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Pastoral Ministry in Vorarlberg, Confessor in Croatia

Four weeks after celebrating his first Mass, the new priest Wendelin Pfanner entered the pastoral ministry in Haselstauden near Dornbirn, Vorarlberg. Not used to speaking in public, he was shocked to hear his voice when he spoke from the pulpit for the first time, because “I had never before heard my voice echo back to me”. He remembered the advice of his professor in Pastoral Theology: “If you get stuck, pull all the stops! Take a quick look at your notes and continue!” Wendelin did not need it. Though the pulpit was new to him, he decided to speak freely from the beginning. But he carefully drafted every sermon. Unfortunately, he destroyed his notes as he did most other private papers.

Wendelin’s father considered it an honour to see his son off by “taking a good load of furniture, bed linen and clothes” to Haselstauden, while the young priest, in the company of two clerics from the neighbourhood, followed by coach. Haselstauden, however, wrapped itself in silence. Pfanner was not welcomed by the municipal administrator nor was a single villager on hand to help offload his “dowry”. Strange people, his father thought, shook his head and returned home on the spot.

The rectory seemed to have neither a kitchen nor a cook. The young priest did not see anyone until the following morning when, entering the church to say Mass, a grumbling old sacristan showed him round. But when he stood at the altar he was surprised that “the center aisle was filled with people. It was clear to me that they had not come so much to welcome me as to see who ‘the new one’ was.” How guarded, sceptical and suspicious these Haselstaudeners were! He wondered if he would ever be able to break down the wall behind which they were hiding. He did when typhoid broke out the following spring. It was a onetime opportunity to get to know them, and he seized it straight.

Wendelin Pfanner shortly after his Ordination to the Priesthood

Abbot Francis:

“I visited every affected family. People needed me because hardly anyone dared to go near them for fear of infection. They even told me how much they appreciated the visits of ‘the young gentleman’, as they called me. Their attitude towards me changed overnight. The church began to fill up, not now from curiosity but from a genuine desire to hear what I had to say.”

Biding his time and arming himself with much patience, young Fr. Pfanner won most of his parishioners back to the Church. He listened to them and learned to speak in a way they could understand. He instructed their children in the Faith, heard Confession and sought out the lapsed and critical. Occasionally, he read Leviticus to people who did not keep the Sunday holy, as for example, the innkeeper who when it was time for Sunday Mass sent his hired hands to work in the farm. He also persuaded two wealthy factory owners, both native Haselstaudeners, to donate stain glass windows for the parish church, Our Lady of the Visitation, which he wished to embellish. Their generosity bordered on a miracle. When twenty years later, as abbot of Mariannhill, he visited them, one remarked: “It would have been better if you had not become a Trappist. Why did you have to go so far away, first to these godforsaken Bosnians and then to the Hottentots in Africa? Haven’t we got Hottentots enough to convert?!” Nevertheless, he gave him a generous donation for the “black Hottentots”.

As for the “pagans of Haselstauden”, the young priest did all he could to strengthen their faith. For example, he invited excellent Redemptorist or Jesuit speakers to hold a parish mission. They did so with much success, the said factory owners allowing their employees to attend even on working days.

Whey Cures in Switzerland. Farewell to Haselstauden

Wendelin’s health deteriorated during his very first year in the ministry. This, though, was not the result of lack of care, because his sister Kreszentia, who had decided to stay single, was his housekeeper and looked very well after him. He developed a lung condition (TB?) and his doctor suggested that he drink whey at Gais in Canton Appenzell, Switzerland. The weeks he spent there were restful and relaxing but they did not bring about the desired cure. Abbot Francis: “The peaceful atmosphere and carefree time, the healthy air and diet probably helped me more than the whey.” As long as he had to preach, teach and hear Confessions there was little hope of recovery, leave alone a long life. So he decided to buy a burial site for himself and his sister just beside the Haselstauden church. For the rest, he served without sparing himself. In Anton Jochum, pastor of a neighbouring parish, he had a best friend and adviser. “When I was not sure about something, I consulted him and he always put me at ease, so that I saw my way again. I also gained a lot by listening to him explaining the Catechism and preaching. An excellent man, he had only one fault: he snuffed and that even during Mass! I drew his attention to it ever so cautiously but he just shrugged it off: “Alright, alright. Young men have fine manners! But you are right. Trouble is that I am too old to change.”

Though Fr. Pfanner was burdened with parochial duties he continued to mingle with people, his own family included. They could count on him. His father passed away in September 1856, but his stepmother lived for another twenty-four years. Her oldest son, Franz Xavier, married into a family at Gruenenbach in Bavaria, where as a young man he fell to his death from the threshing floor. When Wendelin’s twin brother Johann married outside the village, the Langen-Hub farmstead switched hands. Johann raised ten children. Nine were baptized by their priest uncle; the oldest was kicked by a horse and died in 1905.

