tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36600899414344279642024-03-13T20:46:50.805-07:00Journey With PsalmsBeth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-67017328531452751462014-06-09T17:18:00.000-07:002014-06-09T17:18:06.753-07:00A Break in Hungary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After completing our interviews in Romania, we left behind busy cities, rural communities, and forested mountains. The questions I took with me were not as easily dismissed. How does one make sense of the mutual mistrust among Hungarians and Romanians? How does one understand "<a href="http://journeywithpsalms.blogspot.com/2014/05/contrasts-in-culture.html">Roma "Castles"</a> and anti-Roma sentiment? Does the residue of communism shape the present?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GwqdwTkGd24/U5Y6CsOtQLI/AAAAAAAAAVo/yLnluWajMRM/s1600/Ro+LeavingCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GwqdwTkGd24/U5Y6CsOtQLI/AAAAAAAAAVo/yLnluWajMRM/s1600/Ro+LeavingCollage.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
It was still a warm day when we crossed into Hungary. We were all ready for a break and stopped at a town market whose name I cannot remember, but it is a typical Hungarian town market.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n1xbCWasHc0/U5ZBOmQG0dI/AAAAAAAAAWA/8p7MHt9U0hI/s1600/Hu+Market+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n1xbCWasHc0/U5ZBOmQG0dI/AAAAAAAAAWA/8p7MHt9U0hI/s1600/Hu+Market+Collage.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Evening brought us into the outskirts of Budapest. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-og_ITVTA9Mg/U5ZEVmWqXnI/AAAAAAAAAWM/KYRgb9EpMe0/s1600/Hu+Outside+Budapest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-og_ITVTA9Mg/U5ZEVmWqXnI/AAAAAAAAAWM/KYRgb9EpMe0/s1600/Hu+Outside+Budapest.jpg" height="334" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The next day I spent exploring the Budapest, truly a lovely, historic city. The Matthias Church restored during the 19th century is spectacular. The Liberty Bridge was one of the many </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Danube River bridges rebuilt after World War II</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZGKX2v9qzD8/U5ZL39mNHNI/AAAAAAAAAWc/m4l0FUa44CE/s1600/Hu+Bud+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZGKX2v9qzD8/U5ZL39mNHNI/AAAAAAAAAWc/m4l0FUa44CE/s1600/Hu+Bud+Collage.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Today I wonder even more about questions Hungarians might ponder if they visited the U.S. Would they question the poverty in our cities? Our attachment to guns and violence? The aging and pockmarked roads and highways? Our raging political divisions? </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-34351692737348312282014-05-14T14:29:00.001-07:002014-05-16T20:04:34.861-07:00Psalm 23~God is My Waiter<i>When we translated Ferenc Visky's interview, I was struck not only by the originality of his understanding of the Psalms, but also by his awareness of God's presence in his life - even as he recalled events that were decades old. He, like many others no longer within the walls of Gherla Prison, lived in the shadow of the secret police, the Securitate. </i><i>He once described his release as going from a smaller one into the larger prison of Romania. To maintain a tone of terror in this prison world, the Securitate could demand admittance to any home, anywhere, anytime.</i><i> Considered enemies of the state, the Visky family was a regular recipient of such visits. </i><br />
<br />
Psalm 23<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FVMGED4r0NQ/U3Pc6i7m0zI/AAAAAAAAAVY/i7e4G3P6N3U/s1600/Visky+fingers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FVMGED4r0NQ/U3Pc6i7m0zI/AAAAAAAAAVY/i7e4G3P6N3U/s1600/Visky+fingers.jpg" height="400" width="271" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ferenc Visky~June 2003</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In 1980 we were free from prison but had another house search one day when we were having breakfast. Five people entered, secret police from Bucharest. One was an important officer; it was a very distinguished group. After they entered, they showed us their permit to search. I said, OK, and we continued having breakfast. We asked them to have a seat in another room because there was no place for them to sit in our breakfast room. They declined and instead chose to stand in the room with us.<br />
<br />
So, we continued with our breakfast. I could see that they were uncomfortable with the situation, standing and watching us calmly eating. We should have been the uncomfortable and anxious ones, but they were. This was good. Then we started to talk and I told them that I had known that they were coming that morning because I had read Psalm 23 in my Bible that said, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall lack nothing. Even if I am in the valley of the shadow of death etc. etc. etc. I told them that this was a treasured psalm for me.<br />
<br />
The officer looked startled and asked me how I knew. I didn’t need to be asked twice, so I began to explain. It meant a great deal to me, I said, that in the Word you can read, ‘You make the table for me in the presence of my enemies. My cup is full and I have no fear even in the valley of death because I know you are with me and your hand holds my hand.’ I told the officer, Usually in a situation like we are in, the appetite of the man about to be arrested is always gone, but now you brought my appetite instead.<br />
<br />
They looked puzzled, so I had to tell them that I had a good appetite because the text says that God is the one who prepares my table. So, I continued, God is my waiter today or I should say, host. Please understand that God is very near to us, but he doesn’t always put on the table the sort of meal that I really like. For instance, presently, I do not really like what you officers are going to do with us after a few moments, but I’m not looking at the things that are on the table. I’m looking at Him who put you on my table, and this is why I have a good appetite. And this is important to me, that I can be liberated this way at such a moment. This is the message of Psalm 23.<br />
<br />Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-82437922882074923892014-05-08T20:02:00.000-07:002014-05-08T20:02:08.554-07:00Ferenc Visky: Reflections on Psalms 115 and Psalm 90<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Because the
interview with Ferenc Visky had been rescheduled, the team spent a few days in
Hungary and Slovakia and then returned to the Visky home in Oradia/Nagyvarad</i></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">,</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> for our meeting. Watching him
speak throughout the interview made me wish that I could have been present for
one of his sermons. Rev. Visky must have been an expressive preacher because he was
always in motion; his gestures and facial expressions revealed how involved he
was in the Word and with the words he was speaking.</i></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Not to us, O
Lord, not to us<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>But to your name
be the glory,<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Because of your
love and faithfulness<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Psalm 115:1 (NIV)</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BUzHLGyrwp0/U2w-j82uh8I/AAAAAAAAAU0/OiMhWVxpJL4/s1600/Visky+Ferenc+&+Julia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BUzHLGyrwp0/U2w-j82uh8I/AAAAAAAAAU0/OiMhWVxpJL4/s1600/Visky+Ferenc+&+Julia.jpg" height="305" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ferenc and Julia Visky ~June 2003</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When we became
engaged to marry, the psalms showed up in an interesting way. The once-engaged
person is sitting here with me now. Fifty-six years ago we were looking for the
confirmation that we belonged together and that we had tasks to do together. We
remembered words from Psalm 115. At that time we had decided to turn toward Romania, and
we knew that our field of service would not be in Hungary but in Romania where
my father used to be a pastor. It was very good to be in harmony in this and to
know that the true meaning of our service would happen under this quote, “Not
for us O Lord, but for your name. <i>Soli Deo Gloria</i>. And we wished and we do wish
that this will stay with us always.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Teach us to number our days aright</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>so that we may gain a heart of wisdom.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Psalm 90:12 (NIV)</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TGTbEtpmxY0/U2w_bNS7IfI/AAAAAAAAAVI/9HwrcJV2VsU/s1600/Visky+hand+on+mouth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TGTbEtpmxY0/U2w_bNS7IfI/AAAAAAAAAVI/9HwrcJV2VsU/s1600/Visky+hand+on+mouth.jpg" height="400" width="385" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>
Maybe I will not
tell the stories chronologically - so I am jumping in time now. I would like to <span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center;">tell you about the marriage of my grandchild. He is a pastor, by the way. At
his wedding we received a message from Psalm 90, the well-known verse, “Teach
us to count our days that we can get a wise heart.” </span><br />
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">According to the
text here, we can say that it’s well-known, but I think a verse has to give a
new meaning each time it’s read. We usually say that, well, it’s a familiar and
well-known verse so I do understand the message. But I think we can’t say this.
I won’t tell you the whole preaching here, just some parts of it. First of all,
the first words say ‘Teach us.’ It means that I have a need of teaching because
I don’t know, because I am standing in front of things that I don’t understand.
I don’t know how to be a husband, how to be a wife, how to be a pastor, how to
preach, how to be a grandfather.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sW3nzU9NxXA/U2w-8dbtPvI/AAAAAAAAAVA/Fc4mqE0QWpI/s1600/Visky+elbow+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sW3nzU9NxXA/U2w-8dbtPvI/AAAAAAAAAVA/Fc4mqE0QWpI/s1600/Visky+elbow+up.jpg" height="355" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There were some
church leaders present at that wedding, so I preached to professors and to lay
leaders of the church district too, the curators. But it was their misfortune that
they were present. I preached that I really don’t know how one can be a
curator, a professor, or a bishop, and it’s high time to study how to do these
things; a whole lifetime is necessary to learn these things. This message alluded to my family’s history.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-44122586386047401132014-05-05T10:10:00.000-07:002014-05-05T15:36:29.250-07:00Contrasts in Culture<br />
On this trip, I left Romania trying to make sense of the many contrasts. Here are a few.<br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #073763;">Rural and Urban</span></h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-peEiBXzUdKU/U2fBSQbPDMI/AAAAAAAAAUc/SyVV-ANUL6Q/s1600/Rural+&+Urban+Coll.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-peEiBXzUdKU/U2fBSQbPDMI/AAAAAAAAAUc/SyVV-ANUL6Q/s1600/Rural+&+Urban+Coll.png" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #073763;">Old and Young</span></h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--oLI_owgsKg/U2fBT7pQBOI/AAAAAAAAAUo/Flr-5MFYRjs/s1600/Young+%2526+Old+Collage.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--oLI_owgsKg/U2fBT7pQBOI/AAAAAAAAAUo/Flr-5MFYRjs/s1600/Young+%2526+Old+Collage.png" height="244" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #073763;">Ruined</span></h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vzmyHpOfzUo/U2fBPME0mCI/AAAAAAAAAUU/foJtJXtUkn8/s1600/Collage+Hallar+Castle.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vzmyHpOfzUo/U2fBPME0mCI/AAAAAAAAAUU/foJtJXtUkn8/s1600/Collage+Hallar+Castle.png" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #073763;">. . . and New</span></h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vHZ7BOvJr-s/U2fBP_U3IpI/AAAAAAAAAUY/rXGOyHNdIFQ/s1600/Roma+Castle+Collage.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vHZ7BOvJr-s/U2fBP_U3IpI/AAAAAAAAAUY/rXGOyHNdIFQ/s1600/Roma+Castle+Collage.png" height="312" width="640" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
