This is an abridged version of the original interview first published on reformatus.hu on 29 October 2024.
Zoltán Lizik has always entrusted his most significant life decisions to God, never regretting saying yes to unexpected calls, even when facing opposition from those around him. He began his pastoral service in a small village along the Danube in Hungary and later served for 28 years at Central Europe’s largest Reformed church in Cegléd, where he played an active political role during the years of regime change, too. In 2008 he accepted a call to serve the Reformed congregation in Windsor, Canada. In 2018 he was first elected bishop of the Independent Hungarian Reformed Church and re-elected in 2023. The church’s 100th anniversary was celebrated in 2024 with a grand event in New Brunswick, New Jersey.
***
You shared an interesting, though somewhat unbelievable, story about the decision that set you on your path. Did you ever doubt that you received the right guidance at that time?
I come from a devout family; my maternal grandparents and my mother were very religious. My father was not—he represented the ‘new’ world, envisioning me as a teacher, engineer, or military officer, as it was common in that Communist era. I didn’t know what I wanted to be, which is why I was so surprised when, in 1970, while traveling on Tram 4-6 in Budapest, I suddenly heard a very clear voice: ‘There’s no point in going further. Get off and apply to theology.’ I knew it wasn’t a human voice speaking to me, but it was a human-like voice resonating within me. I was stunned, but I immediately knew it could only be God. However, I had no idea why it happened there, as I didn’t even know where the theology school was. So, I got off at the Üllői Road intersection and walked to the pastoral office at Kálvin Square, where I told the pastor what had happened to me. He responded: ‘This is extraordinary. The theology school is actually nearby, on Ráday Street. Go there and apply.’ I hesitated, explaining that I was from the countryside, knew no one, and had no church connections. He reassured me that he would write me a pastoral recommendation himself—what I had just told him was enough for him. That put me at ease because from that moment on, my path became clear, and I knew my destiny. Of course, some later teased me: ‘Did God never speak to you again?’ I answered: ‘He didn’t need to—because I had already made my decision.’ I trusted that God would provide the next steps for me, day by day. And indeed, I never chose my path myself; I always accepted what came my way and was given the help I needed—people who guided me forward. And, of course, I relied on the Bible, so I truly never had any doubts.
Before we go through your journey, let me ask about your family.
I met my wife while studying theology. Zsuzsanna worked as a secretary in the synod office’s legal department and attended theology classes as a part-time student. She is from Nyírbátor, so we held our wedding in the beautiful, historic church there. Our first child, Zsuzsika, was born in Budapest, and we moved to the small village of Gerjen, where Emese and Zoltán were born. Later, in Cegléd, István and Gábor Levente joined our family. My wife focused primarily on raising them and taking care of me—I was like her sixth child—while also managing the household and offering frequent hospitality, as we always welcomed many guests, not just relatives but friends as well. For a time, she also served as director of the Reformed Home for the Elderly in Cegléd, but that responsibility was too big for her. Later, she became a part-time teacher. The church duties were entirely my responsibility.
Why did you move to Gerjen?
That’s an interesting story as well. One day, somebody told me there was an open position in the village of Gerjen and suggested that I leave Budapest to become a pastor there. At that time, I was working with Dr. István Finta, the editor-in-chief of Reformátusok Lapja, an excellent stepping stone for securing a future pastoral position in Budapest. Yet, I said yes. I knew nothing about Gerjen, but this ancient Hungarian ‘Besenyő village’ on the banks of the Danube fascinated me. It was a strong congregation, capable of great things. We traveled, visited neighboring congregations, and helped others. We never regretted our five years there, even though Dr. Finta himself said it was crazy to leave Budapest. But I felt called there—human words had invited me, but it was ultimately a divine calling.
