Fraternity-Testvériség, 1970 (48. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1970-01-01 / 1. szám
MORATORIUM I made a public fool of myself, yet I was not ashamed. At the local moratorium in Easton, Pennsylvania, I was the minister, black suit and collar, carrying the protest sign. But I was protesting the moratorium. FREE Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Korea Lithuania, Tibet, Vietnam Poland, Estonia, China, Latvia Romania, Mongolia Bulgaria, Ukraine I took my sign to the local imitation of a religious service, by a lot of people who never go to church anyhow. I must admit I felt foolish. I’d never done anything like this before, and I was alone. I didn’t want to be crude and disrupt their service, as disgusting as it was. It hurt to see three supposedly Christian ministers of our church, as well as others, joining in a program mixing pagan Japanese and Buddhist readings with their prayers. Indeed, it seemed to me that they were not really praying at all. Some used their prayers to tell God what to do, while others merely used them as a means to preach their own sermon on the subject while everyone else had to be quiet. As the group of several hundred left the church's parking lot, singing an African song they didn’t understand, I met them at the gate with my sign held high. I asked them to sing a song of freedom for these who have been enslaved by Communism for decades now. I know many were ashamed. I asked them to address themselves not to Washington, but to Moscow and to Peking and to Hanoi. I know I looked foolish, but at that moment I didn’t care. I asked them to remember how the Russian tanks crushed self-determination in Hungary, and to pray for the patriot dead of Budapest. Young people, who didn’t even understand what the sign meant, asked me to explain it. They were only little tots in 1956 and didn’t remember the agony of the Magyars beneath the crush of Red-starred legions. They had never even heard of Latvia and Estonia. “When the Reds stop pushing, we’ll stop pushing back” I told them. It is as simple as that. I don’t believe that as Christians we can leave the Vietnamese to the oppression of the Reds. The Lord insisted that a godly man will not walk by on the other side of the road when his neighbor is in trouble because of cruel marauders. Even more today, when distance is of such little importance as communications shrink the world, it makes no difference if that Jericho Road is a superhighway or a waterway of commerce. Across the street or the ocean, the child of God is my neighbor. In the thirties, we left Germany’s neighbors to the mercy of Hitler, because we didn’t want to get involved. In the forties we left Europe to the mercies of Stalin, 12 because we wanted to get our troops home and things back to normal. In the fifties, we left unheeded the cries from oppressed Hungary, because it wasn’t cheaply expedient to save Hungary. So in the sixties we are still at it. As our young people say, when will they ever learn. We are retreating again to an isolationism that has never worked in all history. We went into World War I and II, all deceit considered, because as a people we could not tolerate the losses of life and of freedom. The welfare, indeed lives, of our world neighbors demanded their redemption, and our own lives were not counted too high a price to pay. As a Christian people, we heeded the Lord’s words, “Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Surely if He paid that price for all of us, we can give our lives for those same people for whom He died. My humanity demands of me that I rush across the street, and not count the danger, to save a young lad from a mad man. It insists I aid a women being attacked by a molester. It commands my every effort to save another whole nation from the mad tyranny of a rapacious attacker, at any cost. And my faith insists it is better for me, and even the person I’m trying to free, to die in the trying than to submit as a domesticated animal. My heritage also cries out, Nem, nem soha! No, no, never! No, I cannot make believe their lot in Vietnam is peace at the price of their freedom. I cannot believe there is peace in Hungary, because slavery under the yoke of armed might is only the false appearance of peace. I cannot believe our Christian hearts can find rest and peace until all men are free. The Jew could keep his faith to himself, and be very content that he was a special child of God. But the Christian is not a Jew, and cannot be content to keep what he has. His faith demands he share it. He is a man sent to release the captives and to proclaim the truth that sets all men free. He does it, or he isn’t a Christian. Isten, áldd meg a magyart! Yes, God, bless all the Hungarians, and every soul yoked by tyranny today. Bless to us the memories of those 40,000 American sons who loved liberty more than life, who loved their neighbors more than themselves, and who joined the army of souls of all ages who have died to help many or but one human live in honor. My grandparents were Kovács (blacksmith) and Szabad (free), and I cannot speak their tongue, yet it is somehow appropriate that I should hammer out freedom. But our name of Christian demands it of us all. So, I made a fool of myself. I thank God for the dear fools who loved their fellowmen, and for the opportunity to be numbered among them even one time. Let all Christians join the apostle Paul in being fools for the Gospel’s sake. Rev. Albert W. Kovács Reprinted from Református Lapja