</h4>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-81401771256722512592014-05-03T17:54:00.000-07:002014-05-03T17:54:38.477-07:00On the Way Home<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We
were on our way to Nagyvarad/Oradea, when we received a phone call postponing
the interview with FerencVisky. We were disappointed, but it
was also a relief. I for one was satisfied with a break from the intensity of the
previous days. I think the others were quietly relieved too, and the van was
peaceful during the long trek home. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">And
then . . . next to the highway, about halfway to the border – I’m not sure who
spotted them first – two men were shearing sheep.</span><br />
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C5gM1tb9Q5w/U2WCcb5jl0I/AAAAAAAAATU/dJ50n3umqjU/s1600/18+Sheep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C5gM1tb9Q5w/U2WCcb5jl0I/AAAAAAAAATU/dJ50n3umqjU/s1600/18+Sheep.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8PYhaFAK2ag/U2WBrN8w58I/AAAAAAAAARY/aEMTQ0LiobI/s1600/4+Sheep.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8PYhaFAK2ag/U2WBrN8w58I/AAAAAAAAARY/aEMTQ0LiobI/s1600/4+Sheep.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">I think we were all happy to stop – no
conversations, no differences, no
questions – just cameras. The men were methodically shearing a pen full of
sheep with hand clippers. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bWdNnzv_LBI/U2WBluTtqAI/AAAAAAAAARI/92Ae-AEg_2w/s1600/2+Sheep.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KYmzvPTBPfs/U2WCEPuaQHI/AAAAAAAAASQ/VWkIsnOSjXs/s1600/12+Sheep.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KYmzvPTBPfs/U2WCEPuaQHI/AAAAAAAAASQ/VWkIsnOSjXs/s1600/12+Sheep.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bzDOt-oIPfM/U2WCOEKj_kI/AAAAAAAAASw/8SLvdoMfTew/s1600/14+Sheep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bzDOt-oIPfM/U2WCOEKj_kI/AAAAAAAAASw/8SLvdoMfTew/s1600/14+Sheep.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NxzrgVq6g-k/U2WCODu3P8I/AAAAAAAAAS0/-oBDLOOdYfo/s1600/13+Sheep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NxzrgVq6g-k/U2WCODu3P8I/AAAAAAAAAS0/-oBDLOOdYfo/s1600/13+Sheep.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jkp8n2I_9eA/U2WBov0NfaI/AAAAAAAAARQ/26O8TulObrQ/s1600/3+Sheep.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jkp8n2I_9eA/U2WBov0NfaI/AAAAAAAAARQ/26O8TulObrQ/s1600/3+Sheep.JPG" height="512" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xmHkaqj7ouc/U2WN2T8Re9I/AAAAAAAAATo/FHdQVoohCmQ/s1600/Hat+looking+up.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xmHkaqj7ouc/U2WN2T8Re9I/AAAAAAAAATo/FHdQVoohCmQ/s1600/Hat+looking+up.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ibgLhIRP2M8/U2WN2aZB8WI/AAAAAAAAATk/XCbXzLWK6Ak/s1600/Hat+Portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ibgLhIRP2M8/U2WN2aZB8WI/AAAAAAAAATk/XCbXzLWK6Ak/s1600/Hat+Portrait.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o-0-pF6qhzU/U2WCcNxOzlI/AAAAAAAAATM/d4EDc5eZ9_g/s1600/16+Sheep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o-0-pF6qhzU/U2WCcNxOzlI/AAAAAAAAATM/d4EDc5eZ9_g/s1600/16+Sheep.jpg" height="640" width="454" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zU2pbrjDRus/U2WCc6AMpEI/AAAAAAAAATY/ywYAR49Id38/s1600/19+Sheep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zU2pbrjDRus/U2WCc6AMpEI/AAAAAAAAATY/ywYAR49Id38/s1600/19+Sheep.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9hNxNydorEw/U2WOXWUoX2I/AAAAAAAAAT4/XbG7VrLuLy0/s1600/15+Sheep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9hNxNydorEw/U2WOXWUoX2I/AAAAAAAAAT4/XbG7VrLuLy0/s1600/15+Sheep.jpg" height="640" width="456" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">That was in 2003. I don't know whether they use the same techniques today, but I was impressed! </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-90057464350137200202014-05-01T13:02:00.000-07:002014-05-04T15:24:15.531-07:00Still in Romania ~ With Istvan Tokes<i>I looked forward to the prospect of meeting Professor Istvan Tokes, father of Laszlo Tokes, the Reformed pastor famous for his courageous stand against Romania's Communist dictatorship.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OqA8k2O6aP4/U2KjWj84nfI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/TFZMteQL12o/s1600/Tokes+smilingDSCF0009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OqA8k2O6aP4/U2KjWj84nfI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/TFZMteQL12o/s1600/Tokes+smilingDSCF0009.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Professor Istvan Tokes - June 2003</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Professor Tokes, a retired seminary professor, welcomed us with a warm, firm <span style="text-align: center;">handshake, a delighted smile, and glass of his own sweet wine. The crew set up quickly, and Andras placed him in front of his desk, surrounded by books. Plaques of Reformers dominated the wall behind him.</span><br />
<br />
We politely mentioned the names of the people who had already been interviewed as well as the names of those still on the list. We reviewed the reason the interviews had been<br />
set up – to understand the survival of faith and the way that the Genevan Psalter reflected the suffering and the survival of the Reformed believers.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--ynL-HwhZ9I/U2KjVYHu4II/AAAAAAAAAQA/ldEE1BRZEXU/s1600/Tokes+doorway+DSCF0005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--ynL-HwhZ9I/U2KjVYHu4II/AAAAAAAAAQA/ldEE1BRZEXU/s1600/Tokes+doorway+DSCF0005.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Entryway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Apparently eager for polite introductions to be over, he seemed pleased when the interview began in earnest in Hungarian. I could sense that the topic we proposed was only tangentially related to other questions and topics important for him. The translation proved that I had guessed correctly. The long version of his <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FUegXHv4Mvs/U2KcvmBXy-I/AAAAAAAAAPY/8rRqQluvGWw/s1600/Laszlo+Tokes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FUegXHv4Mvs/U2KcvmBXy-I/AAAAAAAAAPY/8rRqQluvGWw/s1600/Laszlo+Tokes.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rev. Laszlo Tokes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
interview is being edited for inclusion in a book. It will include his discussion of the episcopal structure of the Reformed Church in Hungary and Romania, the confessing church vs. the folk church, and theological influences that shaped the response to the Communist dictatorship.<br />
<br />
<br />
I’m not sure how long this interview lasted, but when it was over, Tokes spoke for a few minutes in English. Urged to comment on the Genevan Psalms, he spoke briefly, sort of an afterthought, I think. “The psalms,” he said, “were and are very important today in the church liturgy. They are loved by church members and sung with joy. Although there are only 40 Genevan psalms in the version most used by Reformed churches in Transylvania, these 40 are well-used. He explained that after WWI a new psalm book was required, and the committee appointed to handle the revision decided to include more hymns, choosing only those psalms that are most easily sung and understood.<br />
<br />
Although the psalms are excellent literature and can stand on that basis, they should also be understood to contain the Word of God. Singing the Psalms is important only to the extent that singing conveys the meaning of the psalms. Singing was and is not as important as the preaching.” Spoken like a true preacher.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J-ZD4iKT89w/U2Ki9KF_uOI/AAAAAAAAAPo/uRYp0wLZtak/s1600/DSCF0026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J-ZD4iKT89w/U2Ki9KF_uOI/AAAAAAAAAPo/uRYp0wLZtak/s1600/DSCF0026.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
With that, we all stood up and stretched. While equipment was being dismantled, Tokes showed us his rosegarden and cut two long-stemmed roses, one for Bernadette and one for me.<br />
<br />
Ah! He loved flowers; he was a gardener too.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-5325230789877394102014-04-29T15:58:00.000-07:002014-04-29T15:58:41.380-07:00In the Words of Klara Dobri<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>A few years
ago, one of my Hungarian friends told me that the stories of women were often
overlooked, and she asked me to be on the alert. This entry serves as an
introduction to Klara Dobri, a courageous and strong woman who cared for six
young children while her husband, Janos Dobri, was imprisoned between 1957 and
1963. She managed to support her family by working long hours as a district
nurse while additionally caring for ill and aging parents. Due to the terror
that crippled social relations in Transylvania, most church members were
fearful, and few offered encouragement or support. Here is just a short excerpt
from our visit in June, 2003.</i></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qa80JloowhQ/U2Af9_brp9I/AAAAAAAAAOU/yvODZ6bN6cU/s1600/DSCF0196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qa80JloowhQ/U2Af9_brp9I/AAAAAAAAAOU/yvODZ6bN6cU/s1600/DSCF0196.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Klara Dobri, June 2003</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Still in the
city of Kolozsvar/Cluj, the dawn of a new day brought the prospect of meeting
Klara Dobri, the widow of Janos Dobri known to me by this time for his daring
underground exploits. Having met her first in March 2003, I was ready to see
her again, though by this time I was aware that it would not be easy for her to
retell a painful story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When we
arrived at her door, she welcomed us into her home and waited quietly while the
team set up. Her son hovered nearby, concerned, perhaps, that revisiting events
of long ago would overtax the stamina of his 85 year old mother. We promised to
be aware. Determined to tell the whole story, her voice remained clear and calm
and never faltered throughout the interview.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her first
words were, “In our life faith meant a lot. We had a hard life.” With those
words, it became clear that we would not hear just her story, but theirs, the
story of Klara and Janos Dobri.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>* * * * *</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The year
1957 was notable because it marked an intensification of repression in Romania.
Though Janos had been interrogated and imprisoned twice after his return in
1948, the evidence presented never established his guilt. In 1957 he was
arrested and accused of typing and distributing poems and behaving as a rebel.
After the failed 1956 revolution in Hungary, even a semblance of justice
disappeared in Romania. Anyone known or suspected of harboring pro-Hungarian
sentiments was labeled an enemy of the state. Janos was arrested, sentenced,
and sent to a labor camp, part of the Danube Delta system and then later to the
Szamosujvar/Gherla prison.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JwF4WpEkN3s/U2AjWW-4CII/AAAAAAAAAOs/tygE39FDgDQ/s1600/Dobri_janos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JwF4WpEkN3s/U2AjWW-4CII/AAAAAAAAAOs/tygE39FDgDQ/s1600/Dobri_janos.jpg" height="320" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Janos Dobri</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With Janos
gone, Klara faced the enormous challenge of providing for six children in a
nearly impossible situation. They were living in a world where fear ruled.
