The Dark Side of Pittsburgh Churches

I’m in Pittsburgh! This is where I’m originally from, and although it may have a bad reputation, it’s one of the cleanest, greenest, most fun cities out there. Just check out this great view when exiting the Fort Pitt Tunnels:

But while in Pittsburgh, I decided to visit a fantastic church, one that I’d never seen before. St. Nicholas Croatian Catholic Church in Millvale is (debatably) the first Croatian Catholic parish in the country, and sits on a hill above the old working-class neighborhood below.

The church has been going through hard times, as its congregation is shrinking and it has to share a priest with another congregation. It may not last as a church, becoming a chapel, but it will certainly be preserved, as it’s been on the National Register of Historic Places since 1981. As you read this post, you’ll see why. It’s a rather unassuming church on the outside:

But that disguises some gems of art on the inside:

From wall to wall, the church is covered in the murals of Croatian artist Maksimilijan Vanka, better known as Maxo. Hired by Father Albert Zagar, Vanka sought out to depict the realities of immigrant life in the New World. They were painted in two spurts, the first in 1937 depicting traditional religious scenes and differences between the Old World and the New World. In only eight weeks, he had covered half of the church. Here, for example, is a picture of some of the apostles after the crucifixion of Jesus:

Do you see Doubting Thomas with his hand on his forehead? That’s Vanka. It’s almost ironic that Vanka was chosen to paint these murals, as he was a socialist, and not very religious. But he had a sense of humor about the project, such as painting non-native turkeys in pastoral Croatian scenes. So that’s probably why he made himself into Thomas, the most unsure of the apostles.

Here’s a scene of new immigrants to the country offering the church to Mary:

The next two paintings are probably Vanka’s favorite in the church, and they express three major themes of the church’s murals. Entitled “The Croatian Mother Raises Her Sons for War” and “The Immigrant Mother Raises Her Sons for Industry,” they show the commonality of suffering, the caring and sorrowful mother, and the stark differences in life between Europe and America at the time.

Notice the pastoral, beautiful background in Croatia, albeit marred by hundreds of tombstones. Then, see the grave contrast against the scene of the Johnstown mine disaster, where the world is covered in soot and grime:

When Vanka returned to paint the second half of the church in 1941, World War II had begun and Nazi Germany had invaded Croatia, which couldn’t defend itself. Vanka was severely distraught, and his artwork became dark and brooding.

Vanka felt that war was a perversion of Christianity and God’s plan, and painted these two breathtaking and horrifying murals:

There is so much going on in these murals, it’s almost too difficult to describe. In the first, the soldier thinks he is killing an enemy soldier, but realizes that he is actually stabbing Jesus himself. In the second, Mary is so angry about the brutality that she puts herself between two soldiers, ripping the bayonet off of one’s rifle with her bare hands.

But if you look closely (which you can’t, because the pictures are too small), there’s even more. In the picture with Jesus, one soldier has a cross falling out of his pocket, while the other has a Catholic medallion – it’s Christian against Christian. And Jesus’ crown of thorns has been replaced by barbed wire.

And in Mary’s picture, there is barbed wire in the lower left, but wildflowers have intertwined themselves among them. Our guide, Mary Petrich, said this is one of her favorite parts, because it symbolizes to her hope despite the desecration.

I wish I could post all of the murals, as so many of them are stunning and shocking, and not what you normally see in a church. But maybe they are what you should see, as they warn against ignorance, apathy, and brutality, things that can easily be forgotten in our complacent lifestyles.

After our tour, I had a long chat with Mary Petrich, and one thing she said really stick with me, that I should include in this post. She said that for her, faith is like a cross, with the vertical beam being her connection to God.

The horizontal beam, however, is her connection to fellow man, and it’s just as important. “But it’s the hard part,” she said. “It’s a constant struggle.”

And it is.