with the relevant local languages, Latvian and Russian. We also have studies looking at contemporary religious life. For example, there is now a project financed by the Latvian Council of Science on the role of women in the Lutheran Church, including the issue of ordination. Some staff members have also been involved in Bible translation.
Is that work linked with the Latvian Bible Society?
Yes, the Latvian Bible Society published the newest Latvian-language translation of the Bible in 2012. I would describe this as the first ecumenical Bible translation into Latvian, as people from various churches took part. Previously, all translations were essentially Lutheran projects. The Catholics have produced a New Testament, but not a complete Bible.
The first translation into Latvian was completed by Johann Ernst Glück [a German pastor and stepfather to Peter the Great’s second wife, Catherine I] in the 17th century. This underwent many revisions. Then a new translation was started between the two world wars. The translation of the New Testament was published in the 1930s, while the Old Testament was completed in diaspora. There were some Baptists involved, but Lutherans still mainly led that project. This second major translation into Latvian was published in 1965, but it was still in the tradition of Pastor Glück. The 2012 translation was a completely fresh start with a new team—mostly people with no previous involvement in Bible translation, such as the famous Latvian poets Uldis Bērziņš [1944-2021] and Knuts Skujenieks [1936- 2022], who produced a translation of the Song of Songs [Song of Solomon] during his years in a Soviet prison camp. The person who chaired the translation committee is an exception: Juris Cālītis, a Lutheran and Anglican minister who for some time was also dean of the theology faculty. He became involved in the translation work in diaspora during the Soviet period and was later coordinator of the Bible Translation Committee of the Latvian Bible Society.
Is the 2012 Bible translation now used by all churches in Latvia?
Some congregations might also use the old translation. The Catholics also use their own New Testament and lectionary texts for liturgical purposes. But yes, the 2012 translation is distributed throughout all churches in Latvia. The new translation makes the Deuterocanonical books available in modern Latvian for the first time. The 1965 translation did not contain them—in those early days of ecumenism, The British and Foreign Bible Society still had a policy of not funding the publication of those texts, even if they were in use by Lutherans, Anglicans, and some other Protestants. We are currently in the process of revising the new translation—the revised text will hopefully be launched in 2024. We have also entered the digital age, as the new Latvian Bible is available on international platforms such as YouVersion and Olive Tree.
