Franz Wendelin Pfanner – 200 Years
Dunbrody – Mariannhill 1880 – 1894 (Part 5)
“Donnez-moi, s’il vous plaît, des hommes, des Trappistes, pour mon diocèse. J’en ai désespérément besoin.” (“Please give me men, Trappists, for my diocese: I desperately need them.”) It is September 12, 1879, during the Trappist General Chapter at Sept-Fons in France. Bishop James Ricards of Grahamstown in South Africa is asking for monks to come to his diocese and develop the farm he has bought to support his missions. The assembled abbots and priors do not feel that they fit the bill; they have neither men for such an expedition nor anyone to lead them, but mainly, they lack courage.
“If no one wants to go, then I will go.” Francis W. Pfanner, the prior of Mariastern in Bosnia, who was to be made an abbot at this chapter, jumps into the breach. “I felt sorry for the bishop,” he writes, “because he had already spent money on the farm and was now putting his last hope in the Trappists to develop it.” (Unless otherwise stated, all quotes are taken from the Memoirs of Abbot Francis.)
September 12, 1879 at Sept-Fons marks a turning point from monk to missionary in the prior’s life. At Mariastern, the enthusiasm for the expedition was overwhelming; all wanted to be part of it, especially as the requirement he laid down for coming along could not have been simpler: “All must be sunburned. Suddenly, everyone wanted to be assigned to work outside,” and on July 1, 1880, at Southampton, a 34-strong team embarked for South Africa. On July 28, after an eventful passage on a small boat, they reached Port Elizabeth and were taken straight to “Dunbrody,” the farm on the edge of the Addo Wildlife Park which Ricards had named after an ancient abbey in his native Ireland. He felt that winning Trappists to cultivate it was his greatest achievement.
But what was Dunbrody? “Nothing except sand, briars, man-sized cacti, a dry Sunday River and a cloudless sky!” The “monastery” was an array of corrugated iron sheds on which the sun beat down mercilessly. “Quo vadis?” (“Where are you going?”) the prior asked himself. He had committed for three years, or as long as the bishop would pay for their upkeep. But now this! Wondering already at Sept-Fons what resources Ricards had to buy a farm, he was now made to realize that it was not paid for at all. Instead, the bishop was under pressure from his creditor to make the Trappists cultivate it as quickly as possible so as to relieve him of his part of the contract. Unfortunately, that plan had all the potential to spark the first differences between him and the prior, who was expected by Trappist Rule to make it his first priority to build a monastery for his monks where they could live by the Rule and eventually take their vow of stability. As long as Dunbrody did not meet that need, they remained members of Mariastern and Fr. Francis its prior. Added to this predicament was Ricards’ notorious inability to handle money. Thus, differences were bound to culminate in a breach of contract. Not the drought – Dunbrody had received no rain for three years! – but the bishop’s mismanagement raised the first serious doubts in Prior Francis about the feasibility of the project.
The Trappists were in Dunbrody hardly a year when the prior was called to Sept-Fons to attend the annual General Chapter (September 1881). Unknown to him, Ricards used that opportunity to persuade the vicar general of the order and the prefect of Propaganda Fide to keep him in Europe and send a French prior to Dunbrody instead. However, he had not reckoned with the brothers who stood solidly united behind Fr. Francis. Meanwhile, Fr. Francis went on a promotional tour for Dunbrody until his subprior informed him that the bishop had declared insolvency.
Time was on the side of Prior Francis. Before anyone could recall him, he sent his men an ultimatum: “Return to Mariastern or try a new foundation in Natal!” They all preferred to stay in Africa; the Vicar Apostolic of Pietermaritzburg, Charles Jolivet OMI, welcomed them, and on November 21 and December 9 respectively, they left Dunbrody. On December 17, Prior Francis arrived at Port Natal (Durban) having been separated from his brothers for over a year. “The desire to see them again and to receive reliable news about them became so strong that it bordered on homesickness.” At sea he ascertained from co-passengers what the preferred places for settlement were, the soil conditions, rail connections and, above all, what reception the Trappists might expect to receive from the English colonial government. Prospects were favorable; Trappists as bringers of culture and particularly agriculture, could always be sure of a warm welcome, even if they differed in religious matters from most of the colonists.
Not so favorable was the reception Prior Francis was given by Bishop Jolivet the following day. First, he had to legitimize himself as the lawful superior of the Trappists from Dunbrody. Secondly, he had to convince Jolivet that he was not going to make debts (as Ricards had insinuated to his brother bishop that “Francis was prone to.”) Only after seven hours of heated debate was the bishop satisfied and exclaimed: “Mon Dieu! What a man!”
On December 21, Prior Francis bought the Zeekoegat Farm near Durban, and on December 26/27 the Trappists took possession of it. It was the birth of a new monastery which Prior Francis named Mariannhill. “I chose to call it so to honor three women by that name: my own mother, the benefactress Trappentreu and Saint Anne, grandmother of Our Lord, with whom one had better be on good terms. … So ultimately, the monastery which the Franciscans blocked in Bosnia [Maria-Anna Berg] came into being in South Africa.”
Three months later, Prior Francis was back in Europe. He relinquished his role as prior of Mariastern, recruited postulants and won benefactors for Mariannhill. While he was away his men improvised, constructed emergency shelters and workshops, cultivated the first plots and got to know the climate, the country and its people. Upon his return, the prior was in his element. Mariannhill soon boasted of a printing press, a photo studio, a turbine, roads and bridges, gardens and tree nurseries.