Seminary professors still in their positions didn’t speak to Klara, afraid to
be associated with a victim of the system. The seminary provided their lodging;
no-one had the heart to throw out a mother and six children, but they provided
little else. She fondly recalled the generous encouragement provided by Andras
Nagy, by that time retired from the seminary. She also remembered that Istvan
Tokes had written a letter on their behalf. However, many of her husband’s
former colleagues chose to look the other way when they met her, afraid to risk
the attention of the ever-present securitate. During all those years, Klara
worked as a district nurse. Because she visited different people at different
sites, she had the flexibility to drop in on the children sometime during the
day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Klara
described the situation at home. Life was hard for everyone, so we did not have
high expectations. There was no time to think. Life must go on. You must give
food to the children and you also have to work. Sometimes my brothers and
sisters brought food from the countryside. Sometimes a loaf of bread with some
fat on it was all we had. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>* * * * *</b></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3YGRTri6neo/U2Am208Mn8I/AAAAAAAAAPE/LrJOjJuz-6w/s1600/DSCF0185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3YGRTri6neo/U2Am208Mn8I/AAAAAAAAAPE/LrJOjJuz-6w/s1600/DSCF0185.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When Klara
talked about faith she said, “One should trust in the future because, truly,
only God can help us in all things. If we trust, he helps us.” When asked
whether music and the psalter supported her faith, she smiled and responded,
“Even now I have the psalm book beside me. During evening prayers I usually sing
a few songs. I have my hymnbook and the Bible beside my bed. Every evening I am
engaged with them. Now-a-days I can’t remember all the verses. Sometimes I
cannot catch a line and have to look it up. I never used to forget anything,
but now, sometimes, I can hardly remember names and . . .. After all, human life
ends, and we must acquiesce. But it was without hesitation that she named her
favorite, Psalm 25 - Lord to you my soul is lifted. Let me never be
ashamed. I like others too, she
added. I used to love singing, but now my voice is gone and I sing only for
myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As the
interview came to an end, Klara asked, “Have you recorded all of this?” When
she heard an affirmative reply, she nodded and said, “</span><span style="font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">So this cannot be
denied.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-3233172428891307792014-04-27T07:57:00.000-07:002014-05-08T16:59:18.964-07:00Introducing the Viskys<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3iDBfW-L6eI/U10R7sFuEBI/AAAAAAAAANI/2Um06_RVzps/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3iDBfW-L6eI/U10R7sFuEBI/AAAAAAAAANI/2Um06_RVzps/s1600/images.jpg" height="448" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Julia and Ferenc Visky, September, 1974</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><i>Though there was plenty of suffering and guilt to go around in Romania, I would like
to focus on Grace through excerpts from the story of Julia and Ferenc
Visky, especially his reflections on the Psalms. If you would like to learn more than I include here, search for Ferenc Visky on the internet. You will find dozens of </i></span><i style="font-family: 'Courier New';">articles and references. First, though, a bit of
context.</i></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br /></span></div>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Reformed
Differences</span></h4>
<div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0rSFcKRSjQU/U10XqyPvm6I/AAAAAAAAANc/gvCHGJhINew/s1600/Julia+play+cover_jlia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0rSFcKRSjQU/U10XqyPvm6I/AAAAAAAAANc/gvCHGJhINew/s1600/Julia+play+cover_jlia.jpg" height="400" width="250" /></a><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><i>While the Fulops
represent the classically Reformed, Ferenc and Julia Visky would fall within
the renewal wing of the Reformed church. Following World War II, the remewal branch, sometimes called Bethania, experienced a powerful revival that touched
thousands in Hungary, Romania, and Transcarpathia, Ukraine. By 1950 the
movement had been forced underground by Communist persecution. Its leaders were
kept under surveillance, and by 1958, many had been arrested and sentenced, some up to
22 years, including Ferenc Visky. Because of her continuing witness, Julia
and her seven children were soon after sent to one of the camps of the infamous Danube Delta gulag. Their son, playwright Andras Visky, told her story in the play, Julia.</i></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<i><o:p></o:p></i><br />
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<i style="font-family: 'Courier New';"><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New';">March 2003</span></h4>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New';"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<i style="font-family: 'Courier New';">When we first met Julia and spoke with Ferenc Visky, I soon </i><i style="font-family: 'Courier New';">sensed that they lived and
breathed in the presence of God. It was also apparent that one needed to be ready for his sharp wit. We had crowded into his small study close to the kitchen, and with a gleam in his eyes Visky began,</i></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“Come, let us get
close together like small piggies in this small room. I don’t mean that you are
pigs; I don’t want to begin by hurting anyone . . . If the shirt doesn’t fit,
don’t wear it!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><i>I described
our mission of recording his understanding of faith and his perception of how the psalms reflected his life under
Communism. The gleam had not yet disappeared and Visky inquired sweetly whether my
congregation back in Grand Rapids ever sang any of the Genevan Psalms. Sensing a trap, I answered quickly that we sang
some, but never Psalm 119 in its entirety.
He smiled and appeared satisfied with my answer. Having thus established
that we were not complete nincompoops, the conversation could begin.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br /></span></div>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Regarding the
Genevan Psalms</span></h4>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">“From a biblical
perspective, singing and choirs or liturgical musical singing is prophetic
according to Holy Scripture. Singing itself is not significant; it is
significant only when inspired from above, and only when it’s directed from
above, not only based on our emotions or other factors. It is most important
that I listen attentively and wait for the one from above to touch with his
fingers the person, the string. Somehow it is very nice when someone strums me.
So this is very crucial that singing also be treated as the preaching of God’s
word. Singing of the Psalms in itself is preaching too.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><i>I’d like to
include everything from that first meeting here, but will jump to an excerpt from the June interview.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Singing the Psalms</span></h4>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8YcaXidNMoM/U10PAGPu4eI/AAAAAAAAAM4/n34ilQq1Q-E/s1600/Visky+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8YcaXidNMoM/U10PAGPu4eI/AAAAAAAAAM4/n34ilQq1Q-E/s1600/Visky+%25281%2529.jpg" height="400" width="387" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Courier New';">"After my release,
I was appointed to serve a congregation in the Nagyvarad area. In that
congregation, every Sunday afternoon, after the worship, we spent ten minutes
learning songs. We started to study the psalms, and somehow people began to
like them. How does the Hungarian proverb go? “It’s easy to take Kate to the
dance if she likes to dance. </span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">If you teach with love, they learn more
willingly, and if you sing with joy, then the songs stick. Maybe depression
sticks too, but happiness does as well. If I like the psalms and sing them with
love, they stick. We sang the Genevan Psalms from the official psalm book of
1672, according to the music’s prescribed tempos and rhythms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br /></span></div>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">The meaning of <i>Selah</i></span></h4>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">We were diligent,
and in many of the Psalms we read the expression, Selah. When we visited Richard
Wurmbrand in Los Angeles, he told me that the meaning of
Selah had been unlocked. Some said that this was a musical pause, and some
thought that it meant de capo al fine. There were arguments about this, but Selah – even its sound is
fine – means something different. When a song finishes, it leaves an echo in the congregation or in the singer. It leaves a sense of holiness and happiness that lingers. Selah is the moment when you hear at
once what has been sung, an impression beyond the melody and beyond the text.
This congregation was not especially spiritually sensitive, but when we studied these
ninety Psalm melodies, they understood that God was taking care of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-15271753313832140982014-04-04T09:56:00.000-07:002014-05-08T16:57:41.587-07:00What Happened in Romania<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lB-EL-v2NfI/Uz7hou8roqI/AAAAAAAAAMc/fTmBw8bNdsY/s1600/gherla+prison+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Why are you so far from saving me, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
so far from the words of my groaning? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Psalm 22: 1</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>In recent posts, I introduced Denes Fulop, a well-read thinker, a gifted pastor, and an engaged member of the community. He wasn’t a crackpot; he wasn’t a Hungarian nationalist. He was a deeply committed Reformed Christian. And when he was enduring in a concentration camp, I was entering college, an absorbed member of the free to be generation, concerned with a kind of justice that did not include a critique of Communist societies. In this post, I’d like to describe just a little part of what Denes endured. Though the stories themselves are powerful, I’ve included a few references, and if you wish, a quick internet search reveals dozens of related documents. This is a good one: <span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.thegulag.org/</span></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<h3>
Here's how the state handled dissent.</h3>
<br />
Unflinching Stalinism: Communism in Romania ". . . the Dej leadership unleashed ruthless purges of the Bucharest, Cluj and Timisoara universities.<br />
<br />
The repression of 1956 set the stage for another wave of terror from 1958 until 1961. The targets were intellectuals who, in the late 1940s were not arrested, but had been only marginalized. This social cleansing accompanied a new offensive toward completing the process of collectivization." <br />
http://romania.globalmuseumoncommunism.org/content/history0?page=2 <br />
In the book, Gulag, Anne Applebaum described the gulag system in Romania as concentration camps, places where "enemies of the state" were worked and starved to death. It used methods perfected and exported by the Soviet secret police. p. 454<br />
<br />
<h3>
Crime and Punishment </h3>
As a seminary student and a Hungarian, Denes was certainly aware of the 1956 events in Hungary. When Russian tanks helped crush the revolution, like other students, he became the target of the Romanian securitate (secret police). He escaped the purge of dissidents in 1956, and after graduating from the seminary, became the assistant in the castle church in Marosvasarhely (Targu Mures).<br />
<br />
He was caught in a later wave of terror and arrested. Following his arrest, Denes was flown to Kolozsvar (Cluj) and lodged in the Gherla prison where for six months he was interrogated and then beaten when he refused to reveal names or events. He soon learned that though he didn't talk, others did.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lB-EL-v2NfI/Uz7hou8roqI/AAAAAAAAAMc/fTmBw8bNdsY/s1600/gherla+prison+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lB-EL-v2NfI/Uz7hou8roqI/AAAAAAAAAMc/fTmBw8bNdsY/s1600/gherla+prison+crop.jpg" height="321" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Gherla Prison</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Though Denes had never confessed anything, he was brought to trial because the prosecutor had produced a witness he thought was reliable. Wearing chains and shackles, Feri, the young seminary student who, under torture had talked about Denes, now in court denied it all. The judge was furious and ordered him out of the courtroom. Here’s how Fulop described the scene many years later, "In the deathly silence that fell over us, Feri turned to leave. The only sound to be heard was the clanking of his chains as he made his way down the hall."<br />
<br />
<h3>
The Danube Concentration Camp</h3>
At a second trial, Denes was convicted and sent to one of the labor camps at the delta of the Danube River."For a while, I lived on a wreck of a boat decaying in the middle of a field of bamboo located between the dike and the river. During the winter, we were herded out on to the ice to harvest this bamboo. The rusting boat was home to 400 men crowded into stacks of metal bunkbeds. The whole boat was made of thick metal, If it was warmer inside than out, water condensed and dripped down, black and dirty. The fetid smoke from smoldering wood mixed with the humid air creating filthy conditions."<br />
<br />
The cold was terrible, especially because we were very thin, and due to lack of nutrition had little strength. Many times we were so hungry that we collected leaves growing at the edges of the fields where we worked, plants we used to feed the pigs at home. We also gathered another source of food, the snails attached to our pants."<br />
<br />
One of his most terrible memories was of a Sunday morning early in the spring, a day when the milder weather had caused the ice to begin to thaw. It was not strong enough to hold the weight of the prisoners, the bamboo cutters. Like the days before, the men marched out on to the ice. It caved in under their weight and with a sickening whoosh, they fell through. Those who followed tried to stop, but with guns and dogs the guards forced them to continue into the icy water. The whole group of prisoners reacted as one with an animal shout, frightening the guards. The sergeant was a cruel man and forced the men to stay in the icy water all day long. The cold and suffering was so great that prisoners begged the guards to shoot them.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>While researching the camps in Romania, I found a site constructed by high school students in Romania. Given the status of the world today, it was heart wrenching to read of their hope that the genocides of the 20th century would never be repeated. To see how they described Gherla Prison, the Pitesti Prison, and the Danube Delta camps, see their website: </i> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> http://library.thinkquest.org/o8aug/1956gherla_en.html</span><br />