Then came Cegléd—28 long years, including the years of regime change…
That wasn’t planned either. One Sunday, five strangers visited the Sunday service in Gerjen and afterwards revealed that they came from Cegléd and were looking for a pastor. They added: ‘We need a quick answer because the district council will approve it on Wednesday.’ I told them they were too late—I had already committed to serving in nearby Madocsa, Tolna County, where the previous pastor had passed away. They replied: ‘That doesn’t matter. The bishop promised us that we could get the pastor we wanted,’ referring to the fact that their beloved previous pastor, Miklós Molnár, had been reassigned against their wishes to the prestigious Kálvin Square church in Budapest. They also told me that they had approached several renowned pastors before me, but all had declined.
‘I never chose my path myself; I always accepted what came my way and was given the help I needed’
Why was Cegléd so unpopular?
The Cegléd congregation was 450 years old, and their church was the largest Reformed church in Central Europe—even larger than Debrecen’s. I knew there would be enormous work ahead, but I still said yes. I served there for 28 years, ten under Communism and 18 after the regime change. When I arrived, the town leaders, including the council chairman and the Communist party secretary, summoned me for a meeting. When asked about my plans, I said: ‘There are many young people wandering around the churchyard. I want to work with them.’ They replied that I could work with anyone—elderly, sick, or disabled people—but not young people because ‘they are the future’, and they claimed them as their own… But God turned things around. When the regime changed, I was the first to demand the return of the former Reformed school next to the church, with its 43 teachers and 750 students. That was a significant achievement that I’m still proud of. At the time, there was great poverty, but as soon as we raised the necessary funds, I repainted the school’s exterior to bring joy to the children and parents. It’s still the centerpiece of the city.
Did the large congregation indeed require a tremendous amount of work?
Yes. In Cegléd, there were three Reformed congregations with a total of 15,000 members. I conducted 105 funerals per year. People wanted to have me deliver the service from other Reformed congregations and even from the Catholic Church because I didn’t merely deliver a sermon as if I had no connection to the deceased—I immersed myself in the moment, and people appreciated that. At first, I was flattered by the many requests, but after a while, it became a heavy burden. Additionally, I always prepared thoroughly; I never stepped onto the pulpit unprepared, which the congregation valued greatly, but it also took an enormous amount of time. And on top of that, I was also involved in politics.
Can you provide us with some details?
The local Hungarian Democratic Forum (MDF) and the Smallholders’ Party were formed in our church because, during the last years of the Communist one-party rule, they weren’t allowed into cultural centers, whereas we had a large hall that could accommodate 200–250 people, allowing us to organize major meetings. Csurka, Csoóri, Lezsák, and everyone who was part of the opposition at the time visited and held meetings with people in our church. Cegléd is only 70 kilometers from Budapest, less than an hour’s drive. Before the first free elections, even the U.S. ambassador, Mark Palmer, visited us. Initially, we announced that the event would take place in our congregational hall, but due to the overwhelming interest, we had to move it to the church, which was packed with 2,500 seated attendees and just as many standing—of course, with plenty of Communist undercover agents in civil clothes among them. The ambassador said: ‘People, believe me, democracy is coming here.’ People didn’t cry, but their eyes welled up with tears. We started to believe that we wouldn’t be shot for all of this. During the period of the regime change, a former Catholic priest became the mayor, my church curator became the deputy mayor, and I became the chairman of the cultural and sports committee of the town. During those years, whatever the three of us decided, that happened. We agreed that since Kossuth was Lutheran, the 15 March national celebration would be organized by the Lutheran church; since King Stephen was Catholic, 20 August would belong to the Catholic church; and 23 October would be the responsibility of the Reformed church. To this day, the local commemorations are organized this way, and no one has altered this well-functioning system.
Moving to Windsor, Canada, was an even bigger step. How did that happen?
I never wanted to leave my homeland. I’ve always been a patriotic Hungarian. In 2001 I received a call from an unknown Transylvanian pastor, asking if I could provide him with accommodation for a few days. He had been elected to a congregation in America, but his wife was in the last weeks of her pregnancy, and they wanted to have the baby in Cegléd before flying out to America. They stayed with us for five or six weeks, and during that time, we got to know and like each other. Once the baby was born and they obtained all the necessary documents, they left for America. A few years later, I received a letter: they wanted to thank me for my hospitality and invited us to Los Angeles for a month. My wife couldn’t come because she was teaching, and the children were still at school, but I gladly accepted the invitation. At the end of my visit, Pastor Zsolt Jakabffy asked: ‘Don’t you want to stay here? There are so few Hungarian pastors, and we really need more.’ When I replied that I didn’t know anyone besides him and had no idea where I would even begin, he took me to Bishop Sándor Szabó, who, as it turned out, came from the same village as my father and grandfather—Bodroghalom.