Benjamin Makhaba, a trained catechist of the Basuto tribe, was hired to make contact with the surrounding people and an Oblate missionary taught the monks Zulu. Soon the young Polish choir novice, Hyacinth Solomon, preached to the people who came out of sheer curiosity to Mariannhill on Sundays, while his English-born fellow novice, David Bryant, taught elementary subjects in a makeshift school. Bishop Jolivet brought white orphan boys for admission while Benjamin gathered black orphan boys – the Trappists made no distinction of color. With regard to religion, the prior’s principle was: “Everyone has a right to know who loved him so much that he died for him.” In other words, everyone was entitled to this knowledge. And since girls also clamored for education, he placed an appeal in Catholic papers in Germany for women to come and take care of them. Their arrival at Mariannhill in August 1885 marked the birth of the Missionary Sisters of the Precious Blood.
In the same year, the Mariannhill community elected Prior Francis as their abbot. When chiefs from remote villages asked him to open schools for their children, the question arose as to whether it was opportune for contemplative monks to embrace missionary work. Abbot Francis submitted the matter to the General Chapter and was authorized to grant the necessary dispensations as long as monastic discipline was not neglected.
In 1886, Mariannhill was bursting at the seams with members. Therefore, the first satellite missions were established. (By 1891 there were already eleven of them.) Abbot Francis sent the “Red Sisters” (red on account of their red skirts) to develop them alongside the Trappist brothers whom they were eventually to replace so that the brothers could return to the regular life at the monastery. He established a monastery council and later also a mission council, because Mariannhill was a joint enterprise and not the work of one man, even though as abbot, he had the final say.
In the following years, events developed a momentum of their own. There was altogether too much to take care of and, although the abbot did not lose track of developments, he gradually lost control over his now numerous monks. Most of these, while still keeping the rule, regarded themselves as missionaries and felt that monastic observance was incompatible with missionary activity. The community became polarized. In 1892, after a canonical visitator, Abbot Francis Strunk, had made a thorough investigation, he prevailed upon the General Chapter (October 1892 at Sept-Fons) to suspend Abbot Francis from office for one year and appoint an administrator. However, the founder, thus disciplined, chose to step down already before April 1893 and Administrator Amandus Schölzig was elected in September to succeed him.
Abbot Francis was 68 when in 1894 he made his last foundation, Emaus, where he died 15 years later, on May 24, 1909. The dreams he had dreamed as a seminarian had come true: He had become a monk as well as a missionary.
The Founding of Mariastern 1869 – 1880 (Part 4)
The story of Mariastern in Bosnia is well documented, but what led up to the monastery’s foundation is not so well known. Tracing it here will take the reader to the former Abbey of Mariawald in Germany, for it was from there that Fr. Francis Pfanner and Brother Zacharias Vogt were missioned on June 21, 1867 to found a new monastery somewhere in the Danube Monarchy (established just 13 days earlier).
As was customary in the order, the two pioneers were provided with only the bare necessities, which is why the prior in his letter of obedience recommended them to the “kindness of Catholic parishes and convents.” The travel fare they were given took them as far as Ulm in southern Germany where generous friends provided them with more. Br. Zacharias started on a fundraising tour and Fr. Francis went to his native Langen in Vorarlberg, Austria, where his stepmother helped him with what he needed.
The new foundation was a risky undertaking and the road to its realization was paved with stumbling blocks. The two “founding fathers” first tried their luck in Hungary, but the rundown domains there weren’t worth the purchase price. Moreover, the Primate was not in favor of a Trappist monastery. “We took that as a sign from above and went to Croatia.” (Unless otherwise stated, all quotations are taken from the Memoirs of Abbot Francis.)
In Zagreb, they received a second letter of obedience from their prior, valid for three more months, and a private letter from their highest superior, Abbot Ephrem. He summoned Brother Zacharias to Ölenberg but barred Fr. Francis from the monastery, advising him to go back to the diocesan clergy. By that point, both realized that they were regarded as misfits whose actions were to be stopped. Abbot Francis: “But we happened to be two who were not easily scared.” They had committed no crime or serious breach of the Rule; on the contrary, they had vowed lifelong stability. Therefore, Fr. Francis submitted both letters to Bishop J. Fessler, his former professor at Brixen and the authority in canon law at the time. His reply was prompt and definite: “You must appeal to Rome!”
Two more brothers, Benedict and Jakobus, were sent from Mariawald to join them and together they set out for the Eternal City where they arrived on New Year’s Day 1868. Fr. Francis was told to draft a letter of indictment and all were advised to prepare for a lengthy court case.
In 1868, Rome celebrated an important anniversary: 1800 years earlier, St. Paul, the Apostle to the Gentiles, had been beheaded at Tre Fontane outside the walls of Rome and pilgrims from all over the world were expected to visit his shrine. Therefore, the ruins of the Tre Fontane Monastery, which Pope Pius IX had entrusted to the Trappists, had to be restored – a task for which the four “buoni tedesci” [“good Germans”] were considered heaven-sent. They set to work vigorously but were no match for the Roman heat and deadly fever caused by malaria. “Br. Benedict died within four days.” The others waited desperately for the outcome of their case. Finally, after six months, Fr. Francis was summoned: “A decree authorized me to independently establish a Trappist monastery.” They sang a Te Deum and returned to Zagreb. There, new obstacles were waiting for them. Not only did Abbot Ephrem keep his defeat in court secret, but he also hushed up the news about the Bosnian foundation. Thus, kept in the dark, the Ölenberg Trappists began to speak about the pioneers as apostates; a slanderous prejudice which Brother Zacharias got to feel in places where brothers soliciting donations for Ölenberg had visited before him. Fr. Francis, meanwhile, was waiting in vain for a response to the many reports he sent to Ölenberg. He was a short-tempered man and did not shy away from confrontation, a trait which Abbot Ephrem did not appreciate.
Meanwhile, Croatia attained self-government and only the newly elected parliament could allow them to settle, but it did not convene until the end of March 1869, i.e., seven months later. Abbot Francis: “Again, it was a situation to run away from. … However, in my case, it proved necessary, because the Roman fever tormented me for precisely seven months.” (Fr. Francis had contracted malaria when the Trappists planted eucalyptus trees at Tre Fontane that dried up the marshy land to rid the area of mosquitoes. There is a plaque in commemoration of Francis Pfanner at the Sanctuary of the Virgin of the Revelation across the street from Tre Fontane.)
Neither was their predicament solved by the arrival of two choir monks from Mariawald; on the contrary, resignation began to spread among them. But then, just in the nick of time, Fr. Francis remembered a Slavonian pastor telling him that Christians had recently been allowed by law to acquire property in Turkish-ruled Bosnia. Immediately, he traveled to Altgradiska (Croatia-Slavonia) and from there, together with the pastor, by handcart across the border into Bosnia and through the wide Vrbas Valley to Banja Luka, the residence of an Austrian vice-consul. Nikolaus Dragancic was the Croatian captain of the military border and in favor of a Trappist monastery. However, Banja Luka also had a sizeable Muslim population. So, as a precaution, Fr. Francis, wore a full-length coat over his habit and posed as an Austrian landowner. He had no time to lose if his brothers were not to give up completely. “As quickly as possible, I came to an agreement with a Turk, bought a piece of land from him, and gave him 10 Austrian ducats as capara (deposit) so he couldn’t go back on the deal.”
However, the court, which had to confirm the purchase, knew nothing of the new regulation. So, a telegram was sent to Sarajevo, and when after eight days the authorities there didn’t respond, a second one was sent to Constantinople, while “in Zagreb some of my men began to make their own plans.” When a reply was finally received, it was too late. “The Turk no longer dared to let me buy his land because a public riot had been instigated against him if he were to be the first to sell land to a Giaur [an infidel in Islamic view].” Therefore, Fr. Francis quickly struck a deal with a Serbian merchant, a member of the Greek Orthodoxcommunity, whose property was located on a wooded slope facing the Vrbas River, an hour’s distance from the city and near the village of Delibasino Selo. Abbot Francis writes in his Memoirs: “Immediately, in the pre sence of witnesses, I marked the boundaries and, on the advice of other landowners and the consul, bargained down the purchase price for a ‘few thousand yokes’ [approximately 300 acres] … and that same night paid the owner – in exchange for a tapie (title deed) – the money which Brother Zacharias had collected ‘as busy as a bee.’” The next morning, Fr. Francis telegraphed the brothers in Zagreb to come. Two powerful Styrian grey horses and a large box cart, built by Brother Jakobus, were ready. The founding team included the monks already mentioned plus two postulants. The journey proved extremely risky because there were hardly any passable roads or bridges. But then, with the greatest effort, they made it to Delibasino where a calf stable was waiting to accommodate them. “A calf stable was the only splendor to which I could introduce my brothers. … The day on which we were finally able to lay down our weary heads on our own soil was the unforgettable Saint Aloysius Day [June 21] 1869, two years to the day after we had left Mariawald.”
Fr. Francis named the new foundation Mariastern in gratitude to the nuns of Mariastern Monastery in Upper Lusatia/Germany (then the retirement home of his former prior in Mariawald, Eduard Scheby!), who had contributed the lion’s share towards the purchase price.
With the move into the calf stable, the prehistory of Mariastern ends and its well-documented and easily accessible story begins. It, too, consists of a string of challenges and adventures even while it testifies to the monks’ unbroken spirit of enterprise and uncountable blessings.
The Pasha of Banja Luka was an unpredictable despot who thwarted all of Fr. Franz’s plans. ( Fr. Franz was the name he was given in Bosnia.) One still seems to hear the Pasha’s “jok! jok!” (“no! no!”) from the pages of the Memoirs as the aging founder recalls the ruler’s interference with his projects: the construction of the monastery, reforestation, and, as was forbidden by Islamic law, the ringing of bells. Tensions also arose among the monks and were usually sparked by differences in the interpretation of the Rule. At Christmas 1871, for example, most of the pioneer Trappists deserted Mariastern, leaving Fr. Francis with only three novices in the half-finished building. The runaways returned in the spring, but other incidents like border disputes, the fatal drowning of three of his ablest men, and the treacherous breach of the peace by itinerant people and partisans followed to test his stamina. He witnessed the brutalization of helpless tenants by corrupt feudal lords, even as he had to recognize his own powerlessness when challenged by despotic politicians and widespread ignorance.
Nevertheless – or perhaps because of these challenges? – Mariastern developed into a stronghold of culture, humanity and the Christian faith. On December 15, 1872, Fr. Francis was appointed prior and the monastery was affiliated to the Abbey of Port du Salut in western France. It developed rapidly and became known far and wide for its innovative industries – a success which inspired Fr. Francis to consider establishing a second monastery, Maria-Anna Berg. However, opposition from the Franciscans, who had been in charge of the pastoral ministry in Bosnia for 400 years and now feared competition, was so fierce that he dropped the plan. He was maligned, labeled a perpetuum mobile (restless person) and sued in Rome. Deeply hurt, he countered by filing well-founded petitions to the respective authorities asking them to intervene. He also wrote vivid reports about Bosnia and its inhabitants which catapulted the country into the limelight of public interest and accelerated the long overdue reorganization of its ecclesiastical and social institutions which under the Franciscan monopoly had been neglected.
In 1878, the Congress of Berlin decided that Bosnia was to remain Turkish but become occupied by Austria-Hungary and administered by its Finance Ministry (Article 25 of the Peace of Berlin, July 13, 1878). The occupation began on July 29, 1878 and in many places sparked fatal clashes with the population, which only surrendered to superior force after three months. Prior Francis recruited German farmers and was instrumental in the establishment of the villages of Windhorst (Nova Topola) and Rudolfstal (Aleksandrovac). However, in 1880, he entrusted the settlers to his most capable assistant, Fr. Beda von Vesteneck, while he himself accepted an invitation from a bishop of South Africa to develop his mission farm. Prior Francis left Bosnia for South Africa with 33 monks and became a – foreign missionary.
The Pastor: 1846 – 1863
What Abbot Francis wrote in old age about his choice of career is not surprising: “I came to Padua (1845) undecided about what I should become. But within a month I had already decided that I would turn to the priesthood. After observing the ugly goings-on of Italian students and getting to know the corruption of city life in general, no other profession appealed to me than the celibate priesthood, and from then on, my motto was ‘Brixen,’ the seat of my bishop and the diocesan seminary.” (Unless otherwise stated, all quotes are taken from the Memoirs of Abbot Francis.)
In Brixen, candidates for the priesthood were left to fend for themselves in the first year. So, Wendelin lived in rented accommodations before entering the seminary in the fall of 1847. In 1848 he was given the tonsure and the cassock with tie, but he had to interrupt his studies in May because he had contracted meningitis. At home his mother nursed him back to health and his father allowed him to rest, while the seminary administration gave him a bigger room and lighter food upon his return. Soon he excelled again in physical exercises, for example, lifting a flagpole with one hand and without losing his balance even after weighting it down with his cassock. Another time he jumped across a mill creek and back, “just as I was, in my cassock and tall boots … for a penny per spectator.”
1848/9 was a Year of Revolution. In many European countries people took to the streets for freedom and self-government. Wendelin got used to reading the newspaper, and during his last vacation he traveled down the Rhine all the way to Cologne with money he had earned by tutoring and cutting hair. He returned to Langen at the beginning of September, full of enthusiasm and richer by many impressions and experiences. He helped making hay for the last time, competed with his twin in the Hosenlupf – they were 23 – and then entered his third year of Theology.
“The only remarkable thing happening to me that year was … a strong urge to enter the foreign missions.” But the Prince-Bishop [A prince-bishop is one who has been knighted and vested with temporal/secular powers] decided against it: “Pfanner is too weak.” Wendelin accepted that answer immediately. “I thought of nothing else anymore but the diocesan ministry. … In fact, those years at the seminary … were among the quietest in my life. We liked studying and studied a lot because we were blessed to have excellent professors and seminary directors. Fessler and Gasser were among them. The former lectured in church history and canon law and later dogmatics. … Fessler first became bishop of Feldkirch and then of St. Pölten, as well as Secretary of the First Vatican Council, and Gasser was made Prince-Bishop of Brixen. I studied pastoral theology with the saintly Stadler; and with the learned Messmer, who died too early, I did exegesis. … A year later, Rüdigier, who became famous as bishop of Linz and champion against false liberalism in Austria, joined that wonderful group of professors as rector of the seminary. Gasser and Fessler were elected to the Frankfurt Parliament in 1848. At the famous bishops’ meeting in Würzburg, Fessler was called ‘the living encyclopedia on the Church Fathers.’ Four great minds were assembled in a small town. All of them … were farmers’ sons. Fessler and Rüdigier hailed from Vorarlberg.”
In 1850 Wendelin became a deacon together with around 50 others (10 from Vorarlberg alone), and on July 28th he was ordained a priest. Farewell, Brixen! No, not yet, for he wouldn’t have been Wendelin Pfanner if he had missed out on one last “medal for bravado.” The departing theologians usually gave the employees a tip. Money was collected and distributed equally among them. But in 1850 this was considered undemocratic; the negligent were to be taught a lesson. Therefore, the tips were individually wrapped and were to be handed out by calling up each recipient and announcing the amount he received. “But nobody wanted to carry out this distribution, especially because the brother of a seminary board member received only 2.5 groschen [25 cents]. So, they turned to me, as usual, and I did it without hesitation.”
In Langen, the new priest was received with great jubilation on July 28th and he lost no time in personally inviting relatives and friends to his First Mass to be celebrated on August 9th with his priest uncle assisting him as concelebrant. “It was an unforgettable day. I was so moved that I hardly heard the brass band and the cannon salvos and saw none of the many inscriptions on the countless garlands and triumphal arches. … When I held the Blessed Sacrament in my hands for the first time, my voice failed me.” And: “On that day, my father spared no expense; even during the preparations, nothing was too much for him. It was the climax of 12 years during which my parents had made many sacrifices, and the honor of the parish.” On September 8th, Wendelin preached his first sermon and as early as the following Sunday, he entered upon his pastoral ministry at Haselstauden, a much-neglected outpost of Dornbirn. Under the circumstances, he was glad to have his sister Crescentia run the house, thereby enabling him to devote himself undisturbedly to the ministry.
His predecessor turned out to be the first obstacle he had to face. Although he had been removed as incompetent, certain parishioners exercised so much power over the indulgent old man that, rather than let him go, they rented lodgings for him at an inn where they could contact him at any time. That was not easy for the new pastor, “but I decided … to carry out my ministry regardless of their politics.” As expected, Pfanner was strict. He did a thorough clean-up by abolishing the abuses that had become established around baptism, marriage and burial, reinstating catechism classes for young and old, and enhancing the interior of the church. Resistance was on the rise, but Pfanner was a match for it, reacting with either leniency or severity, and winning people over with personal attention when they were in need, such as during a typhus epidemic. He did not allow himself to be intimidated, but took the incorrigible to court when he knew that the law was on his side and after having sought the advice of an experienced priest, Anton Jochum. The Jesuits and Redemptorists who preached parish missions in Vorarlberg were his role models with regard to hearing confession and preaching. Factory owners in Dornbirn got to know him as the advocate of their workers. He advised single people to sanctify their loneliness through prayer and charity. He led young women and men who were discerning their calling in life either towards marriage, the priesthood or religious life. After several years he offered to restore Maria Bildstein (Vorarlberg) and revive the pilgrimage there, but the post was given to someone else. In 1859, because of his knowledge of Italian, he volunteered to serve as a field chaplain at the Battle of Solferino (Italy), but it was over before he was sent.
Not Italy, but Croatia was to be the country of his next ministry. The 34-year-old was assigned for three years to Zagreb (Agram) as confessor to the Sisters of Mercy. In addition, he had to give them instructions on the spiritual life, preach a German sermon every Sunday and teach religious education in the girls’ boarding school. Politically, Zagreb was a hot spot; “Go home, Austria!” was the cry Pfanner heard every time he crossed the city square. However, undaunted, he continued to carry out his duties, which also took him to Lepoclava Maximum Security Prison every Lenten season. Deeply grateful for the opportunity, he wrote: “I can safely say that in my entire priestly ministry, I have never experienced so much consolation as in this prison, but perhaps I have also never gained so much insight into the hearts of people as by listening to such confessions.… My pastoral practice was enriched in many ways each time.”
Pastoral care, whether as a pastor, monk or missionary (see the following articles), had priority. Following the example of St. Paul (who from prison pleaded for the run-away slave Onesimus), Pfanner, in his old age, showed touching concern for a former schoolmate, Haitinger, a lapsed Catholic. To him he described his priestly calling as: “an unspeakable, undeserved happiness, an incomprehensible gift of grace.” Even when he was 50 years a priest, it was this thought that moved him to tears.
The Trappist 1863- 1909 (Part 3 )
In 1862, we find Fr. Pfanner at a beatification (The Japanese Martyrs, 24 September) in Rome. At the tombs of the Apostles Peter and Paul he prayed for clarity for the remaining journey of his life. “Afterwards,” writes Abbot Francis, “I went back to Croatia, but I was not willing to stay there forever. … The constant national agitation … made it scary for me to stay among such a people.” In addition, his three years of service in Zagreb had expired, but “something inexplicable kept me from going back to Haselstauden.” (Unless otherwise stated, all quotes are taken from the Memoirs of Abbot Francis.)
His state of health also caused him problems. “Because of my predisposition to tuberculosis, the doctor had prescribed rest and whey cures,” but “every spring [since 1851!] my weakness returned; … my lungs were very delicate, and I was prone to colds and hoarseness, … so that I spent my entire salary on my ailing body. … In Agram [Zagreb] I was ill several times, a few times dangerously … and therefore did not expect to live long.”
Because of these circumstances, Pfanner decided to enter a religious community as a kind of preparation for death. The only question was which one. “Definitely not one where the rule is no longer observed.” Discipline and strictness were the deciding factors. So, to the Jesuits? “Not really, because I didn’t want to study myself to death.” A new Franciscan mission in Central Africa appealed to him, “but I didn’t want to become a Franciscan.” God finally sent him the answer: “While I was still wrestling with my decision, … two Trappist brothers from Belgium came to Zagreb to solicit funds. That was towards the end of 1862.” Pfanner listened to them with interest and “it struck me like lightning: ‘This is for you!’ I thought: Even if it is strict, it is just right.” Yes, 13 years earlier, in Brixen, he had reacted in the same way when he “became filled with great zeal for prayer, combined with an extraordinary desire for external renunciations,” and concluded: “If I had known about Trappists, perhaps I would have become one even then.” The Trappist was simply in him! This time he immediately wrote to his bishop for dispensation and to the only German Trappist monastery, Mariawald, for admission. Bishop Gasser took his time, and Pfanner used it for a pilgrimage to the Holy Land (March-April 1863), during which he also consulted a learned spiritual director. “He strongly advised me not to become a Trappist, but I felt something inside me that irresistibly urged me to do so.”
So, what was the decisive factor? He writes: “In my dealings with the sisters [in Zagreb] and through the spiritual instructions that I gave them, I increasingly came to the realization … that it is much more perfect to live in obedience than according to one’s own will. Who knows, I thought, whether I myself know how to obey, since I have never been subject to obedience and from the first day of my pastoral life, I have had to command others as a superior.” And he adds: “My travels contributed so much to the fact that I became more and more fed up with the world and the world’s goings-on,” while “every step I took in the holy places was a new invitation to unite myself more closely with God and not to give up on my plan.” (To Bishop Fessler, August 18, 1864)
Learning to obey. How thoroughly must Pfanner have listened to God’s guidance to come to this realization and live entirely by obedience! This happened around Easter 1863. He was 38.
On September 9, 1863, Pfanner left Zagreb to enter Mariawald. The monastery in the Eifel (a mountain range extending partly across western Germany) originally dates back to the veneration of a statue of a Pieta (1470) and to the Cistercians, who settled on the Kermeter Hill in 1486 and were expelled in 1795. In 1863, it was a ruin that had been resettled a year earlier by Trappists from Ölenberg (Alsace).
On October 9, Prior Bonifatius Bieger gave the newcomer the Trappist habit and the name Franziskus (Francis). From then on, he had to adhere to the strict rules of Armand Jean Le Bouthillier de Rancé (reformer of the Cistercians of la Trappe, 1664) regarding prayer, penance, work and silence. He was no longer his own master; instead, the “Book of Customs” prescribed what he was allowed to wear, eat and drink and the exact times for sleep, prayer and work. Everything was regulated down to the smallest detail and the changeover of Pfanner’s lifestyle was complete.
In his letter quoted above, he paints a vivid picture of his new surroundings: “Ivy has long been winding up the half-standing walls of the formerly beautiful Gothic church.” Everything was dilapidated. Nevertheless, candidates applied, so that “the most necessary rooms, some of which have served as cow and horse stables, have to be restored. … The fields are mostly overgrown and stony, while the house lacks any furnishings. … In a word, the whole thing is splendidly suited to doing a proper novitiate because you are not spoiled; the deprivation of so many necessary things, the rough and heaped work really takes its toll on the softness.” Pfanner asks the bishop to excuse his “zigzag writing” because “the first time I came from splitting wood, the second time from chopping kohlrabi and the third time from tying sheaves, and after that my hand trembles like that of an old woman.” On November 21, 1864, Fr. Francis took the simple vows of poverty and obedience. Far more than a formula, they were a felt reality. He regained his strength and attributed this to the regular work outdoors, the meatless diet and his freedom from worries. “I felt like I was born again and was able to throw away the cat fur that I had been wearing on my stomach and belly for 10 years because of aches.” In order to at least have something to endure, he kept guard over his eyes and also never warmed himself by the common stove. What he missed was the pastoral ministry, but he told himself that he was surely not wasting away the day.
He would have liked to give his fellow monks a taste of his athletic skills, but that was completely against the rules. Once in Zagreb he had climbed onto the roof with buckets of water when a room at the sisters’ convent caught fire, but in Mariawald he was not even allowed to shake nuts from the tree because “only those who [in the opinion of the master of work] could do so, were allowed.” It was the old “tapeworm of vanity whose head,” as he writes, “had to be cut off.” In other words: a true Trappist strove for the complete dispossession and surrender of himself to God, which according to St. Bernard, could only be justified by the example and advice of Jesus.
Due to his experience and abilities, Fr. Francis was soon promoted to subprior, novice master, director of the brothers and head of works. But the older priests did not forgive him his straightforward manner, and during General Superior Abbot Ephrem’s visitation in 1865, also accused him of preaching too often during the prior’s absence. The abbot frowned on the “Austrian corporal’s stick,” as he referred to his manner of governing, and forbade him to act independently. The brothers, on the other hand, welcomed his zeal and clear course of direction, and so a division of opinion slowly but surely began to emerge and was bound to lead to a dangerous polarization. Fr. Francis was removed from office by Prior Bonifatius and reinstated by his successor, Eduard Scheby, who needed a capable subprior. Then the brothers who hauled timber to Mariawald for the new church caused a public scandal by stopping at inns without necessity (1866/7). Their director (Fr. Francis) punished them, but Prior Eduard defended them and sent Fr. Francis to chop wood.
The other brothers, led by Brother Zacharias Vogt (1819-82), were outraged and threatened to report the matter “to the highest authorities in Rome,” but were ready for a compromise “if they were allowed to make a new foundation.” Abbot Ephrem agreed and instructed Prior Eduard to immediately issue Fr. Francis and Br. Zacharias with the appropriate letters of obedience (decrees). Both left Mariawald on that same day (June 21, 1867) to look for a suitable place for a new foundation “somewhere in the Danube Monarchy.”
Fr. Francis’s life as a Trappist continued to unfold in many unforeseen ways.
Franz Wendelin Pfanner – 200 Years Part 2
The Pastor 1846 – 1863
What Abbot Francis wrote in old age about his choice of career is not surprising: “I came to Padua (1845) undecided about what I should become. But within a month I had already decided that I would turn to the priesthood. After observing the ugly goings-on of Italian students and getting to know the corruption of city life in general, no other profession appealed to me than the celibate priesthood, and from then on, my motto was ‘Brixen,’ the seat of my bishop and the diocesan seminary.” (Unless otherwise stated, all quotes are taken from the Memoirs of Abbot Francis.)
In Brixen, candidates for the priesthood were left to fend for themselves in the first year. So, Wendelin lived in rented accommodations before entering the seminary in the fall of 1847. In 1848 he was given the tonsure and the cassock with tie, but he had to interrupt his studies in May because he had contracted meningitis. At home his mother nursed him back to health and his father allowed him to rest, while the seminary administration gave him a bigger room and lighter food upon his return. Soon he excelled again in physical exercises, for example, lifting a flagpole with one hand and without losing his balance even after weighting it down with his cassock. Another time he jumped across a mill creek and back, “just as I was, in my cassock and tall boots … for a penny per spectator.”
1848/9 was a Year of Revolution. In many European countries people took to the streets for freedom and self-government. Wendelin got used to reading the newspaper, and during his last vacation he traveled down the Rhine all the way to Cologne with money he had earned by tutoring and cutting hair. He returned to Langen at the beginning of September, full of enthusiasm and richer by many impressions and experiences. He helped making hay for the last time, competed with his twin in the Hosenlupf – they were 23 – and then entered his third year of Theology.
“The only remarkable thing happening to me that year was … a strong urge to enter the foreign missions.” But the Prince-Bishop [A prince-bishop is one who has been knighted and vested with temporal/secular powers] decided against it: “Pfanner is too weak.” Wendelin accepted that answer immediately. “I thought of nothing else anymore but the diocesan ministry. … In fact, those years at the seminary … were among the quietest in my life. We liked studying and studied a lot because we were blessed to have excellent professors and seminary directors. Fessler and Gasser were among them. The former lectured in church history and canon law and later dogmatics. … Fessler first became bishop of Feldkirch and then of St. Pölten, as well as Secretary of the First Vatican Council, and Gasser was made Prince-Bishop of Brixen. I studied pastoral theology with the saintly Stadler; and with the learned Messmer, who died too early, I did exegesis. … A year later, Rüdigier, who became famous as bishop of Linz and champion against false liberalism in Austria, joined that wonderful group of professors as rector of the seminary. Gasser and Fessler were elected to the Frankfurt Parliament in 1848. At the famous bishops’ meeting in Würzburg, Fessler was called ‘the living encyclopedia on the Church Fathers.’ Four great minds were assembled in a small town. All of them … were farmers’ sons. Fessler and Rüdigier hailed from Vorarlberg.”
In 1850 Wendelin became a deacon together with around 50 others (10 from Vorarlberg alone), and on July 28th he was ordained a priest. Farewell, Brixen! No, not yet, for he wouldn’t have been Wendelin Pfanner if he had missed out on one last “medal for bravado.” The departing theologians usually gave the employees a tip. Money was collected and distributed equally among them. But in 1850 this was considered undemocratic; the negligent were to be taught a lesson. Therefore, the tips were individually wrapped and were to be handed out by calling up each recipient and announcing the amount he received. “But nobody wanted to carry out this distribution, especially because the brother of a seminary board member received only 2.5 groschen [25 cents]. So, they turned to me, as usual, and I did it without hesitation.”
In Langen, the new priest was received with great jubilation on July 28th and he lost no time in personally inviting relatives and friends to his First Mass to be celebrated on August 9th with his priest uncle assisting him as concelebrant. “It was an unforgettable day. I was so moved that I hardly heard the brass band and the cannon salvos and saw none of the many inscriptions on the countless garlands and triumphal arches. … When I held the Blessed Sacrament in my hands for the first time, my voice failed me.” And: “On that day, my father spared no expense; even during the preparations, nothing was too much for him. It was the climax of 12 years during which my parents had made many sacrifices, and the honor of the parish.” On September 8th, Wendelin preached his first sermon and as early as the following Sunday, he entered upon his pastoral ministry at Haselstauden, a much-neglected outpost of Dornbirn. Under the circumstances, he was glad to have his sister Crescentia run the house, thereby enabling him to devote himself undisturbedly to the ministry.
His predecessor turned out to be the first obstacle he had to face. Although he had been removed as incompetent, certain parishioners exercised so much power over the indulgent old man that, rather than let him go, they rented lodgings for him at an inn where they could contact him at any time. That was not easy for the new pastor, “but I decided … to carry out my ministry regardless of their politics.” As expected, Pfanner was strict. He did a thorough clean-up by abolishing the abuses that had become established around baptism, marriage and burial, reinstating catechism classes for young and old, and enhancing the interior of the church. Resistance was on the rise, but Pfanner was a match for it, reacting with either leniency or severity, and winning people over with personal attention when they were in need, such as during a typhus epidemic. He did not allow himself to be intimidated, but took the incorrigible to court when he knew that the law was on his side and after having sought the advice of an experienced priest, Anton Jochum. The Jesuits and Redemptorists who preached parish missions in Vorarlberg were his role models with regard to hearing confession and preaching. Factory owners in Dornbirn got to know him as the advocate of their workers. He advised single people to sanctify their loneliness through prayer and charity. He led young women and men who were discerning their calling in life either towards marriage, the priesthood or religious life. After several years he offered to restore Maria Bildstein (Vorarlberg) and revive the pilgrimage there, but the post was given to someone else. In 1859, because of his knowledge of Italian, he volunteered to serve as a field chaplain at the Battle of Solferino (Italy), but it was over before he was sent.
Not Italy, but Croatia was to be the country of his next ministry. The 34-year-old was assigned for three years to Zagreb (Agram) as confessor to the Sisters of Mercy. In addition, he had to give them instructions on the spiritual life, preach a German sermon every Sunday and teach religious education in the girls’ boarding school. Politically, Zagreb was a hot spot; “Go home, Austria!” was the cry Pfanner heard every time he crossed the city square. However, undaunted, he continued to carry out his duties, which also took him to Lepoclava Maximum Security Prison every Lenten season. Deeply grateful for the opportunity, he wrote: “I can safely say that in my entire priestly ministry, I have never experienced so much consolation as in this prison, but perhaps I have also never gained so much insight into the hearts of people as by listening to such confessions.… My pastoral practice was enriched in many ways each time.”
Pastoral care, whether as a pastor, monk or missionary (see the following articles), had priority. Following the example of St. Paul (who from prison pleaded for the run-away slave Onesimus), Pfanner, in his old age, showed touching concern for a former schoolmate, Haitinger, a lapsed Catholic. To him he described his priestly calling as: “an unspeakable, undeserved happiness, an incomprehensible gift of grace.” Even when he was 50 years a priest, it was this thought that moved him to tears.
Franz Wendelin Pfanner 200 Years
Early Years 1928 – 1846
We are fortunate in having both handwritten (1888) and dictated (1908) Memoirs by Francis Wendelin Pfanner. They and many of his letters and occasional talks paint a picture of his early history. Other details we owe to his schoolmates.
Wendelin was born a twin on 20 (not 21) September 1825, at Bremenhub 91 in Langen, near Bregenz (Vorarlberg, Austria) as the 3rd child of Franz Anton Pfanner (1794-1856) and Anna Maria née Fink (1800-1828). He was baptized at St. Sebastian’s (Langen) and named after a paternal uncle, a priest. A slightly older sister was called Crescentia.
The boy was not granted a sunny childhood. When his mother gave birth to another girl a year after Franz Anton (Toni, 1827) had been born, not only did little Anna Maria die, but 17 days later the young mother died as well. The father threw himself into his work and left his 4 children to the care of a younger sister of his. Unfortunately, she could not handle children and quickly used physical discipline. Wendel did not like her.
After 6 years, the father (40) married 26-year-old Anna Maria Hörbuger from Sulzberg. Using her dowry, he paid off his debts and with diligence, thrift and prudence, was able to buy a neighboring farm, build a sawmill and sell timber and charcoal. He was so successful that he bought breeding bulls in the nearby Allgäu and sold them again as far as Italy. Wendelin knew his father almost only as a non-stop worker.
There were 7 children from the 2nd marriage; 2 died in childhood and a daughter at the age of 13 (1854). Altogether, Wendelin had 2 brothers, Johann and Toni, 2 half-brothers, Franz Xaver and Joseph, 1 sister (Crescentia) and 2 half-sisters. Catherine was married to Dr. Riedmann, a veterinarian in Alberschwende. She and nephew Anton supported Wendelin’s work throughout his life.
The stepmother took the freckled red-haired Wendelin to heart. She made the best omelettes, clapped for him when he defeated both brothers in the “Hosenlupf” – a wrestling match in which one contestant pulled the other up by his pants, put him down and did not let go of him until he pleaded for mercy – and willingly mended the pants he tore. No challenger was too big for Wendelin. When once the village grocer’s stocky son teased him in the church square on account of his red hair, he held him down so mercilessly that bystanders feared: “That little imp won’t eat him up, will he?” (Unless otherwise stated, all quotes are taken from the Memoirs of Abbot Francis).
Wendelin could be brash. When the woman (Stasl) who led the Rosary at a wake kept adding one Our Father after another for various intentions, he interjected: “And now, one Our Father for Stasl!” That was the end of the wake. No one took him to task, not even his mother. But in his old age, Abbot Francis remembered the incident and wrote that it would have been better if his mother had given him a beating to correct him, because “later on my fearlessness and daringness sometimes turned into impudence.” He had to struggle with it his whole life.
Wendelin stubbornly pursued his goal, no matter what the cost. At the age of 13, he milked 10 cows twice a day “as quickly as any of the hired hands,” just to get the fur cap he longed for. Even as a youngster he displayed that unyielding determination which was not only to help him face difficult situations but also made it difficult for others to get along with him. “It is a trait that I inherited from my dad,” he wrote, “it was ingrained in me. … Just nodding your head doesn’t get you very far and certainly not to the bottom of a matter.”
The parents set an example of piety and good manners. The children knew their catechism and were well prepared for their First Holy Communion and Confirmation. After elementary school, Mr. Pfanner decided on the future path for his sons. Twin Johann who had the stronger muscles had to take over the farm. “And you,” he turned to Wendelin, “you study!” That suited the gifted boy. In preparation for his admission to Feldkirch Secondary School (1838), a neighboring priest tutored him in Latin and his priest uncle signed as guardian. Leaving him to the care of the rector, his father said to him: “‘Pray hard and study well, Wendel.’ Then he pressed 20 pennies into my hand and said: ‘Be sure to save!’”
Studying was easy for the bright lad. He got the best grades, excelled in mathematics and physics, and had what it takes to be an engineer. His uncle persuaded his father to let him enroll with the Jesuits in Innsbruck (1843), the university where Wendelin’s character emerged. A much-appreciated friend, he was usually cheerful, but also serious and conscientious. He attended Mass every morning and recommended himself to all the saints. “Oh, you saints of God” is the prayer ascribed to him as a student. Innsbruck left its mark on him, but when at age 38 he wondered which religious order he should join, he chose the Trappists, not the Jesuits: “I would rather die working than study to death.” His father was his role model: “How often have I thanked my late father for urging me to work so hard and also teaching me how to work profitably.”
“Ora et labora” and plenty of exercise in the fresh mountain air, that was the secret of the long eventful life of Francis Wendelin Pfanner. Next to wrestling he loved mountain climbing. “Every height challenges me!” he admitted. Once he and his comrades were caught in a snowstorm high up in the mountains. It was already getting dark and visibility so poor that they had nothing but a narrow waterfall for bearings. “But the half-blind Faist was shaking all over with fear. So, what were we to do with him? I simply grabbed him and with him under my arm like a sheaf of wheat I groped my way down the slippery bank.” A comrade added: “Yes, Pfanner had muscles like steel.”
After his First Year of Philosophy, Wendelin and three fellow students wanted to continue their studies in Padua. They were ready to travel (November 1845), but he had neither permission, a traveling pass, nor money. However, “quick as lightning,” as was his way, he found a solution. He borrowed money from a man who came from Langen but worked in Innsbruck and did business with his father, gave him a short letter for his father, checked in his luggage and marched out of the gate with the others. The journey nearly cost him his last penny. What should he do? He cunningly wrote to his priest uncle for help, but in such a way as to create the impression that he had already sent him a previous letter with all the news. The unsuspecting uncle regretted the loss of the “certainly very interesting descriptions,” congratulated his protegee and appeased the father.
Padua badly disillusioned the four adventurers. Though city and country had their charm, life at the university was disappointing. Most students were upper-class society and just wasted away their time. Wendelin was disgusted. They could not engage anyone in a proper conversation and worse, there were no mountains. So, they took their exams early and returned home just under a year but richer in experience. In Padua, Wendelin dropped engineering – even though he was still fascinated by everything technical – and decided to become a priest.
At home, he got off lightly. His father listened to his stories with undisguised admiration, but after 3 days he handed him a pitchfork, and Wendelin worked hard to show himself grateful, until on September 29th (1846), he entered the seminary at Brixen. After all, “my father had always hoped that his Wendel would one day become a priest.”
