Reformátusok Lapja, 1969 (69. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1969-12-01 / 12. szám
12 REFORMÁTUSOK LAPJA The Story Of The Praying Hands The story behind the “Praying Hands” is one of love, sympathy, and unselfish sacrifice... of true and loyal friendship. In the fifteenth century, two struggling young art students, Albrecht Dürer and Franz Knigstein, worked as laborers, to earn money to continue their art studies. The work was hard and time consuming — leaving little time to advance in their art studies. Finally, they came to an agreement: they would draw lots, and the loser would support them both — while the winner would continue to study art. Albrecht won, and continued his studies, while Franz worked at hard labor to support them both. Albrecht agreed, that if and when he attained success, he would then support Franz, so that he too could finish his art studies. Albrecht studied in Europe, and developed his talent and genius. When he became a success, he returned to keep his bargain with Franz. He soon discovered the enormous sacrifice his friend had made for him; for as Franz had worked at hard labor, his fingers had become twisted and stiff! His long, slender fingers and sensitive hands had been ruined for life! He could no longer manage the delicate brush strokes so necessary to execute fine paintings. Franz was not bitter, however, but happy that his friend Albrecht had attained success. One day, Albrecht found his loyal friend kneeling in prayer — his gnarled hands entwined in silent prayer for Albrecht’s continued success — knowing that he himself could never he an artist. Albrecht sketched his friend’s hands, and later completed a truly great masterpiece — known as the “Praying Hands”. Today, galleries all over the world feature the works of Albrecht Dürer, hut one masterpiece outshines them all... it tells the story of love, labor, sacrifice, and gratitude, and as a constant reminder to all, that they may find courage, comfort, and strength. The “Praying Hands” have become so revered, that a legend has grown around it! ... anyone that owns a copy will enjoy peace and tranquility — surely it will inspire thoughts of God! (Dürer was of Hungarian extraction, by the family name of de Ajtósi) Professor Barnabas Nagy — A Personal Memoir Although I had known of Professor Nagy through his worldwide reputation as a scholar, it was not until the summer of 1956 that I first met him. Our place of meeting was in Calvin’s city of Geneva the evening before the meeting of the Calvin Editorial Committee. It was a memorable time witli a memorable man. We spent the evening climbing up and down the narrow streets of the old city that cluster around the cathedral, identifying Reformation landmarks in the dark and becoming for a few hours contemporaries with Calvin and the Geneva Reformation. Professor Nagy was a member of a distinguished family associated with Sárospatak, the village in Hungary that reminds me most of Princeton, with its university and great theological library. He was universally respected among scholars and churchmen, not only as a scholar, but also as a man. Indeed, from the first association, one could not fail to be impressed with the quality of his humanity, with his ebullience and joy, with his integrity and honesty. When the World Alliance of Reformed Churches met in Princeton in 1954, it was agreed that a committee would be formed to edit and publish several volumes of Calvin’s unpublished sermons that were still languishing in the library of the University of Geneva. An international committee was formed, and it was clear from the beginning that Professor Barnabas Nagy would be the representative of the Hungarian Reformed Church. Photocopies of the sermons were sent to Budapest, and Professor Nagy laboriously set down in his own script more than 1800 pages of Calvin’s preaching that had been taken down by a corps of secretaries in shorthand. Reading and editing these pages required not only great skill but also an almost infinite patience and love of God’s Word preached to His people. I well remember another visit with Professor Nagy, this one in the summer of 1964 in Budapest, when he and his son András met us at our hotel, with András bringing a suitcase literally filled with manuscripts, all the results of Professor Nagy’s scientific work. That evening we had dinner in an outdoor cafe on St. Margaret’s Isle and several hours of the most delightful conversation. In the eight years since I had last seen him, Professor Nagy’s research had led him to study sixteenth century movements in Italy and Poland, and during this period he had learned both Italian and Polish in order to deal with primary sources. He had also discovered that several of the sermons of Servetus