At first, he suggested I go to Houston, Texas, to build a church, but I declined. Then Windsor, Canada, came up, where the position had been vacant for two years. I didn’t even know where the city was, and I didn’t have a visa, but they arranged everything. One Sunday, I flew there; 17 people attended the church service, listened to me, and said they would get back to me. A few months later, I received a letter: they were waiting for me in Windsor. I went to my dean, then to the bishop, and resigned. One of them thought it was crazy to leave Cegléd, while the other called it foolish because he had never even heard of that congregation. Even the people in Windsor were surprised—Hungarian pastors rarely moved to America voluntarily.
Why did you say yes?
I was deeply moved by the lives of the Hungarian people in Windsor. Everyone I met was incredibly kind, loving, and deeply emotional. They shared their stories in such a way that I was surprised—instead of me giving them advice or offering comfort, they were telling me wise things. I grew fond of them and felt I’d gladly serve them. That’s why I came, even though I had never wanted to leave my homeland. I didn’t even speak English, but fortunately, services here still had to be held in Hungarian. By then, my children were adults living their own lives, and my wife saw it as natural that wherever I went, she’d follow. She continued teaching for six more months, then retired and joined me.
How have the past 16 years been? How large is the congregation nowadays?
The truth is that while the center of the American auto industry has been Michigan, primarily Detroit, for over a century, more cars were produced across the Detroit River in Windsor, Canada, than in the U.S. It became the hub for machinists who supplied Ford, GM, and Chrysler with the necessary manufacturing tools. The Hungarian community here was incredibly skilled, with a strong sense of business acumen, and some even became millionaires. At one point, it was said that around 8,000 Hungarians could have lived in Windsor. Unbelievable as it may seem, there were once five Hungarian churches and five Hungarian cultural centers operating simultaneously. Unfortunately, I arrived at the worst time, during the economic crisis, which also severely impacted the auto industry, causing many people to move away. The most recent census recorded around 1,300 people identifying as Hungarian in the city, but I believe the actual number is much higher. However, the number of visible, active community members is much smaller—those who attend events are even fewer, and those who actively contribute are fewer still.
Of the five churches, only ours remained. Roughly the same number of people attend as before—about 15–20 regularly, and 25–30 on holidays. The Catholics rent a church, with Franciscan priests visiting from Detroit to conduct mass periodically. Our church was originally a Hungarian Lutheran church, but over time, the congregation merged with Slovak and German Lutheran communities, and the Reformed community eventually purchased the building from them. In a way, we are also preserving the architectural heritage of the former Lutheran church. We are a true Hungarian ‘border castle’—both figuratively and literally, as Windsor is a border town in Canada.
In 2018 you were consecrated as a bishop. How large is the church under your jurisdiction?
Our church consists of 33 congregations: 30 in the U.S. and three in Canada. We are constantly evolving. Not all of our congregations have their own churches; in places like Vancouver, Canada, for example, we rent space for services. The Eastern Reformed congregations are over 100 years old, which means that few members speak Hungarian—retaining the third, fourth, or even fifth generation of Hungarian immigrants has proven much more difficult. We have a total of 24 pastors, some of whom are over 80 years old but still actively serving. I never sought the position of bishop; I wasn’t particularly involved in Hungarian American or Hungarian Canadian church affairs, and as a pastor serving in Canada, I also stood out among the many pastors serving in the U.S. I was surprised when they ultimately chose me.
‘I was known for my habit of immediately visiting anyone sick or hospitalized’
Your episcopal motto is: ‘Even in foreign lands, one draws nourishment from ancestral roots’. Why?