<br />
<i>I must confess that the impact of the stories grew on me, especially when we began to translate and transcribe them. At first I was immersed in the organizational and personal details of the project, keeping track of costs, of the schedule, and always aware that I was the foreigner in the group. When we began to translate and transcribe them, I began to realize that I and my generation had been deaf to stories of unspeakable horror. We justified our deafness with a selective definition of justice that did not include our Reformed brothers and sisters behind an iron curtain whose existence we barely acknowledged.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>When atrocities happen,</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>those who remain silent and don't speak or act against evil</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>become its accomplices.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-36476177506154328072014-03-06T14:01:00.000-08:002014-03-06T14:01:14.600-08:00Whom Shall We Fear?<div style="text-align: center;">
The Lord is my light and my salvation</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
whom shall I fear?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Lord is the strength of my life,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
of whom shall I be afraid?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Psalm 27:1</span></div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
<i>I've been thinking about the purpose of the blog and also thinking about the hundreds of pages of material from the Ukraine, Hungary, and Romania that we gathered and translated. At first I had planned to include most of the material in the blog; now I'm taking a different tack. I'm working to publish the bulk of the material in a different medium, and will briefly introduce the men and women we interviewed and try to explain how their stories affected my thinking about the church and its mission. A young friend recently told m<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fdtGjA7zbQU/UxjjsVykffI/AAAAAAAAALk/SqsGF6-q4As/s1600/Ilona+on+phone.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fdtGjA7zbQU/UxjjsVykffI/AAAAAAAAALk/SqsGF6-q4As/s1600/Ilona+on+phone.JPG" height="320" width="304" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ilona Fulop served as the "executive secretary" of the parish.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
e that she would like to hear more about my journey through East Central Europe and its effect on me. I'll try to do just that using short pieces from the interviews. And I'll try to remember to put my thoughts in italic.</i><br />
<br />
Today, more about Ilona Fulop. I first met her in 1999 when I visited the church where her husband, Denes, was still serving. I soon realized that she was fearless, especially when she led us in the dark, over shaky scaffolds and through the construction site of a center to serve to the needy in the church district. Both she and Denes were instrumental in creating this center of welcome, warmth, and service in their city. Though Denes is gone, the ministry continues to this day.<br />
<br />
<i>In March of 2003, they told the following story over lunch, a few months before the official interviews began. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Ilona knew that Denes was an extraordinary man when he came to her village. The Reformed church there had been torn by a conflict that began when a previous pastor had angered some of his parishioners. Denes knew that it would be a challenge, but was surprised by the conditions he found. The church building was neglected, the garden overgrown, and he had to share the manse with hoards of mice feasting on the grain stored there. The people from both sides watched and waited, eager to hear this latest lamb to determine whether, like the others, he was ready for slaughter. His first sermon surprised and confused them. Denes noted that the garden was filled with weeds and prickers, the gate broken, and the church neglected. He invited anyone who wished to help repair the church to join him the next day. "The End." Along with several others, Ilona took up the challenge and appeared the next day to help; she continued by his side for many years.<br />
<br />
In June of 2003, the Fulops were one of the first subjects in Romania. Denes settled in the chair at the end of their dining room table, and the crew crowded in, equipment and all. It soon became clear that there wasn't much room for a silent observer, so I slipped out to find Ilona. I took pen and paper notes while we drank tea and talked without benefit of camera and crew. She told me how her family had been affected by the Communist regime.<br />
<br />
<i>I think that hearing the stories from the mouth of a warm, relaxed human being in an informal setting, somehow made them more real and believable.</i><br />
<br />
Every small village in Romania was visited by an official of the state who was given the task of assessing and categorizing the villagers. All hardworking farmers were labeled kulaks. Although the term kulak originally meant a wealthy, tight-fisted farmer, it came to be the designation for any farmer, wealthy or not, who resisted the confiscation of his land by the state. Once you were labeled a kulak, you were by definition an enemy of the state.<br />
<br />
Here's what happened to her family. In 1959, when Ilona was still living at home, her father, a hardworking farmer, refused to sign away his land to the local collective. After repeated threats from local thugs and repeated refusals by her father, he had some help with his decision. One night a long black car stopped in front of their house and two security men offered him one last chance to sign away his farm. When he refused, they took him away. For six months, his family didn't know what had happened to him. When he returned home, everything was gone: the land, cattle, and all the farm machinery. From then on, grain grown on the farm belonged to the state, was collected and sent away, presumably to Russia.This story was repeated in every village of Romania.<br />
<br />
<i>At first, stories like these didn't keep me awake at night, but I was beginning to listen with different ears especially when Denes described his days in a camp at the mouth of the Danube Delta or Ilona described an incident in 1989, when the secret police came for their daughter in a long, black car. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-9399506817502397132014-02-01T07:54:00.000-08:002014-02-02T07:00:57.859-08:00 Denes Fulop and the Case of Richard Wurmbrand<i>In March of 2003, I traveled to Romania for preliminary meetings with the men and women we planned to interview in the summer. We talked with Denes Fulop for an hour before we shared lunch together. From those conversations, I gleaned a kind of overview of his life just before and <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hcB1G0AGO18/Uu0SfvUWB2I/AAAAAAAAALU/t98SD2OgNdA/s1600/Denes+Setting+Table.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hcB1G0AGO18/Uu0SfvUWB2I/AAAAAAAAALU/t98SD2OgNdA/s1600/Denes+Setting+Table.JPG" height="320" width="253" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">He chose to serve - 2003</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
following his arrest. </i><br />
<br />
<h4>
Was Denes Fulop a terrorist?</h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
As part of its attempt to control people and movements, Romania’s Communist government decided to join two universities, one Romanian and the other Hungarian. Denes had been asked to represent the seminary at a meeting of students from both universities. There was one other blot on his record. While still a student,Denes had attended the trial of Geza Paskandy, a well-known Transylvanian poet and writer. These anti-state activities guaranteed a visit from the secret police - three years later. The <i>securitate</i> had been busy hunting down other threats, but Denes remained on the list.<br />
<br />
In 1959, Denes Fulop was one of hundreds swept up in massive arrests of pastors, students, and others labeled enemies of the state. He was beaten, interrogated, tried twice, and sentenced to 11 years in prison to be followed by 10 more years under government control. He spent one year in the prison and three years at a the Danube Delta. He was released in 1963 because of pressure from the U.S. government, but remained under government control for several years.<br />
<br />
<h4>
So What About Richard Wurmbrand?</h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
At that March meeting I asked whether he knew a pastor called Richard Wurmbrand. He not only knew him, but in 1959, Denes had shared a cell with him. I was surprised to hear him describe Wurmbrand as brilliant, extremely kind, deeply humble, courageous, and a man of great faith. His description did not much correspond with the man described by my cohort in the U.S. They hinted at moral flaws and dismissed him as a bit of a crackpot. However, other Reformed pastors in Romania shared Fulop's view and affirmed that Wurmbrand was responsible for sustaining hope when brainwashing, torture, and starvation drove many to long for death. <br />
<br />
Denes illustrated Wurmbrand's character with this story. In the Romanian prisons, conditions were especially harsh for political prisoners. It didn't take many weeks for them to be reduced to skin and bones. Denes, like others fed just enough slop to stay alive, soon was in the same state. Everyone was always hungry and longed for home, remembering the scent of roasting pork in their mothers' kitchens.<br />
<br />
Richard Wurmbrand, however, never participated in these sessions. Instead, each week he gave his dinner to the person who was suffering the most. Denes wondered how Wurmbrand, a large-boned man, could do such a thing and asked, “How can you do this when you yourself are skinny and starving?” Wurmbrand answered, “You can survive forced hunger by choosing voluntarily to be hungry.” Denes watched and copied Wurmbrand, no longer talking about food or complaining about hunger. And he found the near starvation endurable.<br />
<br />
<i>Pastor Fulop wondered how and why Richard Wurmbrand was known so differently in the United States than among Christians in Romania. So did I.</i><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-26807530998816139662014-01-24T07:37:00.000-08:002014-01-24T07:37:56.035-08:00Romania Continued<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;">Introducing the Fulops</span></h2>
<br />
<i>It’s been a while since I’ve added to my Journey With Psalms blog. Family trauma last summer resulted in a shared office, a full schedule, and, I must admit, a distracted blogger. But I’m back and invite you to again join me on the journey. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>In retrospect, I can see that when I first visited the Ukraine in 1998, I was becoming aware of trails I had never seen before. Though I still carried the title, "Queen of Bleeding Hearts," at least with my family, I was beginning to question my understanding of how a just society should be achieved. The Romania interviews generated more questions.</i><br />
<br />
<h4>
Now Meet Denes and Ilona Fulop</h4>
<br />
We interviewed them in June of 2003. Denes and Ilona met and married after he had been<br />
released from the Danube Delta prison camp. In 1959, he was one of many young Reformed seminary graduates accused of anti-state activities. Later I’d like you to hear parts of that story. Now, however, I’d like you to meet them.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lcROQqarMjg/UuKDW1tiY8I/AAAAAAAAALE/4KF7yUKCDt4/s1600/Denes+&+Ilona.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lcROQqarMjg/UuKDW1tiY8I/AAAAAAAAALE/4KF7yUKCDt4/s1600/Denes+&+Ilona.JPG" height="255" width="320" /></a></div>
At the very beginning of his interview, he summarized his understanding of the Christian life. That’s what I’d like you to read now. He saw himself as an ever-reforming child of God.<br />
<br />
<h4>
In His Words – Denes Fulop.</h4>
<br />
“When I was 15, I was overwhelmed when I read Doestevsky’s, <i>Crime and Punishment</i>. Until then, I had not thought deeply about the books and stories that ran through my life and hands. They were simply occasional reading.<br />
<br />
Maybe for a year or more after I had first read, <i>Crime and Punishment</i>, I couldn’t read any other book. It contained the whole human condition for me, a world of human characters and emotions, both good and bad. It troubled me that Sonya was forced to register as a prostitute and carry a yellow card, but her spirit was deeply innocent. Raskolnikov killed the old lady, but in the depths of his soul, he was not a bad man. Most important for me was that in spite of all their sins and faults, they could beg for mercy.<br />
<br />
The main characters arrive at a point where they can confess and then on the basis of forgiveness, start something new. In this story I could see human kind finding its true path. This is true for individuals, for all humans because we are filled with errors, faults, and mistakes around us and within us, faults from which we should step back and start a new beginning. This new beginning is an important way of life for me. It’s how I solve problems, how I confess sins, and how I beg for mercy. We confess that we have to start again and again each day, accepting the fact that we are not without sin, that we are not perfect.<br />
<br />
New beginnings are made possible by Christ’s resurrection at Easter and Pentecost. The healing and forgiveness are rooted in the crucifixion and Easter resurrection. And we are like the disciples at Pentecost, who spread out, hesitant and unsure of the future but with a desire to act based on emotion, rational understanding, and will. There are moments in life when these three come together and there is a change. This is rebirth through the power of the Holy Spirit – everyone may be reborn.<br />
<br />
This is the essence of my theological understanding of life. Some years later, though I didn't kill anyone, I followed Raskolnikov’s path to prison and the path of doubt both in prison and after. And then I received the strength of regained faith and hope. I had to begin my life again. I believe this Latin saying,<i> semper reformanda</i>, always reforming. Our confessional ancestors told us that the reformation is not just a historical event, but a continuous act.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-17840943913454127582013-08-12T14:05:00.000-07:002013-08-14T06:00:51.910-07:00A Slight Detour<br />
