July 2015 marks the 600th anniversary of the martyrdom of Jan Hus. This week, writer Jim Nedelka offered exclusive reflections for the Outlook on the spiritual and cultural events of HusFest 2015 in Prague.
Mníšek pod Brdy, Czech Republic – A short, athletic man wearing a smile is energetically pulling a rope on this Monday evening, ringing a bell up inside the chapel of St. Mary Magdalene here at Barokní areál Skalka, the mountainside summer retreat of the area’s Roman Catholic bishop. Not only is he signaling 18.00 hours on the evening of Monday, July 6, 2015, but his additional pealing announces the commencement of one of the final celebrations honoring the priest and Protestant reformer Jan Hus, executed by the church 600 years ago to the day as a heretic.
Most of the Husovské slavnosti 2015 (in English HusFest 2015,) activities this weekend occurred in and around the cobble stone streets, churches and man-made majesty of Prague’s historic Old Town. However, this evening a smaller, more historic event is beginning in this bucolic park the locals affectionately call “The Rock.” This is the region’s first-ever ecumenical worship service celebrated by a Catholic, a Hussite and member of the Evangelical Church of Czech Brethren (ECCB), the denomination that most closely lines up with the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.).
Orchestral music kicked-off the in-town celebrations on Sunday. This evening the surrounding hills and valleys have come alive with the sound of music from guitars, a harmonica, a portable organ, a fiddle and the choir from Husův Dům (literally “Hus House;” in this usage “Jan Hus Church”), the ECCB congregation in the nearby village of Hvozdnice which also serves the region’s 30 surrounding villages.
As the three concelebrants – Catholic bishop Jan Dlouhý wearing a white robe and purple stole, Hussite priest Rudolf Valenta from Praha-Zbraslav also wearing a purple stole but over a black robe, and Vendula Kalusová, pastor of Husův Dům, also clad in a black robe but wearing prayer tabs instead of a stole – took their places on the intimate stage erected in front of the chapel, it became instantly apparent this was not going to be the usual Catholic prayer service. Aside from the equal footing all three prelates shared on stage, there were two additional but silent reminders: Kalusová is a woman and the Christian symbol hanging from the canopy this evening was not the Catholic’s usual crucifix but the simple wooden cross from her church.
The Rock’s sloping hillside creates an amphitheater setting, providing the hundred or so in attendance the option to be seated or participate from the lawn. With limited on-site parking, the majority trekked up the narrow, winding road – many toting their children, others bringing their pets.
About two-thirds through the service, the musicians strike up Jednou budem dál (“We Shall Overcome”) and the congregation gives it a full-throated rendition.
In a way, this anthem of the Civil Rights movement in the U.S. and the anti-Communist fights in the former Czechoslovakia serves as a moving message about the power of today’s struggle for reconciliation.
“When I looked out,” a visibly moved Kalusová recalled afterwards, “I could see some people crying, others smiling and, of course, some little children running and laughing.”
As attendee Andres Kopecká, a Roman Catholic, explains afterwards, if you asked people some 25 years or so ago, this would probably have been the last place anyone would have expected be hosting a historic ecumenical prayer service.
Iron mining is the area’s chief industry. About 25 years ago, with The Rock deteriorating through indifference, a fight broke out over this land – more specifically, a fight broke out over the land underneath this land.
At that time, below where this evening’s prayers and songs were raised together in harmony by Christians from many denominations, the state had discovered uranium – not just some uranium but one of the largest uranium deposits in Europe.
Uranium was the perfect ingredient to feed the nuclear arms race and help the Soviet Bloc turn the temperature down a few more degrees on the Cold War.
But a funny thing happened on the way to razing this retreat: The Iron Curtain rusted away, the Berlin Wall was pulled down and the Velvet Revolution took hold.
If there is any take away from this evening’s ecumenism, it is that there will be future events like these, which show that the only real differences among the Christian denominations are dogmatic differences, ones that potentially can be eased.
Those seeking change can look to Jan Hus, the martyr whose leagcy brought everyone together this evening.
In Old Town, one of Hus’ pulpits was The Church of St. Martin in the Wall.
For HusFest 2015, the congregation created “Mir Peace,” an art exhibition by children and youth from all cultures and backgrounds.
The catalogue opens with this quote from Hus, who deflected the charges against him at the Council of Constance by extolling the virtues of peace: “It is necessary,” said Hus, “if peace with our neighbor is to become reality at all, that man makes peace with God first and also peace with himself.”
The catalogue’s editors took Hus at his word. The cover art, “Mír s Boehm / Peace with God,” is by 18-year old Attila Palágyi, a Catholic from Slovakia.
But perhaps those looking to craft dogmatic changes should listen to the eloquence of Veronika Kopecká, Andres’ wife, who is an elder and music director at Hvozdnice’s Husův Dům. “Andres is a Catholic, I am a Protestant and we tell people our children are Christians.”
JIM NEDELKA is an award-winning journalist, writer and editor who actively searches for the “humanity” within every story. A ruling elder in the PC(USA), he is a member of Jan Hus Presbyterian Church & Neighborhood House in New York City. He and his wife, Holly, are the proud parents of two adult children.
