This is an abridged version of the original interview first published on 777.hu on 4 August 2023.

Richárd Bóna was a final year seminarian in Pozsony (Bratislava, Slovakia) when his distant relative Fr. László Roskó, Pastor of St. Margaret of Hungary Parish in Cleveland, Ohio asked him to consider coming to America to serve the Hungarian community there. After finishing seminary in Cleveland and becoming an ordained priest, he served in English-speaking parishes for eight years, followed by his assignment in Washington, DC for further studies. In 2020 he finally became the Pastor of St. Emeric and St. Elizabeth Parishes. The latter is about to become a shrine.

***

I heard that by the age of 18, you knew that you wanted to become a Catholic priest. Did you have any earlier thoughts about your calling?

I was born in Pozsony into a religious family. Faith and its practice—attending Sunday Masses every week and as often as we could during the week—was a natural part of our lives. I was in second or third grade when I began to serve as an altar boy. In Slovakia only boys serve at the altar. One day, coming home from the church, I asked my parents whether everyone who is an altar boy later has to become a priest. Out of jest, they said yes and so I just resignedly responded, ‘Ok, I guess, I’ll be a priest.’ Of course, later I realized it doesn’t work like that, nevertheless, the thought that God might be calling me to be a priest stayed with me and slowly grew in me.

I attended Slovak primary and middle school and then Hungarian high school, while the thought of becoming a priest became stronger. After graduating in 1994 I applied to the Slovak seminary in Pozsony. At that time, there were a lot of applicants: 50 of us applied, but only half of us were accepted. I was in my second last year of the seminary formation, when my distant relative Fr. László Roskó of St. Margaret Parish in Cleveland—who turned out to be the last pastor there—asked me to consider serving the Hungarian community in the U.S., and, more specifically, to eventually be his replacement. I had to decide quickly, because I was about to be ordained a deacon, which entails incardination into a local church, and it would have required a formal process of transferring with both bishops needing to agree to it. Nonetheless, I still came to Cleveland with the bishop’s blessing.

Thus, moving to America was your own decision. Why did you say yes?

It was a major decision. It would be hard to classify the reasons, because these things cannot be scientifically analyzed, they are based on prayer and discernment. Maybe there were signs along the way and events that put me into that mindset, but ultimately it came down to the act of recognizing the possible will of God in this invitation and then to accept it. After two months of prayer and conversations with others, I came to the point where I asked myself: ‘If I’ve been invited, what’s the reason why I shouldn’t go, why should I say no?’ I couldn’t find a good answer, so I accepted it as God’s will, because I never planned or even thought about it. I don’t think God would have been angry with me, had I stayed at home. God can and does at times call us to leave behind our fabricated visions of how our lives should unfold. My parents supported me and didn’t put any pressure on me in my decision making.

How did you find America and the seminary?

I arrived in August 1999. The diocese asked me to first learn English for a year and continue the seminary only afterwards. I needed some time to get acquainted with American culture and the differences in the teaching methods. For example, we had to write papers every three weeks, for which we had to read 100–150 pages, and give feedback to the professor about the reading assignments. At home, we just had to listen to the lectures, take notes, and then cram everything into our head at the end of the semester when we had our exams. This process of filling up our heads with information, then clearing them to be ready for the next exam had to be repeated several times. The exam period lasted three or four weeks, and it was a very stressful period, but after that there was no accountability until the next exam period. In the U.S., however, we had to study constantly, and thus incorporate the curriculum throughout the semester and not just at the end of it. The diocese was also different from what I experienced at home, which is understandable, because under communism everything was strongly controlled, and the church couldn’t develop its own organizational models or other programs and institutions. The most they could do was to utilize the energy and the temperament of the bishop or the archbishop in organizing and running the diocese. In America, everything is much more organized, perhaps too much so: they often over-organize programs to cover for everything and they leave almost no room for the Holy Spirit to work.

Weren’t you disappointed when you had to serve in English-speaking parishes for eight years?

I again accepted God’s will. When I accepted that He wanted me here, I entrusted my life to Him. Since then, I leave everything to Him. I don’t plan anything. In seminary, I lived with native English speakers, and my language skills improved. I’m glad for the experiences gained in those eight years that I wouldn’t have gained otherwise. I served at Saint Christopher’s Parish of 2900 families and at Saint Albert’s Parish of 4000 families—probably the largest in the diocese. I learned a lot in these assignments, which helped me later. Hungarian priests sent to America are often unfamiliar with the organization and culture of the local church, and as a result they may not be able to understand the pastoral context of priestly ministry.

So you consider those eight years beneficial. What about being sent to study?

Regardless of whether we see the benefits now or do not, everything has a purpose. At the end of our lives or the world, we’ll understand why these things happened, why we have to endure them. But it isn’t necessarily important to know the reason right now. There’s no one who’s more reliable than God. We don’t need anything else. I was first asked to assist in the diocesan court—also referred to as tribunal—once a week. When my assignment was about to come to an end at St. Albert’s, they asked me whether I’d like to continue studying canon law. I prayed a lot before making this decision and said to myself: I didn’t plan this either, but God put it in front of me, so I should accept it. I again didn’t find a reason to say no. I set my pastoral work aside and became a student again for three years. Upon earning my degree, they asked me to continue studying for a doctorate. I stayed in Washington, DC for another two and a half years to research, and then returned to Cleveland by Christmas in 2016, where I finished my dissertation. I defended my thesis in 2018 and received my diploma in January 2019.

What did you work in the diocesan court?

I started working there in July 2017 after I returned to Cleveland. Most of my work dealt with marriages. Normally, it’s not possible for a divorced person to remarry, because in the Catholic faith marriage is for life. However, there are certain circumstances that may prove that at the time of the exchange of consent there was a defect, an impediment, and thus the marriage was never validly entered into. If one thinks that’s the case, they can file a formal request for the declaration of invalidity—also commonly, but incorrectly, referred to as annulment. We interview the parties and witnesses, we gather the evidence in order to determine if there is (or isn’t) moral certainty to declare the invalidity of a marriage. This procedure is completely independent of any civil marriage or divorce proceedings. In the 1970–80s, this procedure was approached with some naiveté and leniency and as a result, the number of declarations of invalidity in America skyrocketed. Almost every petitioner received an affirmative answer. Consequently, the notion has spread—and not without reason—that the declaration of invalidity is only a formality and anyone can receive it. In the late 1980s, Pope John Paul II devoted more attention to this problem and began to encourage the bishops and tribunal officials to protect the sacrament of marriage by applying correctly the jurisprudence of the Church—which is the interpretative principles and well-established practices of canon law. Since then, there’s been lots of improvement, but we still find examples of the old way of thinking. It’s not uncommon to encounter petitioners trying to put pressure on the judges and the diocese to deliver a ‘favorable’ decision. Of course, I want to help everyone, but in these cases it’s the Church acting through me with her received duty from Jesus, so I must represent the Church and her teaching, not my ‘own mercy’.

These cases represented the majority of my workload back then. Occasionally, I was asked to handle cases related to Sacraments, real estate, and religious orders. I’m still working in this capacity, however, since I’ve become administrator and then pastor in 2020, the marriage cases have been removed from my case portfolio. I mostly work part-time on financial or moral misconduct cases related to priests. These are warning signs that if we don’t pay attention, even us priests are capable of acting inappropriately. Darkness may envelop anyone. I believe the devil wants priests to fail in their calling because they are set by Jesus Christ to be the gateway to the Sacraments and to lead souls to Heaven. The devil knows that if he can destroy a priest, it can have a very damaging effect on the Church. Many people leave the practice of the faith when they see or hear of a fallen priest—even though there are many holy priests, too. It’s a human weakness to notice—or exaggerate—the bad traits or behavior in others before we notice the bright side of things.

How did the closing of St. Margaret happen and how it affected Fr. Roskó?

Fr. Roskó retired as the last pastor of St. Margaret, and it was very painful for him. For a long time, there were three Hungarian parishes in Cleveland. The Cleveland diocese wanted to keep only one open. Since all three had priests to serve and money for their maintenance, the only reason for closure was that they had too few parishioners. The bishop forced the three parishes to form a cluster and decide among themselves as to which parish they wish to keep. Naturally, no one wanted to close their own parish, but the bishop didn’t accept their decision and chose to keep St. Elizabeth. On paper, all the parishioners of the three parishes would fit into this huge church, so it was a practical decision, but because each church community had its own history and still had sizable Mass attendance, it was premature. Yet, they forcefully closed the two. But while St. Emeric decided to appeal—along with 11 other churches within the diocese—, St. Margaret wasn’t able. Thus, when the appellate ruling reversed the initial decision, only those who appealed were reopened. This was a major blow to Fr. Roskó, who had already done so much to save the aging St. Margaret in the 1980s by moving the parish to a new site in the suburbs, where many of the parishioners lived. It effectively hastened his earthly departure; he passed away two weeks after he learned about it.

How did you become the pastor of both churches?

When St. Emeric was closed, Fr. Siklódi moved to St. Stephen Hungarian parish church in Chicago. At the reopening of St. Emeric, the bishop wanted to put a new pastor in charge, but the community wanted Fr. Siklódi back, which he allowed. Unfortunately, he died only nine months later in the summer of 2013. After that, Fr. Antal of St. Elizabeth held Masses at St. Emeric until Fr. András Mezei’s arrival from Hungary in 2015. During his tenure, Fr. Antal retired; the diocese entrusted St. Elizabeth to Fr. Mezei, in addition to his St. Emeric assignment. When he returned to Hungary after five years, both parishes remained without pastors. When the diocese asked me—as the only Hungarian-speaking active priest left in the diocese—to assume the pastor’s responsibilities for both parishes, I accepted it.

This was three years ago, in 2020. What has happened since?

We have 80–100 people for regular Sunday Masses at St. Emeric, perhaps 140–150 if there is an event afterwards. Once a month, we also have Mass accompanied with guitar and church songs of more recent origin. The goal is to have more people attend and support the Hungarian language Mass and the Sacraments, and not just when special events take place. It’s important to learn to love God for Him alone, not just because I’m getting or receiving something from Him. I’d like to lead the people—including myself—on this path as well: we come to church for God. We are very blessed to have Hungarian language Masses, but if there will be no Hungarian parish and/or Hungarian Masses anymore, will we still go to Mass? Will we still continue to grow in the practice of the faith as we did previously? I noticed that in America many things are focused and narrowed down to feelings and experiences, and often in church life as well. If we connect everything to this viewpoint, after a while churchgoers may think that they must leave the Mass with a good feeling as if it was a concert or other cultural performance. Instead, what’s key to learn is that even if we don’t feel or experience anything, even if the prayers are seemingly boring, God is still there, He still listens and cares about us. We should be content in church even if there’s no beautiful music or the homily is of a poor quality. We should recognize that the Holy Mass is always about Christ being there on the altar and in the tabernacle: the Blessed Sacrament. If we acknowledge this, it really doesn’t matter what happens, we’ll be at the Mass. How can we miss such closeness of our God? And if things get rough and they throw us in jail for our faith—like they did to Cardinal József Mindszenty in Hungary—, we’ll still keep our faith, because we have learned to persevere in emotionally dry times. As in a good marriage, there are good, boring and difficult times, but we don’t just give up, we keep going and learn to practice and live in love in all circumstances.

What about St. Elizabeth Church? Changes are expected to happen there, too.

St. Elizabeth is the first Hungarian Roman Catholic parish in North America, established in 1892, and the current church structure built in 1922 may be the largest Hungarian Catholic church in the U.S. as well. In the diocese of Cleveland it is certainly one of the most beautiful churches. It’s a historical landmark that we’d like to preserve. It has a seating capacity of 1,100, but Mass attendance is very low, only 20 to 40 persons. It’s in downtown Cleveland, the oldest, the largest church, and we can’t sell it—that’s why the diocese chose not to close it back then. The plan for its future is to let a religious institute from Chicago use it as a shrine and pay for its upkeep. While it would lose its parish designation, it’d be honored with a title shrine and would remain a worship site of the Hungarian Catholics. The institute would hold Latin Masses there and we’d celebrate Hungarian Masses up to four times per year. The use of the basement would also be available for events of the Hungarian community. The diocese and the institute approved the proposal, it’s only awaiting official finalization. It seems to be a win-win for all parties involved.