<br />
<i>Here’s the gist of questions recently raised. Why are you telling these old stories now? Why are you stuck in the past when there are so many more relevant problems and questions facing the church? One answer is that, the mission of the church was understood in various ways by leaders in the Hungarian Reformed Church back in the 1940s and 1950s. Those differences had an impact on the lives of the men and women whose stories will be told in following blog posts. I wonder how different understandings of the church's mission and the relationship of church and state affect us today. Reflecting on my own story has also helped me understand my own extended journey.</i> <i>Here's how it began.</i><br />
<br />
<h4>
At My Childhood Home</h4>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_dZqiErWU0M/UglBLiFhILI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/cEKCengL4Wk/s1600/Mom+Dad+Four+Girls2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_dZqiErWU0M/UglBLiFhILI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/cEKCengL4Wk/s320/Mom+Dad+Four+Girls2.jpg" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Mom & Dad & Four Sisters</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Voices drifted up through the register that allowed only a whiff of heat to seep through to the second story of our old brick farmhouse. One time, lying still and silent, spying on the adults, I heard the hushed voices of my father’s visitors telling of water torture and bamboo slipped under the nails of Christians in China. During other visits, short films flickered in the dark, revealing atrocities in China and Russia.<br />
<br />
Exposure to these reports made me realize that the cornfields surrounding our house were no protection, and fearing that enemy paratroopers had silently drifted down during the night, I often fell asleep filled with quiet terror. Born at the end of World War II, I came to consciousness hearing stories of tanks capable of crushing buildings bigger and stronger than our brick farmhouse. Undoubtedly, the images of Communist atrocities merged in my mind with World War II mayhem and created a monster more fearful than wild things of children’s books.<br />
<br />
The big bad wolf of my nightmares would not be stopped with bricks and sturdy wooden doors. Sometimes imagining bamboo slivers under my nails, I would fall asleep begging God to fix the world and protect my nails. And so I made a kind of treaty. Remembering my mother’s assurance that God would never give me more than I could bear, I promised to bear as long as my courage held up. When faced with bamboo slivers, I was quite sure, though, that I would deny him, but I would not mean it. This fear haunted my childhood. We worried about bomb shelters and radiation sickness, and wondered whether we would be able to keep family secrets if faced with diabolical Communist inquisitors.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BftpW1kPIhQ/UglJOlx3rEI/AAAAAAAAAKg/eFxlqdMl4iQ/s1600/W.+kids+with+Cathy+Weber2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BftpW1kPIhQ/UglJOlx3rEI/AAAAAAAAAKg/eFxlqdMl4iQ/s320/W.+kids+with+Cathy+Weber2.jpg" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Catherine, Marilyn, Cathy Weber &<br /> me with my brothers Jim and Sam</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Then, with the 1956 revolution, Hungary joined our family’s prayer list. My father was appalled when the United States and other western countries seemed to look the other way, having calculated that the cost of defeating the Soviet Union was more than their weakened economies and war-tired citizens could endure. And so despite its efforts to slip from under Communism, Hungary, like other Eastern Bloc countries, fell more firmly under the control of Moscow. Though stories of barbarism leaked out, it seems that we, the West, found it convenient and useful to ignore them.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h4>
The Wisdom of the Young</h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
During my high school and early college years, touched and energized by the Civil Rights movement, I signed on for justice. We opened our ears to the cries of the poor, hopefully singing “We shall overcome somedaaaaay,” wanting to believe that if we looked long enough and deeply enough into our essential human nature, we would find the answer to peace in our time. In an effort to free ourselves from the rigid morality that circumscribed our lives and stunted our creativity, we opened our hearts and minds to different political systems and different cultures. We sang. “Oh Freedom,” trusting that we would truly become one world singing in perfect harmony.<br />
<br />
Oddly enough, I could hear the cries coming from Latin America and South Africa, but could not really listen to reports of torture coming from Romania and the Ukraine. Because Communist ideology promised a world of bounty for all, we could barely hear stories of Romanian refugees in our churches and communities. We wanted to believe that in search of a better omelet, only a few eggs would be broken. For many young Christians, it was appealing to embrace a system that promised equality and justice for all, and we heard the words of Jesus confirming our beliefs. By demythologizing the monster, I had defined away the source of childhood fear and recreated it as savior.<br />
<br />
Over the years, my father’s discussion mode softened and was not as harsh as when we carried on ferocious arguments during the 1960s and 1970s. But as his death approached in 1984, he gloomily predicted a future swamped by relativism, dulled to the lowest common denominator, run by faceless, spineless bureaucrats, awash in materialism, and lacking in the moral underpinnings necessary for genuine charity. He had faith that God was in control and that Christ had won the victory over sin and death, but if I had to place him somewhere on the <i>Already/Not yet</i> spectrum, he would certainly have landed squarely in the <i>Not yet</i> camp.<br />
<br />
Like many others, I wanted to believe that the <i>already</i> encompassed the political liberation underway in Europe, and if somehow they could just get it right, the system would work and God’s kingdom would come in our time.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-35335443095889057762013-08-01T10:02:00.000-07:002013-08-01T19:05:05.134-07:00So What's with the Genevan Psalter?Back in Debrecen, I had been advised to look for Dr. Istvan Almasi, a musicologist well-acquainted with the Genevan Psalter. It was not difficult to find him, generous with his knowledge and gracious with his opinions. Below are some excerpts from a refreshing interview.<br />
<br />
Dr. Istvan Almasi, Musicologist – Kolosvar (Cluj Napoca)<br />
June 9, 2003<br />
<br />
When I described the first part of the project, to collect testimonies and record psalm singing, he smiled and nodded, but when I suggested the possibility of creating a new version of the Psalter, he was adamantly opposed to what he described as yet another attack on the Psalter. I explained the position that a new, updated version would attract a new, younger audience. He willingly explained his.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UTroUGDKGKI/UfqQDjYaFjI/AAAAAAAAAJo/0e_n8OZZoJY/s1600/Far+UT+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UTroUGDKGKI/UfqQDjYaFjI/AAAAAAAAAJo/0e_n8OZZoJY/s320/Far+UT+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Farkas Utca Church, Kolozsvar, Romania</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
"The 1607 Molnar translation of the psalms was a wonderful gift along with the original melodies and rhythms. However, especially in Transylvania, the Psalter was a victim of theological and social trends. Enlightenment thinking, rationalism, greatly affected the church. Whether related to this trend or to a reaction to it, I am not certain, but in the 1777 Kolosvar edition of the Psalter, the number of psalms was first reduced, and the last full Debrecen edition was published in 1778. By the end of the 19th century, only forty psalms remained in the Transylvanian Psalter."<br />
<br />
<i>What Happened?</i><br />
<br />
"In reaction to the Enlightenment, Renewal trends stemming from the Pietistic movement swept through the church bringing with it a whole host of Anglo-Saxon hymns and songs. The melodies of these new songs were much easier to sing than the more complicated, modal music of the Genevan Psalms. Many of the tunes were profane, that is, popular music sometimes from bars and dance halls. It was the music of the people. The effect of this music was to dramatically change the taste in church music."<br />
<br />
<i>If the music tastes had changed so much, did the remaining 40 Genevan tunes play a role in the preservation of faith?</i><br />
<br />
“You may be absolutely certain that the singing of the Psalms did help preserve faith during the Communist era!” Although there were only forty psalms left, they were well-used!"<br />
<br />
<i>How was the church affected by Communism?</i><br />
<br />
"Although there were some people of strong character who resisted Communism and remained faithful, many more succumbed to the fear and pressure, either leaving the church altogether or collaborating with the state." In his opinion, the assertion that the pressure of Communism strengthened the church does not reflect reality. "Communism was a disaster for the spiritual life of the people, for the church, and for society in general. During that period, lacking pastors, many congregations faltered."<br />
<br />
<i>Can you tell me more about the history of the Genevan Psalter in Hungarian Reformed Churches?</i><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3PJCHtRUidk/UfqQgx3Jz-I/AAAAAAAAAJ0/H7gF93k7Kew/s1600/Farkas+Utca+Church+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3PJCHtRUidk/UfqQgx3Jz-I/AAAAAAAAAJ0/H7gF93k7Kew/s320/Farkas+Utca+Church+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Farkas Utca Church, Kolozsvar, Romania</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
"The scales, modes, moved from the large 6th interval of the Dorian scale to the reduced Aeolian scale." He sang the changes. "In 1542 the first edition, Bourgeois tunes appeared, followed by Goudimel’s harmonies in 1556. Those harmonies were brought to the Hungarian Reformed Church by Marothi and have been used in the village of Szaszcsavas for 200 years."<br />
<br />
He attributed the practice of slowly singing the psalms in unison and without the original rhythms to the poor training of cantors and the low level of general musical instruction. The introduction of the organ also played a part in the demise of good psalm singing. Because organists were often poorly trained, they slowed down to pick out the notes; the congregations slowed down as well.<br />
<br />
"Though this psalm singing may be ugly to the trained musician’s ear, it is sung from the heart. I am happy to <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
be among such singers and to worship with them even if their singing is not perfect rhythmically or in beautiful harmonies." He noted that in Hungary, mid-20th century musicians attempted to restore the integrity of the Genevan Psalter resulting in some positive changes.</div>
<br />
<i>How would you describe the Reformed heritage? </i><br />
<br />
It is purely a matter of dogmatics and theology. Any attempt to assign cultural baggage to being Reformed is utter nonsense.<br />
<br />
<i>I have heard several people, especially here in Transylvania, describe their reformed identity in cultural and even ethnic terms. Can you help me understand this? </i><br />
<br />
It is a historical matter. Hungary became largely Protestant as a result of the Reformation. During the 17th century Counter-reformation, the Roman Catholic Habsburgs, Austrians, tried to crush this threat to their authority and waged war on Protestant Hungarians. This is when the political and ethnic content joined the religious definition. In Transylvania Hungarians who were anti-Habsburg were also anti-Catholic and thus considered Reformed. Existing as an oppressed minority has reinforced this understanding of being Reformed.<br />
<br />
<i>What Do You Think? Two Versions of Psalm 25</i><br />
<br />
In all the documentation of our interview project ten years ago, I called it The Psalm Project. When the Dutch Psalm Project came to Calvin College a couple of years ago, I was immediately drawn to the name. At the same time I remembered Dr. Almasi’s exclamation that such a project would be an attack on the Psalter. He also said, “Music has the power to capture and transform in a way that no other medium can. Teaching the psalms to children depends on the love for the psalms and the ability to lead them to Christ.” Maybe that's the key.<br />
<br />
Below are links to two recordings of Psalm 25, a contemporary one by The Psalm Project performed at Calvin College. The other is by Ernst Stolz, a Dutch musician who responded to a hearer's lament that the psalms should be sung by advising all listeners to sing in their own languages. Sing along if you like.<br />
<br />
1. The Psalm Project’s Psalm 25. If you would like to hear more, search for them on YouTube.<br />
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVx3HabljlA">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVx3HabljlA</a></div>
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></div>
2. Psalm 25 from the Genevan Psalter (Ernst Stolz) Search for his name on YouTube to find many nice recordings of early music. <br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVG_kyizE7I" style="text-align: center;">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVx3HabljlA. </a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-72977608021290841952013-07-25T10:04:00.001-07:002014-05-08T07:51:24.636-07:00Romania Stories<br />
<h3>
<b>On the Road Again</b></h3>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SotGJKkKkwA/UfFJ7mavFFI/AAAAAAAAAJA/V9KZFu_o-PM/s1600/Fiddlers+2DSCF0021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SotGJKkKkwA/UfFJ7mavFFI/AAAAAAAAAJA/V9KZFu_o-PM/s320/Fiddlers+2DSCF0021.JPG" height="320" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunday Morning Fiddlers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Replete with images of ducks waddling in the street, itinerant fiddlers, and kerchief-clad worshiping women, we left the village of Szaszavas (Ceuas in Romanian) and made our way back to the city of Marosvasarhely (Targu Mures).<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XHfPaEVuCsY/UfFKSdtVI0I/AAAAAAAAAJI/EHeNMTE8x-8/s1600/Romania+Map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XHfPaEVuCsY/UfFKSdtVI0I/AAAAAAAAAJI/EHeNMTE8x-8/s400/Romania+Map.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You can find Targu Mures on the map and using the scale of miles, go southwest about 18 miles. That’s about where you will find Szascsavas.<br />
<br />
On the east side of the map you will find the Danube Delta, site of a notorious prison camp.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
About the Duna (Danube) Delta</h3>
