Hungary: January 11

Last night I attended a mass at Saint Stephen’s Bascilica in Budapest.  That in itself was a little unusual; many churches in Europe, especially the large and architecturally intricate, seem to exist more as museums than actual homes for congregations.  In Hungary, however, all the churches do actually function as such, though their upkeep is paid for more by tourist money than the tithes of the regular attendees, if not subsidized by the state.

The congregation when I went was small, but it was a weekday mass.  Besides one or two others, the group I came with were the only non-Hungarians there.  Obviously, the service wasn’t meant for us.  It’s a little odd to think of the concept of tourists among the worshipers of God, but upon consideration, perhaps it wasn’t all that inappropriate.  When we read of crowds following Jesus in the gospels, they weren’t all his disciples.  Most, probably, were simple ordinary people that came to see what all the fuss was all about.

That is probably the best explanation for why I was there, in any case.  I am a Christian, though not a Roman Catholic.  I’m not at all familiar with the mass litany, especially when its not in English, so I probably understood even less about what really brought the locals here as any of the crowds who could at least speak the same language as Christ.

The building itself, though, required no translation.  It was beautiful, both in the outside evening air, with a dusting of snow on the roof, and inside, with the statues and paintings on the wall and ceiling.  It was still decorated for Christmas, too, with a nativity set in carved and painted wood, and greenery at the front.  There was something in that when I saw it that called to mind the fellowship of Christ and his church, transcending national and language barriers.  This was architecture built to the glory of God, I felt, stone carved for worship, and not idolatry.

During the mass, I just observed for the first few minutes, having come in late.  Then, I began to pray.

Mostly, I prayed for Hungary.  The lectures I had on the state of the county were still weighing on my mind; the economy was sputtering, bringing negative social impacts in it’s wake; the political party in power had just gutted the democratic process, leaving the constitution in shambles before the people could develop civic habits after the fall of communism; and the poor and outcast peoples in this country, especially the Roma, were dealing with the brunt of frustrations, manifesting themselves in hate, discrimination, and fear.

“Assuredly I say to you, in as much as you did it to the least of these My brethren, you do also to me.” That verse from Matthew 25:40 kept recurring in my head as I sat there in prayer.  If the giant statue of the Son of Man at the front of the Church had come to life and spoken then, I felt that was what He would have said.  If there was ever such a country that needed the Grace of God, it was this.  But all nations have the same judge, and the same Savior.  What do we do to the least of these?

Before, I remember passing beggars by in the cities we visited.  Today, I felt convicted to dig some florints out of my pocket for an old man begging outside of the Turkish Baths.  God Bless him and his people.