The lasts of a dying breed: Hungarian Calvinists in Romania – PART I

Magyarhang has gone to explore the furthest located Hungarian Calvinist communities in Europe, in Romania, more exactly in Galați, Braila, Ploiești, Constanța. Here the number of Hungarians is in a steep decline, and only two Hungarians can be found at most funerals – the priest and the deceased. 

Before giving a picture of what life is like for Hungarian Calvinist communities in Romania, it should be taken into consideration that religion and politics have become almost inseparable in this case. The difference in religion means a difference in political views, giving a reason for concern – for example, two out of four Reformed churches in Wallachia are located vis-à-vis the Securitate’s* successor, the SRI’s hall. This way, an eye is always kept on the Hungarian church-goers in Bucharest and Ploiești.

Hungarian churches in Bucharest

The first heavy flow of Hungarians arrived in Bucharest at the time of the 1848 Hungarian Revolution, though Hungarians could be found in the Romanian capital already at that time.

The Calvineum

The first Hungarian Reformed church in Bucharest was built in 1815, right next to the royal palace. This wooden church became overcrowded soon, so a more spacious building was erected in its place. Its inauguration was attended even by the current Romanian monarch, Alexandru Ioan Cuza and his wife.

The Romanian residents of Bucharest regarded the star on the spire as a pagan symbol, so it had to be replaced with a cross. To further calm the Romanian Orthodox majority, an altarpiece was placed behind the communion table.

After about 150 years later the church was demolished: the Communist leaders decided that a huge congress centre was to be built in its place (an Orthodox church and a German school were destroyed too). The irony of the situation is that the current Calvineum church was built because of another Communist – János Kádár, the Hungarian leader. During his visit to Bucharest, he demanded that the wronged Reformed community has to be compensated, so in 1972 the building of the new church commenced, though an Orthodox architect designed it.

The Romanian Communist president Nicolae Ceaușescu had his own conditions too: the church must be built behind the vicarage, cannot have a spire. In short, it cannot be seen from the street.

Béla Zsold, the Calvineum’s pastor reveals that the church has no Hungarian cantor, an Orthodox girl helps them out. Today barely 40 people attend the church on weekends, twenty years ago 200 people did.

Only two children were received into the church as confirmees this year, and none of them speaks Hungarian.

Even the cemetery is a sad sight to behold, language-wise. Slowly the Hungarian names shift to Romanian: the grandparents’ names are in Hungarian, the parents’ names are missing accents, the children’s bear no resemblance to that of the grandparents’. There is a simple explanation for this, young Hungarians in Bucharest usually enter mixed marriages, and as the majority of the city’s population is Romanian, the children’s religion becomes Orthodox and their mother-tongue Romanian.