"The construction between the Danube and the Black Sea represented a economical solution for covering the murders of Romanian elites; communists saw this goal as a political way of getting rid of those that could mean a threat to the regime. . . ."<br />
<div>
<br />
"Sent to the channel as “enemies of the state”, all prisoners were put through an extermination regime...sent in from different jails in distant parts of Romania, hungry and weak, they were obliged to work even harder. A doctor remembers digging endlessly in rain, storm or snow, returning from work soaking wet and frozen stiff, thronged in a single room. On the next day, they would be sent to work in the same frozen and wet clothes - temperatures were extremely low, especially in the winter time."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Our history from the tears written</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Will remember and between sheets will gather</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This awful Danube that drops</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>On three sides water and on the fourth blood.</i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Andrei Ciurunga - "Poem"</div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">from: <span style="color: #444444;"> </span><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="http://library.thinkquest.org/08aug/01956/gherla_en.html">http://library.thinkquest.org/08aug/01956/gherla_en.html</a></span></span><br />
<br />
<h4>
We Made It!</h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
By the time we arrived in Marosvasarhely, about mid-afternoon, the heat was again oppressive, and I was feeling the effects of burning the midnight oil to revise our interview approach. We settled on the following questions as a framework for the coming interviews.<br />
<br />
What happened to you – what was life like for you under Communism?<br />
Tell us about the things that helped you survive?<br />
What did the Genevan Psalms mean to you? (Favorites? Verses?)<br />
How did Communism affect the church?<br />
What helped the church survive?<br />
What did the Psalms mean for the church?<br />
What can the church today learn from your experiences?<br />
What is the heart of the Reformed heritage?<br />
<br />
Our afternoon visit would put the revised protocol to the test. When we reached his home, Rev. Dezso Bustya graciously welcomed us, sweaty and frazzled though we were. While part of our team was engaged in perfunctory introductions outside, the crew set up inside and were soon ready to begin. At that point, Sonja and I retreated to the van, the shade, and bottled bubbly water.<br />
<br />
<h4>
I settled for a quick summary: </h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
Eager to hear how it had gone, I was about to ask for an immediate translation, but seeing that everyone else was tired too, I settled for a quick summary:<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
<ol>
<li>Rev. Bustya had been imprisoned by communist authorities while still a teenager and had spent time at the Duna Delta. </li>
<li>He explained that pastors, on one hand, signed the official papers required by the state in order to be able to hold a church office – but at the same time were able to retain their integrity as Christians. </li>
<li>He gave the following shorthand description of the progressive deterioration of the Christian church’s influence in Romania:</li>
</ol>
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> Much Church – Little State<br />
Little Church – Much State<br />
No Church – All State<br />
<br />
<h3>
Excerpts from the interviw with Dezso Bustya</h3>
<h4>
<b><br /></b></h4>
<h4>
<b>A Teenaged Revolutionary</b></h4>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
My Hungarian colleagues used to say that within the minister training there is preparation for the first exam, for the second exam, and the third training is for prison. I always used to say that I got the third training out of order because I was in prison after my high school graduation and before my seminary training.<br />
<br />
I applied to the university to study literature, but I was arrested in the midst of the entrance exam. There was a joke later that the communist government chose the education for those not accepted to university. For me there were openings in geology not theology. I became a geologist at the Duna Delta; I shoveled the geo, the earth, at the delta.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w4v-8wG-usQ/UfFNU0yLgJI/AAAAAAAAAJY/vqP_r_L3248/s1600/gherla+prison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w4v-8wG-usQ/UfFNU0yLgJI/AAAAAAAAAJY/vqP_r_L3248/s320/gherla+prison.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gherla Prison<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rwhgould/2919140463/in/photostream/" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.flickr.com/photos/rwhgould/291914046/<br />in/photostream/</span></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There are different ways to look at the reasons for my arrest. In today’s eyes I would say it was for foolish ways 16 or 17 year olds wanted to change the world. The name of our organization was IKESZ, an illegal organization against communism. One members was Zoltan Veres who now lives in Stockholm and is an official in the Lutheran church there. Others were Adam Bodor, a famous writer and Palocsai Zsiga, a poet.<br />
<br />
Thanks to his father, we were able to get out of prison before our sentence was completed.<br />
Palocsai’s father was a miniaturist gardener. Each year he would get a medal to wear on his chest. In 1952 we were arrested, and in 1953 he received another award. He told the party that he didn’t want another award or medal. He wanted his son back. They asked where his son was. He answered that his son was in prison in Szamoszujvar (Gherla). <br />
<br />
The party official agreed to look into the matter. He came back saying that not only his son, but eighteen had been arrested along with his son. In 1953 another sixteen students had been arrested, so there were thirty-five of our group all together in prison. The official said that they could not release one and keep the others in prison. After this, the parliament created a general amnesty setting us free, but we were warned. If anyone ever tried to recruit us again, we should know where to report them. They even tried to turn us into informers there. Eventually they transferred us from an underground prison in Bucharest to a prison in Kolozsvar (Cluj Napoca) and released us from there.<br />
<br />
Our organization was a real revolutionary group with our naïve ideas. This was painful for the party because they thought they would be able to raise a new generation that would cry for happiness when they received their communist young pioneer tie. We were older and able to think for ourselves, listen to foreign radio, and keep our eyes wide open. We saw how hypocritical the system was and how they tried to mislead children from the age of kindergarten. They were disappointed in our generation, the one they had hoped would be the next communists.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Seminary</h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
I entered the seminary in 1955. On my books and class list I only wrote my name and the Roman numeral I, because I did not know whether there would be a second year. The world was supposed to change. All of us were waiting for Americans to come and free us. They never came in 1956 or ever after.<br />
<br />
Finally the second year came, but it was not until my third year that I began to love the seminary. In every person’s life God uses some people or events as his tools. He does not always scream down the chimney at you. In my life the tool was Andras Nagy, a professor of Old Testament.<br />
<br />
He took me seriously already before I did. He always said to me, Young man, you should do this or that. So along with Hebrew I began to study Arabic. When I finished seminary, I applied for acceptance in a master’s program, and that’s when I felt and said, “My Lord, even if you gave me a hundred options, I would still choose your service.” Really his influence was a determining factor. I was ordained in 1962, three years after I finished the seminary.<br />
<br />
<h4>
What makes a Christian?</h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
Many people say that here in Marosvasarhely there are many believers whose faith originated in the Bethania movement or in the CE. Many of them accept as believers only those who can answer the question about when they became a Christian by identifying the exact moment by the year, month, day, and hour.<br />
<br />
I could not tell the hour when I became a Christian. God has different methods and tools for each person. Paul converted in the length of a second, but when was Peter converted? And how many times was he converted? Peter said, “Go away because I am a sinner, my Lord,” and to hear, “Get thee behind me, Satan.” So Luther is right. A Christian person’s life is an ongoing confession. Every day and every night one is ashamed – God I really want to be a Christ follower today, but again I failed. Please give me strength and maybe tomorrow it will go better. This was the story of my faith.<br />
<h4>
</h4>
<h4>
</h4>
<h4>
The Party and the Church</h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
Whoever the Communists wanted to recruit, they had recruited already at the seminary. Even more, forward thinking party officials insured that of the five or seven people admitted to seminary from a certain region, some were already ensnared. Those were not called by God to enter the seminary but by the party. They wanted to hold the church and all the ministers on a leash.<br />
<br />
Under the influence of alcohol, a securitate (secret police) agent once said, “We have to work for a year until we are able to create a high church official with whom we can cooperate. A bishop takes even longer. We choose a possible bishop candidate very early; we shape him; and then we send him out.”<br />
<br />
To recruit seminary students, the Communists knew that everyone has an Achilles heel, as every jar must have a handle. One might like alcohol and get into a fight. The police might threaten him with a half year’s prison sentence but if he agreed to sign a cooperation agreement, it would be viewed as a foolish mistake. So he would sign the agreement and be in their clutches.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Survival Strategies For Pastors</h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
Sometimes the Communist authorities simply picked someone out though there was no reason. I was told that no one, not even Laszlo Tokes, escaped the pressure to sign. Later, one’s ethical stance and common humanity determined who and what he would report. You could do this in different ways. It’s like when in a war someone is forced to go and fight but doesn’t necessarily have to kill. You can shoot in the air or put a hole in a leaf. Some only reported things that did no damage.<br />
<br />
Some of them warned others that questions were being asked about them. Many emmigrated to Hungary, not because it was wealthier or there was Hungarian TV or it was better there with nicer jobs. They left because they would have been forced, for example, to report on the bishop, Kalman Csiha, and their conscience could not bear it. Others threw themselves in front of a moving car, and while we never knew the reason, some of us suspected that they simply could not bear the pressure. I don’t know what it was like in Hungary, but here the party wanted to transform the whole country into a network of informers. It was a horrible thing.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Travel Restrictions</h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
A condition of using a passport was that when you returned home from abroad, you had to give a detailed report to your supervisor who gave it to the officer responsible for church affairs, a man who cooperated with the securitate. So everything went before the bureau of internal affairs. You could get around it though, if you had a sense of humor and were clever.<br />
<br />
They wanted to know whether you had met any foreigners who spoke English, German, or Dutch, and what you had talked about. Instead of answering, you could write about the movie theaters you had visited and the films you saw. You could give a long and detailed description of the plot. You could report that you visited your wife’s cousin and then describe the visit in boring detail. This was the report you handed in. Of course they came back saying they were not interested in these details. They really wanted to recruit you as a spy. These were hard times, but with God’s help we survived.<br />
<br />
<b>Some Thoughts About the Bustya Interview</b><br />
<br />
Bustya was still a teenager when arrested, and his time at the Duna Delta must have shaped his actions and responses over the next decades of Romanian terror and repression. His thoughts on pastors’ strategies for survival alerted me to the theme that would surface in nearly every interview – the effect of Communism on the church.<br />
<br />
When Rev. Bustya talked about the Genevan Psalms, he showed the record books of his service. He noted every text, every psalm, and the content of every sermon. For him and his congregation, I’m sure that the psalms they could sing were the ones that reflected their fear and grief. And like many others we would later meet, for him, the Genevan Psalter reflected his heart, his fear and his faith.<br />
<br />
He was ordained in the early 1960s, during my formative years. The students there lived under a cloud of fear. We lived in a bubble.<br />
<br />
<h4>
<b>He Was With Us</b></h4>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
It is amazing and really a miracle of grace and mercy that faith survived. Like other former prisoners in Romania and the Ukraine, Father Ervin B. Ferencz said,<br />
<br />
“<i>I would say that a person who has faith has the chance to survive. A person without faith, and I speak from experience, breaks down, cuts his wrists, commits suicide, or simply goes mad. I can say in all honesty that none of the prisons was hard. God was with us. Even there, He was with us.”</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Quoted from the transcript of Anna Paskandi’s 2004 film, Transylvania 1956, published November 8, 2011, in the Hungarian Review.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Another Note ~ On Hungarian Names</b><br />
<br />
When a Hungarian refers to another Hungarian, the family name is first and then the given name. So if I were Hungarian, I’d introduce myself as Lantinga Beth. Of course I’d never do that because I’m quite sure that true Hungarians would view it as gauche and pretentious. I recently learned that the same practice applies in Korea. I wonder whether it reflects a different cultural view of community vs. the individual.<br />
<br />
