Calvin Synod Herald, 1993 (93. évfolyam, 2-6. szám)
1993-09-01 / 5. szám
CALVIN SYNOD HERALD-6-REFOMATÜSOK LAPJA Living Memories of One of Our Oldest Churches in Pittsburgh at the "Three Rivers" by Mrs. Julia DeTilla Our present Church, this massive, fortresslike sanctuary was built and dedicated in 1903. The following article, written by Mrs. Julia DeTilla, brings back cherished memories in a very poetic and loving style. We commend her writing to the members of our congregation. Where Are My Children? I have stood here for a long many years, my feet firmly rooted in a plot of ground on Johnston Avenue, my steeple reaching toward the sky, my bells still sweetly chiming the call to worship on Sunday mornings. And at night, when the world around me lies sleeping, I spend the hours thinking of all my children. I look down the pews and see the Old Ones, the men with their big mustaches, dressed in their black suits, and their women in their black skirts, white shirtwaists and kerchiefs on their heads. I see their work-worn hands, and know that their lives were very hard, even in this land of promises, to which they came with such high hopes. I look into their hearts and see the faith, the hope, the determination that inspired them to create me, not only as a place where they could find refuge and cling together, but a Church where their children and future generations could be nourished in the love of God. My heart is filled with the memory of many good and faithful children who filled my pews to overflowing. - Dr. Alexander Kalassay lived among us then, his wife and eight children. He was like a father, she was like a mother for us, and their children were our brothers and sisters. His great and compassionate heart took him away from us to be father to many children in Ligonier who were orphaned by the Great Flu Epidemic and by the tragic mine disasters. Rev. Edmund Vasváry, and his wife, Elizabeth Kalassay. They were so young and vigorous. He was a talented musician and writer. With them serving the Church there were plays and operettas. A lot of my children became amateur actors and singers during those golden years, and we loved every minute of it. Hungarians came from near and far to be entertained, and the Carnegie Auditorium had to be used to accommodate the crowds. Rev. Louis Varga, and his wife, Magda, our beautiful, golden-haired, gentle lady.- Not long after they arrived, the Great Depression set in. My children did not have jobs, they lost their homes, they went hungry. My elders went from door to door, trying to collect funds to keep the Church going. There was no money to pay the minister, but he was in the pulpit every Sunday, and she was at the organ. They ate many a simple meal in the backyard of the manse around a stone barbecue, frying bacon, dripping it on slices of bread, with paprika and onions. When finally, after several years, the elders were able to pay his back salary, he gave it all back. He said: "the Church needs it. Just pay me regularly from now on, if you can." Dr. László Harangi came, with his enthusiasm, his sense of honor for being called to serve my congregation in a land by now populated by many Hungarian Reformed Churches. He renewed in us our pride in our Church and our love for it. Many former members returned to the fold at that time. The Mixed Choir, the Women's Choir and a Children's Choir were formed. He stood, broad shouldered in the pulpit on Sundays. We listened to his words as if each were directed to us personally. Yet our church-life was not always harmonious. Some careless people spoke unkind words. Angry feelings have hurt many innocent people. By that time, at long last, English language services were introduced, many of our young ones were being sent elsewhere to Sunday School and Church. I could only stand by as a silent, grieving witness to the turmoils created by my own beloved children. No minister, however dedicated and talented, can serve the Church without membership to stand by him and support his efforts. Page after page of names could be listed here, going back nine decades who have given their time, their free work and sacrificial donations to show their loyalty to me. They came with their tools to make repairs, planted roses, lilac bushes, cooked and baked in the kitchen. I still have faithful children who have never deserted me. They work, they worry, they strive to keep me going, but their ranks are thin, and there are many vacant spaces in my pews on Sunday mornings. I have stood grieving over the caskets of my beloved dead as they were brought under my roof for the last time upon the earth. I tolled my bells for them and blessed their memory within my walls. I have rejoiced when infants were carried to the Font, there to be baptized into Christianity, into this Church. There were so many of them. Where are they now? Where are the Sunday School children, who were led here by their parents to learn Bible lessons, to sing "Jesus Loves Me" with their little voices? I look at their pictures, taken each year, in their Easter finery, and wonder why they are not here with their children? There were many glorious Easter Sundays when extra chairs had to be set up in the aisles to accommodate the throngs who came to celebrate with joy the Resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ! I recall row after row the Confirmation Classes, who stood solemnly before the Lord's Table, reciting the Catechism, receiving their First Communion, promising to abide in the faith of their fathers and mothers. Where are they today? I miss you all. Yourself, your family, your friends. If, under my roof I have faithful hearts, joyous voices praising God, then I am a thing of beauty, a magnificent Sanctuary, the Great Treasure left to you by the generations before you. I have never hurt you. I have never stopped loving you. Don't turn away from me. Don't forsake me. I AM YOUR CHURCH.
