When I arrived in Sopron in 2015, I rented a rather bleak and overpriced apartment in the historic downtown area of the city. The apartment was spectacularly dilapidated, overlooked a busy street, and was situated in a crumbling, rat-infested building. The only positive things the abysmal place had going for it were its location - it was quite literally in the middle of everything - and the views it afforded from its front and back windows. The front windows offered a clear view of the St. Judas Thaddeus Church on the adjacent side of the square, while the steeple of the St. Orsolya Church filled the frame of the back window.
As bad as the flat was, the view I took in every morning upon waking up more than compensated for the drafty windows and crappy plumbing.
As bad as the flat was, the view I took in every morning upon waking up more than compensated for the drafty windows and crappy plumbing.
We moved out of the squalid flat shortly after we purchased our house in the countryside, and though I was relieved to be out of the dingy apartment, I missed seeing the St. Judas Thaddeus Church every day. The church is one of five located in Sopron's historic downtown area and was maintained by the Dominican Order for centuries, which helps explain why locals simply refer to the building as the "Dom Church." I will skip going into the church's history and focus instead on its aura and atmosphere.
Though the Dom Church was right across the street, I chose to attend Mass at St. George's Roman Catholic Church a few hundred meters away because it offered a Latin service. Nevertheless, I probably spent far more time in the St. Thaddeus Church, which I would pop into on my way to or from work at least two or three times every week. I liked to stop there whenever I could partly because the building itself was a veritable oasis of peace and tranquility, and partly because the interior of the church is, for lack of a more original word, sublime.
Though the Dom Church was right across the street, I chose to attend Mass at St. George's Roman Catholic Church a few hundred meters away because it offered a Latin service. Nevertheless, I probably spent far more time in the St. Thaddeus Church, which I would pop into on my way to or from work at least two or three times every week. I liked to stop there whenever I could partly because the building itself was a veritable oasis of peace and tranquility, and partly because the interior of the church is, for lack of a more original word, sublime.
My stops at the Dom Church usually lasted about thirty or forty minutes. I spent half of this time praying and the other half marveling at the interior's Baroque flourishes. I was perfectly at ease and perfectly at home sitting in the pews immersed in quiet contemplation. Every time I exited the church, I felt the time I had spent within its ornate walls had placed me closer to God.
For reasons I cannot explain, I stopped popping into St. Judas Thaddeus after I moved away from Sopron. This has nothing to do with the place being far removed - you see I commute to the city every weekday for work, and the church is just around the corner from my office at the university, so technically I could visit the church every day if I wanted to. But for some reason I haven't felt inspired to do so.
Upon first learning the official name of the grand white church framed within the window of the squalid flat I had rented in Sopron, I dug into catacombs of my nearly forgotten religion lessons at Catholic school and recalled that St. Judas Thaddeus is also referred to as John the Apostle. He makes an appearance in the Fourth Gospel (John 14:22) where he is referred to as "Judas, not Judas Iscariot, apparently an apostle." He is also venerated as the patron saint of desperate cases and lost causes.
This last recollection might help explain why I was so drawn to the church after I arrived to Sopron. Back then, in those cold and bitter March days, there were times when I very much felt like a desperate case and somewhat of a lost cause. Thankfully, I have not experienced those feelings for years, which may shed some light on why I no longer feel the need to be in Jude the Apostle's presence - though I still have nothing but the highest esteem for him and the church bearing his name. How can I not? After all, both helped pull me through a rather trying time.
For reasons I cannot explain, I stopped popping into St. Judas Thaddeus after I moved away from Sopron. This has nothing to do with the place being far removed - you see I commute to the city every weekday for work, and the church is just around the corner from my office at the university, so technically I could visit the church every day if I wanted to. But for some reason I haven't felt inspired to do so.
Upon first learning the official name of the grand white church framed within the window of the squalid flat I had rented in Sopron, I dug into catacombs of my nearly forgotten religion lessons at Catholic school and recalled that St. Judas Thaddeus is also referred to as John the Apostle. He makes an appearance in the Fourth Gospel (John 14:22) where he is referred to as "Judas, not Judas Iscariot, apparently an apostle." He is also venerated as the patron saint of desperate cases and lost causes.
This last recollection might help explain why I was so drawn to the church after I arrived to Sopron. Back then, in those cold and bitter March days, there were times when I very much felt like a desperate case and somewhat of a lost cause. Thankfully, I have not experienced those feelings for years, which may shed some light on why I no longer feel the need to be in Jude the Apostle's presence - though I still have nothing but the highest esteem for him and the church bearing his name. How can I not? After all, both helped pull me through a rather trying time.
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