Ten years ago and maybe still today, a baby’s name was chosen from a limited list of approved names. So it is common to find several Hungarians with the same given name – hence two people in this post have the given name Dezso.<br />
<br /></div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-9483232739729931352013-07-08T08:35:00.000-07:002013-07-08T08:35:33.766-07:00On the Track of Psalm Singers<h3>
Sunday, June 8, 2003 - Pentecost</h3>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2OUcmF7PjOU/UddMem7jgbI/AAAAAAAAAHc/Db43YbKiKx8/s1600/Szasz+church+bldg17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2OUcmF7PjOU/UddMem7jgbI/AAAAAAAAAHc/Db43YbKiKx8/s400/Szasz+church+bldg17.JPG" width="267" /></a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="MsoNormal">
Reformed Church - Szaszcsavas,
Romania</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Dr. Csaba Fekete, the Debrecen librarian, had recommended that we visit the small village of Szaszcsavas in Romania to hear the psalms sung in harmony. <br />
<br />
So on June 8, 2003, we visited the Reformed church there. Though we had expected around 200 people to attend the worship, that morning only 70 were present. The pastor later explained that many had gone to a market in a neighboring village - out of economic necessity. It was the only time and place for them to sell their produce.<br />
<br />
<br />
We also learned that the church musician responsible for the congregation’s exquisite psalm singing was no longer there. However, even though the organist’s playing was a bit shaky, the congregation followed along sturdily. Their voices filled the white- washed church made colorful by red embroideries typical of Transylvania.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C_yQFKuNrrQ/UdrPijoN_MI/AAAAAAAAAIg/oASLxy8-1cA/s1600/Inside+Szasz26.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C_yQFKuNrrQ/UdrPijoN_MI/AAAAAAAAAIg/oASLxy8-1cA/s320/Inside+Szasz26.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Of the 46 women sitting in the women’s pews, many wore kerchiefs, some colorful, some widow’s black. Ten of the twenty-four men present gathered together in the balcony as a lead choir, while a young man pumped the organ. The video crew crept up into the men’s balcony to capture the moment.<br />
<br />
<div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3zqdZN3vDk8/UddMfPzhpoI/AAAAAAAAAHs/D0sf1gOjFZk/s1600/Women+in+church.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3zqdZN3vDk8/UddMfPzhpoI/AAAAAAAAAHs/D0sf1gOjFZk/s320/Women+in+church.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rev. Jozsef Biro preached for about 20 minutes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The music to be sung was posted in the front, just like I remember from my childhood church in Jamestown, Michigan. I had intended to write down the list of songs, but missed my chance because partway through the service, while I wasn’t looking, someone turned the song board around to display additional numbers. The final psalms were Psalms 141, 23, and 137.</div>
<div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QAIPvoqhnzU/UddMeClAWMI/AAAAAAAAAHM/t0MrbArgtYc/s1600/Single+woman+Szasz48.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QAIPvoqhnzU/UddMeClAWMI/AAAAAAAAAHM/t0MrbArgtYc/s200/Single+woman+Szasz48.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The older generation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Because it was Pentecost, we witnessed a typical village communion service. A woman in our row muttered the prayer of confession from memory right along with the pastor.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CRtBvp_rrio/UddMd82p1II/AAAAAAAAAHU/39yqHM7w42M/s1600/Old+church.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CRtBvp_rrio/UddMd82p1II/AAAAAAAAAHU/39yqHM7w42M/s400/Old+church.JPG" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">Old is relative. The first pastor began in 1623.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
First the men came forward and stood in a circle around the communion table. The pastor offered each man a piece of bread and then retraced the circle offering a sip from a large communion cup. Between each worshiper he swiped the rim with a white linen cloth.</div>
<div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
After the men returned to their seats, it was the women’s turn. A small wrinkled woman impatiently pushed past Sonja and me; she was the one given the honor of leading the women to the communion circle.<br />
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cgti-Kg0LoI/UdrRSQKWUCI/AAAAAAAAAIw/Pzhn1Udej8k/s1600/DSCF0074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="275" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cgti-Kg0LoI/UdrRSQKWUCI/AAAAAAAAAIw/Pzhn1Udej8k/s320/DSCF0074.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Women's cup on the right, men's on the left</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When the women's circle was finished, the same small woman led the way back to our pews. The rest of us peeled off in formation, falling into step behind her. I counted twelve young women. It appeared that about ten of the men were under age thirty.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_cWdYb7q6yc/UdrPDLq6PQI/AAAAAAAAAIY/I44Z3MWziJY/s1600/Girls+leaving+szasz65.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_cWdYb7q6yc/UdrPDLq6PQI/AAAAAAAAAIY/I44Z3MWziJY/s320/Girls+leaving+szasz65.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
Later I asked whether they were worried about the absence of young people in the worship. I was told that according to tradition, the young will come back as the older ones die off.<br />
<br />
After the service ended the pastor invited us to join several of the church leaders in the manse. Following tradition, the men gathered in the church’s wine cellar to drink the left-over communion wine and finish the bread, a convivial communion. Sweet breads and cakes were delivered, I might add, by young women who did not linger, but promptly left to join the women upstairs.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-07Hn5hHRNYM/UddMcjUz7oI/AAAAAAAAAGs/jGpaGV9ToPc/s1600/Down+the+streetJPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-07Hn5hHRNYM/UddMcjUz7oI/AAAAAAAAAGs/jGpaGV9ToPc/s400/Down+the+streetJPG.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
The informality of the group encouraged conversation. I don’t remember who asked the question, “Is it better to pour wine into a glass of water or water into a glass of wine?” He quickly answered himself, “It’s better to pour wine into water because it improves the water, but doing the opposite would ruin the wine!”<br />
<br />
On that note of good cheer, we packed up and headed for Marosvarsarhely (Targu Mures).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-clxEx5b2cyo/UddMdpOtq5I/AAAAAAAAAHE/GXzC8fuLfGw/s1600/Men+leaving+Szasz56.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="398" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-clxEx5b2cyo/UddMdpOtq5I/AAAAAAAAAHE/GXzC8fuLfGw/s640/Men+leaving+Szasz56.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving by the men's door</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-26748753886459608072013-06-27T10:35:00.000-07:002013-07-06T13:04:07.735-07:00Into Romania<div class="MsoNormal">
<h3>
<b>Our First Effort</b></h3>
We were all pretty nervous when we first gathered on that June Saturday morning. On the forty minute drive into Budapest to pick up the crew, Janos was silent, but I talked nervously. One by one we picked up the team: Andras Suranyi a skilled camera man; Vince Kapcsos, a calm and competant sound man; Bernadette Frivalski, a talented interviewer; Janos Erdos of the Ars Longa Foundation; and me. Of the five, four were Hungarian, and the other one could speak very little Hungarian and understand only a little more. Can you guess who? Language was just the most obvious sign of the cultural differences soon to emerge. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-37t3iL1WOOs/UcxGLNUtI3I/AAAAAAAAAFc/QAD_jkOEMnY/s1600/DSCF0041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-37t3iL1WOOs/UcxGLNUtI3I/AAAAAAAAAFc/QAD_jkOEMnY/s320/DSCF0041.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Haller Castle ~ One View</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The excitement of a new beginning carried us to the first test of our teamwork at the ruined Haller Castle near the village of Kereloszentpal. Mostly home to birds and bees, the castle was also the residence of a Roma family living in the stable. In the past, the Ars Longa Foundation had often provided food, medicine, and other aid to the family living there. So they shyly welcomed us and graciously allowed the film crew in. To see the film, follow this link: <a href="http://youtu.be/Uy8ERBAUYGQ">http://youtu.be/Uy8ERBAUYGQ</a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
While the film crew was in action, I stayed out of the way – mostly – camera in hand. I saw: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1XaxN3qPHvI&feature=youtu.be">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1XaxN3qPHvI&feature</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1XaxN3qPHvI&feature=youtu.be">=yo</a> <br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
The music is Psalm 77 recorded during an informal conversation at the home of Emma and Rev. Lajos Gulacsy in August 2003. As a young pastor, he was taken to a gulag in Kazakhstan and spent several years there. Emma said that Psalm 77 reflected the hearts of those left behind.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><i><br /></i></i>
<i><i>Has God forgotten to be merciful?</i></i><br />
<i><i>Has he in anger withheld his compassion?</i></i><br />
<i><i><i><i>~ Psalm 77: 9 NIV</i></i></i></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="display: inline !important;">
<i><i>
</i></i></div>
<i>
</i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h3>
Until Now</h3>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So far, if you have read the posts, you may have received the impression that everything was sweetness and light. To be honest, it wasn’t. Puzzled looks, averted gazes, embarrassed silence, sleepless nights, occasional inclusion of scatological language, and excessive use of antacids were all signs that in spite of our good intentions, being a team would not be easy. Limited by my personality and my cultural blinders, I had made assumptions about the interview strategy. My assumptions were not shared. Communication was complicated and sometimes tense – and that’s putting it mildly. I didn’t sleep much that first night; it would not be the last.<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-21QmoqS_Cfk/UcxFPlCTqxI/AAAAAAAAAFM/_BEuyN3Xyoo/s1223/Sonja+0007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="175" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-21QmoqS_Cfk/UcxFPlCTqxI/AAAAAAAAAFM/_BEuyN3Xyoo/s200/Sonja+0007.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Sonja Henderson<br />
Kolozsvar Seminary Chapel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
To further complicate matters, the heat was relentless, over 90 degrees F. every day. Air conditioning was pretty much non-existent. Hardly an auspicious beginning.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
With apologies to the skeptics out there, I can say that whenever I was acutely uncomfortable in my producer role and ready to pack it in, an angel appeared. The first was Sonja Henderson, a Canadian English teacher living and working in Cluj-Napoca (in Hungarian, Kolozsvar). I was especially relieved when she agreed to accompany us for a few days.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
</div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-11563053089693126112013-06-24T07:21:00.001-07:002013-07-06T13:03:38.039-07:00Psalm Contacts: A visit to Debrecen<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jgx0krIRIWI/UchRM619Q6I/AAAAAAAAAE0/LTyi1Zlj0zo/s1600/DSCF0386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jgx0krIRIWI/UchRM619Q6I/AAAAAAAAAE0/LTyi1Zlj0zo/s320/DSCF0386.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px; text-align: center;">Reformed Theological Library<br />
Debrecen, Hungary</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
Dr. Csaba Fekete was a thoughtful and gracious host when I visited the theological library and museum in Debrecen. I gasped when he presented an ancient book of maps. If I remember correctly, it predates the Reformation. We saw an old copy of Calvin’s Institutes and numerous Genevan Psalter treasures. It gives a whole new meaning to the term, “old” especially to one coming from the “new” world.<br /><br />Dr. Sandor Berkesi, director of the Debrecen College Cantus, had many suggestions for our interview team, but the most lovely gift was a copy of the CD, Hungarian Psalms. <br /><br />I used some photos from the library visit and Psalm 42 from the Hungarian Psalms CD for the slide show. The psalms shaped the project. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwgDAjMZxZFMxUsYc1rxRCBZSqEPjMepR3y9tZtoCuW65IGniZI5hX_AMAb3wh2XFSsujel62HPtkFH-Mf_lA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Here's a link to the choir's website: <a href="http://www.kantus.hu/index.php?lang=eng&page=keepsake.php">http://www.kantus.hu/index.php?lang=eng&page=keepsake.php</a></div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0Central Europe46.729617309810635 19.61026274999994741.307795309810636 9.2831142499999473 52.151439309810634 29.937411249999947tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-79752782843921665212013-06-20T02:07:00.001-07:002013-07-09T05:33:41.106-07:00One More Introduction?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">You might be
thinking, “So when will she ever tell the stories." I beg your patience for just
one more introduction, this time to some of the Hungarian people who helped
with the Psalm Project. You can find the page, "Getting Ready" in bar at the top of the blog. Crossing into Romania is coming soon!</span></div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-11158379509651902532013-06-18T12:34:00.000-07:002013-07-06T12:44:23.230-07:00Early On<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x-ZrJXjTxN0/UcCul0MOzgI/AAAAAAAAADk/NQVZUPdCZtY/s1600/Summer+Camp+2001.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x-ZrJXjTxN0/UcCul0MOzgI/AAAAAAAAADk/NQVZUPdCZtY/s320/Summer+Camp+2001.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Summer Camp Staff - 2001 </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It didn’t take long to discover that American directness didn’t go very far. In 1999, I accompanied a mission group of fact-finders. They, too, were shocked by the conditions in the Ukraine and Rumania and genuinely wanted to know more. In typical American style, they asked direct questions, fully expecting to hear straight answers. Instead, they were introduced to a style of discourse rooted in years of Communist control. <br /><br />They heard polite evasions when they expected direct answers. Church leaders and ordinary farmers evaded questions that in the United States would have been candidly asked and answered as a matter of course. It was both puzzling and disconcerting.<br /><br />I wondered where this dialog style had come from and heard this from my colleague. “During the days of the dictatorship, the truth was only told between four ears,” meaning that after 40 or more years of surveillance, oppression and sometimes torture, fear trumped truth-telling. Later a seminary professor would tell me that it would surely take at least forty more years to erase such embedded patterns.<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lVqjWniUiys/UcCvP6rnKJI/AAAAAAAAAD0/VKN3W7jnxqI/s1600/beregrakos+weaver.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lVqjWniUiys/UcCvP6rnKJI/AAAAAAAAAD0/VKN3W7jnxqI/s320/beregrakos+weaver.jpeg" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beregrakos, Ukraine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For the next few years, as an American contact for the Ars Longa Foundation of Hungary, I traveled to Rumania, the Ukraine, and Croatia as well as to Hungary. I participated as an English teacher in summer camps held for children and young people in Baranya County, Hungary and visited weavers in Transcarpathia, Ukraine. There, Reformed Christians had launched clinics, homes for abandoned children, and Christian schools.<br /><br /><div>
I walked the main street of Szent Laszlo, a Reformed village in Croatia that was ravaged during the Bosnian conflict.<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7lvgWMzAgxs/UcCvmEyhrkI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KF7YBiBNDjg/s1600/szent+laszlo+church.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7lvgWMzAgxs/UcCvmEyhrkI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KF7YBiBNDjg/s320/szent+laszlo+church.jpeg" width="231" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reformed Church <br />
Szent Laszlo, Croatia 2001</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Each trip made me more aware that the Hungarian character and culture would not be easily revealed and that I was limited because I could only see with my American eyes. Janos Erdos, my main contact with the Ars Longa Foundation, never volunteered explanations or offered tour-guide talks. He waited for questions and then answered but only obliquely. And after fifteen years, while some aspects have become clearer, I still cannot claim to really understand what it means to be Hungarian.<br /><br />However, in most of the churches I visited between 1998 and 2002, I did recognize many of the Genevan Psalm tunes and could even sing along - sometimes. In Transcarpathia I saw full churches and wondered how faith had survived. Even in very small Reformed congregations, I heard psalms sung with remarkable conviction not only in the Ukraine, but also in Hungary, Rumania, and Croatia. I wondered about the music of the Genevan Psalter and the survival of faith and hope during the Communist era.<br /><br />In 2003, with encouragement and support from the Calvin Institute of Christian Worship, and with the logistical support of the Ars Longa Foundation of Hungary, I set off on a journey. I was part of a team that gathered the stories of Reformed Christians and the Genevan Psalter during the Communist period. <br /><br />Looking back, I can say that while many may have felt abandoned by God and humankind, there were those whose faith sustained them through long hard years. And these men and women of faith survived with their spirits intact and a vision of God’s kingdom that has led to the rebuilding of churches, schools, homes for abandoned children, and clinics. A living faith blossomed in many communities; yet it has been a difficult road for the faithful – overcoming the destruction of trust and the withering of community cohesion. Rediscovering charity as the overflow of full and grateful hearts, these faithful men and women told stories that gave voice to the words of the Psalms, stories of hope and fear, doubt and faith, and most of all, of God’s amazing grace. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-54969833369448833892013-06-13T10:49:00.000-07:002013-07-06T12:46:17.218-07:00There Was HopeThough the dominant theme was grey, we did discover hope in Transcarpathia. Stories were grim, but faces were peaceful and smiles were warm. Though cautious, some were willing to talk. One was a church member we met on a spring day in late April 1998. He was sitting on a bench planted in muddy water puddled everywhere from a recent rain. His clothing was shabby, but his lined and worn face also carried genuine good cheer.<br /><br />Our guide stopped to talk with him and asked how he was doing. He responded by describing his aching knees. (“How are you doing,” is not simply a polite way to say hello; it is considered to be a genuine expression of interest with the expectation that an honest response will ensue.) I was tempted to say that maybe he had been on his knees too long or not long enough, but fortunately, only asked why they hurt so much. His answer stunned us pampered North Americans. He said that he had spent several years on his knees picking coal in a mine shaft only a few feet high - as a guest of the Communist regime.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y77sED8tTcA/UbnJt1KRQVI/AAAAAAAAACQ/w3lDwoOtVQM/s1600/Image+(5).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y77sED8tTcA/UbnJt1KRQVI/AAAAAAAAACQ/w3lDwoOtVQM/s320/Image+(5).jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tivadarfalva, Ukraine 1998</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />The second encounter was with the widow of a pastor who had disappeared during the Communist era. While we stood in a narrow hallway, I listened to the story of her efforts to track down her husband’s memoirs. Although her clothing was severe, widow’s black, she was filled with a grace and serenity not often seen in the faces of harried North Americans.<br /><br />A third encounter was with Daniel Szabo, a lay leader of the Reformed church who during the weekend retreat, challenged Christian teachers to “cradle the baby birds who had fallen from the nest, and gently return them to the warmth and safety of their home.” Their work nurturing the young, he continued, was at least as important as rebuilding monuments and establishing universities. Although Communist authorities denied him the privilege of ordination during the long years of occupation, he never stopped nurturing the faith of the leaders and ordinary church members with a gentle strength always seasoned with a deep and abiding trust in a good and loving God.<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d1TXghtz7Rk/UbnJ4MR9fWI/AAAAAAAAACY/BEbjNwLOht4/s1600/Image+(2)-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d1TXghtz7Rk/UbnJ4MR9fWI/AAAAAAAAACY/BEbjNwLOht4/s320/Image+(2)-001.jpg" width="214" /></a><br />A Reformed church service in the village of Tivadarfalva was, perhaps, not a fourth encounter but more of an epiphany. At that time women filled one side of the church and men occupied the other, while the placement of the teenage boys in the balcony and the girls below definitely discouraged eye contact, presumably promoting concentration on worship. When our contingent of two women and one man arrived, not one more could fit in the women’s section, so we were led across the room to the last empty pew in the territory of the men. <br /><br />When the singing began, it was immediately apparent that the psalm books were not stocked in the pews; worshippers carried their own Psalters. My attention to the small shared book was soon broken by the voice of a man sitting in the pew ahead of us. Light flooded his face as his solid voice boomed out above the others. I wondered at the fervor of his singing. What had kept the light shining for him?<br /><br />Before we left to return to the States, one of the Ars Longa principals asked whether I would consider acting as the foundation’s representative in North America. We agreed to a trial run that lengthened into more than a decade of joint effort on behalf of the Reformed high schools in Transcarpathia, Ukraine, and other projects supported by the Ars Longa Foundation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-no5p4cky_w8/UbnLF4pKkgI/AAAAAAAAACo/b_Ee1ObFDBE/s1600/pelican2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-no5p4cky_w8/UbnLF4pKkgI/AAAAAAAAACo/b_Ee1ObFDBE/s200/pelican2.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-29405858312214385592013-06-12T09:06:00.000-07:002013-07-06T12:46:44.807-07:00Listening to the TeachersIt was challenging to lecture in tandem with a translator, reading faces to guess whether I made sense at all. By the end, I could only imagine that the people packed in the classroom were tired too, ready to get up and stretch. To my surprise, after the Q. & A. time and after I had thanked them for coming, they just smiled and stayed in their seats. Puzzled, I asked the translator whether something was wrong. He explained that they just wanted to talk.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2PjjYMdDkaE/Ubib-vj40EI/AAAAAAAAAB8/M_YMNRnekvA/s1600/Image+(3)-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2PjjYMdDkaE/Ubib-vj40EI/AAAAAAAAAB8/M_YMNRnekvA/s320/Image+(3)-001.jpg" width="320" /></a>During the days preceding the conference, many questions had surfaced for me, so with a translator at hand, it was my chance to ask them some questions. It was surprising to hear that in this bread-basket region, getting enough food was a problem. Later I learned that many teachers had given up precious planting time to attend the conference. It was precious because most of them relied on their own gardens to supply food for the following year. The economy was in a state of collapse; stores were empty; many relied on their own gardens to supplement meager salaries.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
And then other stories tumbled out: how the disaster of Chernobyl affected pregnancies, how much of the rich and fertile soil was polluted by many sources including tractor fuel. Prior to the communist period, farmers tilled their own fields and managed their own production. After the takeover, though, their farms were incorporated into collectives managed by distant bureaucrats who could articulate ideology but weren’t so good at farming. For a time, a farmer’s pay was based on the amount of fuel left in the tank at the end of the day. As cynicism grew the farmers-turned-machine found it expedient to make a few passes with the tractor, and then drain the fuel out into the ground.Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-78083596461044642002013-06-12T08:58:00.000-07:002013-07-06T12:56:23.648-07:00How It All Began<div class="MsoNormal">
Toward the end of my educational career, I helped revise a Bible curriculum. This work led to an invitation to participate in a weekend conference for Christian teachers living and working in Transcarpathia, Ukraine. Eager to travel and interested in the story of Hungary and its 1956 revolution, I accepted the invitation. Dutifully, I read Hungarian internet history, visited the local library, scoured bookstores, and read every bit of tourist propaganda I could get my hands on.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KYNzjoYvKOs/UbiX7dbVghI/AAAAAAAAABU/tRSwBX6OT8s/s1600/Wagon+Crop+(7).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KYNzjoYvKOs/UbiX7dbVghI/AAAAAAAAABU/tRSwBX6OT8s/s320/Wagon+Crop+(7).jpg" width="245" /></a>Nothing, however, prepared me for the trip across the border into the Ukraine in April of 1998. Surly guards first stared at and then ignored us, leisurely finishing their cigarettes. Finally, after a couple of hours, they searched our little car, inspected our passports, and waved us through. It was only the beginning.During the next few days we traveled through this westernmost area of the Ukraine, an area once part of Hungary and once populated mostly by Hungarians. It was a time to look and to wonder what we were really seeing. I became painfully aware that I was quite ignorant of the history that had shaped this part of the world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lgqTzoyP1bk/UbiYd0basgI/AAAAAAAAABc/8EYKXyRt0Dc/s1600/bourgois+bldg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lgqTzoyP1bk/UbiYd0basgI/AAAAAAAAABc/8EYKXyRt0Dc/s320/bourgois+bldg.jpg" width="218" /></a>One time our guide stopped in front of a small store. He handed us a few grivna, the local currency, and instructed us to go buy something. Though we spoke not a word of Hungarian or Ukrainian, we didn’t want to appear intimidated, and entered the store. It was soon apparent that his goal had nothing to do with using grivna. He wanted us to see the shelves, mostly empty except for shelves loaded with bottles of vodka.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
We saw ornate bourgeois public buildings, purposely encouraged to decay, standing side by side with more recent public buildings whose grim form reflected their function.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jBADVDLg_N4/UbiZS3Q5kvI/AAAAAAAAABs/aG4gMe-7wFE/s1600/Roma+children.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jBADVDLg_N4/UbiZS3Q5kvI/AAAAAAAAABs/aG4gMe-7wFE/s320/Roma+children.jpeg" width="216" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We shared the road with aging Trabants, fat-wheeled bicycles and horse-drawn wagons. I saw a derelict stadium built with public funds at the behest of a faithful local comrade, a gift to the 200 or so souls living in the village. Unneeded, unwanted, and unused, it too had fallen into decay.<br />
<br />
Roma children often greeted us with expectant faces, and outstretched hands. Our guide responded with gentleness and humor, always ready with a gift of food or money. We were impressed.<br />
<br />
By the time the conference began, I wondered whether I should ditch my lectures and instead be the student.</div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3660089941434427964.post-36133095748120122032013-06-12T08:56:00.001-07:002013-07-06T12:31:02.175-07:00Welcome!<div class="MsoNormal">
This is to welcome you to my new/old blog, <i>Journey With
Psalms</i>. Ten years ago, I began a journey that initially took me to Romania,
Hungary, the Ukraine, and even Slovakia. I wanted to learn how and to what
extent the Genevan Psalter had served to preserve faith of Reformed Christians
during the Communist dictatorship. I
learned much more during that 2003 visit, so since then I have been on a
journey of discovery. It has taken me back in Hungarian history, to Hungarian
thoughts on the period of the dictatorship, and to musings about faith, the
church, and its mission. The main part of the blog contains the stories of the
people I met along the way – stories of courage and fear, faith and treachery.
In sidebars you will find some ancillary material: how I became involved, some
history and pictures of the countryside along the way. As the blog evolves, watch for film clips and
more. I welcome feedback and comments. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Beth Lantingahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14018136755961642621noreply@blogger.com1