I came here at the mature age of 55. My roots and much of my life are tied to Hungary, but my service here has also renewed itself and borne new fruit over the past 16 years. I’m grateful to the people here because they have preserved something that we have forgotten back home, something we should continue and even feel obligated to uphold. At the same time, I owe everything to those back home—my family, my relatives, and my home church. Everything I brought here and was able to use stemmed from what I was raised with, taught, and immersed in from childhood. I have found truly wonderful people here, and I’m happy I can serve them. I admire their resilience and attachment to our language, culture and faith.
After your installation, you said: ‘I’d love to be a bishop not only for the religious but also for those who have left the church.’ Could you elaborate?
I’ve always believed that it’s not enough to serve and preach only within the walls of the church and to reach only those who willingly come. We must also reach those who wouldn’t come on their own. That’s why I’ve always visited the local Hungarian House—so that people could see and hear me. Even if I only said a prayer before or after a meal, they knew who the pastor was and whom to turn to in times of trouble. I was known for my habit of immediately visiting anyone sick or hospitalized. Families were sometimes reserved and didn’t always like the idea of me seeing their loved ones in their hospital beds, but those I visited were always grateful for my presence, for my words of comfort and encouragement. Elderly patients often revert to speaking Hungarian in the hospital, forgetting English, which the nurses and doctors don’t understand. We are registered at the local hospital, and they call us when needed. This has always been a sacred duty for me.
Regarding those who have left the church, there are always people who take offense. Especially here, where there were two Reformed churches previously. I always tried to have conversations with these individuals, reminding them that maybe things didn’t happen the way they remember or that those involved may not even be alive anymore—perhaps it’s time to think differently and return. I always tried to reach out to and bring back those who might not dare to return on their own or those who needed someone to ease their resentment. I can’t say I was always successful. Even among my own elders, there were those who, unfortunately, passed away without ever reconciling with their own siblings. But I tried everything I could.
In 2023, you were re-elected as a bishop. What has changed since your first term?
Perhaps things are running more smoothly and with greater discipline. Each of the three Classes is overseen by a dean, who reports to me and handles matters first. I step in only if they get stuck or face challenges they cannot resolve. Due to personnel changes over the past few years, our operations and reports have become much more serious and structured. I’ve also gained more experience, which allows me to understand the specific challenges in different areas better and address them more effectively.
Recently, you attended the centennial celebration in New Brunswick, New Jersey. Why was the event held there?
We are incredibly happy and proud that God has granted us the privilege of celebrating. Our predecessors built this church, their descendants preserved it, and we have been given the opportunity to celebrate 100 years of existence. In the diaspora, every year feels like a decade because everything here is so challenging… We want everyone to rejoice with us that the Independent Hungarian Reformed Church has reached this milestone and that we have done so independently, by our own means. Unlike other churches, we don’t receive financial support from any external entity—not even from the Hungarian Reformed Church, except in a spiritual sense. The current Hungarian government’s new church policies have altered this somewhat, but previously, we were entirely self-sufficient. At the same time, we make our own decisions: no one dictates what we should believe or what we are allowed or required to do. Independence is financially challenging, but it also brings great joy and fulfillment.
We held two celebrations. One was in Duquesne, Pennsylvania, in September, where our church was founded on 9 December 1924. At the same time, because most of our congregations are in and around New York, we felt it was important to hold another celebration in that region, where hundreds from the surrounding congregations could attend. This allowed for a grand, solemn church service followed by a large-scale celebration. In Duquesne, the focus was on honor and remembrance—we paid tribute to our ancestors and celebrated their legacy in a smaller, more intimate setting. However, the majority of our congregants were able to gather in New Brunswick, which has a well-maintained, fully equipped church that was suitable for hosting such a large event. We needed someone who could organize the event effectively, communicate in both English and Hungarian and manage the logistics of hosting guests. We are extremely grateful to Pastor Zsolt Ötvös of New Brunswick for taking on the role of host for this grand celebration!
Read more Diaspora interviews:
