Broken Mosaics

One place name from my virtual tour of Hungary immediately captured my attention.

Debrecen.

Not because I had ever been there, but because I already knew its name.

There was a folk song Apuci used to sing: “Debrecenbe kéne menni.”

As I returned to the travel video, I was struck by the significance of the guide’s words. Debrecen is home to the Great Reformed Church – a yellow Neoclassical building capable of holding 5,000 people. In the sixteenth century, Debrecen embraced Protestantism – a branch of Christianity that opposed the Catholic Church.

This caught my attention because my whole life I have carried the story of how my mother had to convert to Catholicism before she was allowed to marry my father.

I have always known that my parents’ religions did not align, but I never fully understood what that meant.

To be honest, I still don’t.

But I have begun asking Anyuci questions.

What I have learned thus far is that Mama (my paternal grandmother) was a devout Catholic who attended church every day.

Yes, you read that correctly. 

Every day.

Sometimes more than once a day.

Although Ünnepi (my maternal grandmother) is one of the women at the heart of my doctoral research, I cannot ignore the influence Mama may have had over Anyuci; given that she married Apuci at just nineteen years of age and proceeded to live in close proximity to her in-laws for a decade and a half.

As for me, I grew up in a family that only attended church for weddings, Christenings, and funerals. My understanding has always been that it was “illegal” to go to church in Hungary.

I have recently learned that what I interpreted to mean illegal was actually something quite different.

Under communism, religious practice was aggressively suppressed by the state. Whilst ordinary citizens did not face legal punishment for attending church, many did face heavy social and economic consequences. Teachers and civil servants could lose their jobs. Children from religious families could face discrimination and reduced educational opportunities.

Calling it illegal was, perhaps, an oversimplification.

Looking back now, it seems more like coercive control.

By weaponising everyday survival, the communist regime manufactured a state of fear where the cost of practising religion became too high for many families to risk.

Mine being one of them.

I don’t really know why we didn’t begin attending church regularly once we were safe in Aotearoa. I have always assumed it was because of the language barrier.

Perhaps my research will reveal a different story.

I did, however, attend Girls’ Brigade for a couple of years after a primary school friend invited me along. I also occasionally attended Sunday services with another primary school friend. But I remember very little about either experience.

What I do remember is Papa (my paternal grandfather) teaching me to pray.

Kneeling beside my bed at night.

Praying to Mama in heaven before I went to sleep.

The more questions I ask, the more I realise how many stories I have carried throughout my life without ever really understanding where they began.