How did the parishioners react?

They are in favor of the decision. After explaining to them the dire situation of losing the church all together, no one disagreed. They are very sad that they will no longer attend Hungarian Masses there—for some this church means their entire lives—, but they understand the alternative is much worse. As part of the agreement, they will have the right to hold special ceremonies, weddings or funerals at the worship site. We worked out the agreement with such terms that everything in the building—even the paintings and sculptures of the saints—stays as it is now. If they want to move or replace anything, they’d need permission from the pastor of St. Emeric, which is currently me. I hope and believe this religious institute will respect the Hungarian historical past of the church.

Will they be able to fill the church with their Latin Masses?

There are twelve worship sites presently that host Latin Masses in the diocese. The bishop would like to consolidate these to this one site at St. Elizabeth, which would be the center of the traditional Latin Masses in the Diocese of Cleveland; the others would mostly be closed. There is a Latin Mass revival process within Catholicism with an increased interest among young Catholics for the traditional Latin Mass due to its greater emphasis on the transcendental character of the liturgy. The ceremonies and rituals are more Christ/God centric. If we think of it, the new Mass is rarely silent, there is always someone talking or singing, while silence is incorporated into the Latin Masses so that the churchgoers have a chance to commune with God who whispers in silence to us. During the reform of the liturgy in the 1970s, Masses were reduced to a simplistic shell of the original Mass to make it understandable to the public. But we can’t understand it all anyway!

Latin Masses are becoming more popular worldwide, but especially in countries where there has been a concerted effort to ‘over-reform’ the liturgy—where they make a production out of the Mass, the liturgy is about themselves, and not about God, for instance in America, Germany, Austria, and France. I’m anticipating at least 200 Massgoers every Sunday at St. Elizabeth Church. At the first Latin Mass, there may be even 500 present due to curiosity. Those of Hungarian descent may also attend; I encouraged them to do so. It’s not that Latin Mass is a panacea—one can be disappointed there as well—, rather it’s a sign that the faithful are seeking help to a stable life of faith, a place where they can immerse themselves in prayer and in loving their God, and these places often provide that. To truly love others, we must first start with loving God deeply. That’s the mission of the Church, this is what we all need to concentrate on: to deepen our faith. As our Lord said, ‘Duc in altum…’ (‘Go to the deep waters and cast your net…’, Lk 5:4).

What about religious education in St. Emeric?

The parishioner base is mostly composed of the elderly. There are three or four families with children that attend regularly, but they take their children to the local parishes with Catholic schools and prepare them for the sacraments there. They have their children prepared in their schools and bring them here for their first communion, or they have their ‘second communion’ in our community. This year we had religious education led by a parish member; I didn’t have time for it, only for visiting them. We recently had preparation for confirmation that I led, but the latest similar occasion was six years ago. The congregation has asked for Lenten programs—I haven’t gotten to those yet, but I’d like to. I also help the Byzantine Catholic congregation with their canonical matters. There is plenty of work there, too. Once we’ve overcome a few of these hurdles, it’ll get better, I hope, but right now we are backlogged. Presently, I have four workplaces and never enough time.

This, a Hungarian catechist and younger churchgoers need to be found… This shouldn’t be so difficult since the Scout House is next to the church, while the Hungarian school is in the church building.

A Hungarian organist would be important, too. The scouts meet on Fridays, the school is on Mondays. Vigil Mass is Saturday evening; Sunday Mass is before noon—that’s why it’s so difficult to have the youth in the church… But catechism would probably help draw them to the Sunday Mass. I’ve to take the time to schedule this properly. Also, I’d like to hold week-day theology classes in the evenings, where we can cover all sorts of topics. We’ll see. We can keep the community alive only with the help of the Holy Spirit. So let us beg His help.

Read more Diaspora interviews: