The Magyar Response

By Brother Stavros

Few on our technologically linked planet are unaware of the plight of the masses of refugees from Africa and Asia, but most poignantly from the Middle East. And very few people I know were not appalled by the treatment these refugees received at the Hungarian border.  The German and Austrian reaction was perhaps softened by visions from World War II of stuffed cattle cars and endless miles of refugees. Even Serbia, also mindful of ethnic cleansing in Bosnia, expressed dismay at the Hungarian impasse.

I found it a sad and disturbing irony that the political rationale expressed by the Budapest government cited their fear of diluting their Christian identity.

What kind of identity ignores one of the most vivid teachings of Christ, portrayed in Matthew’s account of the Last Judgement? (Matthew 25:31-46) Hungarian Ministers of State as well as ordinary Christian folk must hear this question regularly from every pulpit: “Uram, mikor láttuk, hogy éheztél, vagy szomjas vagy hogy jövevény, vagy Igénylő ruhát, vagy beteg, vagy fogoly voltál, és nem segít?” “Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?”

Might this reflect the conundrum of Christianity today? The term “Christian” is like a mantle, easily thrown on and off as the occasion suits.

I have no pretense at knowing a solution. The European Union cannot arrive at a common policy. I look forward to the wisdom and Gospel fidelity in Pope Francis’ words that will probably make us all uncomfortable.

I do not want to appear to disparage Hungarians. Home-grown examples loom in the massive deportation of Mexicans in 1908, estimated at 500,000 to 2 million, a good number of whom were United States citizens. They were loaded onto trains by state and local officials, without federal authorization, and exiled below the border. The State of California issued a formal apology for this outrage only ten years ago.

The inscription at the base of the Statue of Liberty (“Give me your tired, your poor…”) used to be in our schoolbooks. Many satirists are now offering a rewording of this inscription to reflect current political currents.

Pachomius of Egypt, who served as an occupying Roman soldier in the third century, was so impressed by the hospitality of Christians who had every right to detest him that he sought out baptism and became a leading monastic light of his era.

The popular Hungarian Saint Elizabeth, a 13-century Magyar queen and early Third Order Franciscan, in her zeal to follow Saint Francis’ evangelical path gave away most of her wealth to feed the poor and assist travelers and the homeless.

Let us not use the term “Christian” lightly or appear to manipulate it when it serves our political or social purposes. If we want to safeguard our Christian heritage, let these saints and countless others set an example. We cannot be comfortable Christians in the face of a major humanitarian upheaval. The wars that visit our homes today on TV or iPad, from Syria and Afghanistan and Central Africa, and tomorrow as climate change accelerates new waves of refugees, may be triggered by drought and famine or flooding. It’s time we get it right and make the lesson of the Good Samaritan a reality.