In 1859, the vicar general of Vorarlberg sent Fr. Pfanner to Agram (Zagreb) in Croatia as confessor to a community of Mercy Sisters. Because these had originally come from Southern Tyrol, they were German speaking and needed a German-speaking priest. So Fr. Pfanner left Austria but not before inviting his unsuspecting parishioners to an auction sale of the cacti he had raised. They were a rare spectacle and for him a hobby the doctor had recommended as a pastime for the long winter months. He had a green thumb and in no time transformed the rectory into a sea of blossoms.

Abbot Francis:

“How little did I dream then that one day I would live in a land where the most luxurious cacti grow wild like the nettles in Europe! I had collected some thirty species and by grafting them one on another top of another I produced spectacular forms: balls, snakes, rocks and exotic shapes. I also had the exquisite Eriesy. From books I read I knew that it produced an enchantingly beautiful blossom. So when I found a bud on my specimen I was beside myself with excitement. Why, I even postponed a trip to Munich just to see it open!”

Fr. Pfanner traveled to Agram by train, via Landshut, Linz (where he visited his former professor Franz Joseph Rudigier, now bishop) and Vienna.

Confessor to Nuns and Convicts

We may wonder why he was given an appointment for which we feel he was not cut out. The explanation may be found in Brixen. There, his vicar general had consulted the seminary staff and been told by the rector of the Redemptorists, who knew Fr. Pfanner from parish missions, that he was not only a fine pastor but also an excellent confessor. Or was there another reason?

Abbot Francis:

“It was known to everyone in Brixen that I was a tough fellow and that sometimes people, including nuns, needed a firm hand. Whichever, I ended up in Agram …. As was my habit I said Mass quickly. Therefore the young priests at the convent and perhaps also the one or other Sister did not pin too much hope on the new confessor. They said: ‘Short suit (cassock worn in Vorarlberg), short Mass’ … There were three other priests in residence: the superior, four years my senior and like myself from the Brixen Diocese, a young preacher and a still younger teacher, both Croatians and lecturers at the seminary. We took meals together but otherwise had each our separate apartment. The Sisters cared for me in every regard and paid me a handsome salary besides.”

Fr. Pfanner’s main responsibility in Agram was to hear the Confessions of the Sisters, preach a German homily every Sunday and teach Religion at the convent school. When one day the chimney caught fire on top of the priests’ house, it was the Vorarlberger, practical and fearless as ever, who climbed the roof and from a window in the attic directed the water supply to the top. It was his day! The Sisters admired him for his courage and skill and changed their attitude towards him.

In the Croatia of the early eighteen-sixties (1860/​1861), as in many other European countries, the desire for national identity and unity was not to be suppressed any longer. The urban elite, consisting mainly of professors and students, shouted the much-heard slogans clamouring for “national consciousness” and civil liberties.

Abbot Francis:

“Vienna had tried far too long to Germanize the Croatians; now they turned the tables on the Empire. Their aversion to ‘Swabians’. (Germans) was so great that in their coffee houses they used the then fashionable German top hats as spittoon bowls.”

Although Fr. Pfanner and his Austrian fellow priest were allowed to stay and the latter kept a very low profile, Wendelin continued undaunted to hear Confession at the various institutes run by the Sisters and four times a year also at the high security prison of Lepoclava.

A Pilgrim-Tourist in Rome

Early in 1862, Confessor Pfanner read the announcement that the first forty-two Japanese Martyrs were to be beatified in Rome. It was a rare and exciting opportunity to see the Eternal City! In no time he was ready to go. He spent eighteen days in Italy. His first visits were to the ancient shrines. By sheer luck he also caught a close glimpse of Pope Pius IX, an episode he later recounted together with other adventures.

Abbot Francis:

“I left the house before dawn and did not return before ten in the evening. Determined to waste no time, I took something to eat at a roadside coffee house or trattoria, whichever was more convenient and not at the pensione. In this way I was able to explore all four quarters of the City according to a plan I drew up. But very soon I got around without it. Despite the Roman heat I tramped to the Seven Major Churches in and outside the City in one day!”

Once when he came near the entrance of the Sistine Chapel he chanced upon a group of ladies and gentlemen assembled there, all elegantly dressed in black. Inquiring what was going on, he was told that the pope was celebrating an anniversary Mass for his predecessor, Gregory XVI. Entry was strictly by ticket. Too bad! But there must be a way of getting around the ticket, even though he only wore a short soutane instead of the long cassock customary in Rome. He tried:

“I walked over to one of the two young Swiss Guards, smiled and said: ‘Nu, an Landsma weret ihr do inne lo?‘. (You surely allow a countryman to enter, don’t you?) Though trained to keep their face straight, these guardians of the law in their stiff halberds could not supress a smile. Before I knew, one lifted the curtain just enough to call to the captain inside: ‘A Landsma!’(a countryman). The captain understood at once, batted his eyelashes and motioned to me to come forward. I was not asked twice but made my way into the Chapel. Once inside, I walked with all the self-assurance I could muster among the elite of the Roman clergy and aristocracy, all in top array, standing there at attention. And because the clergy was stationed in front of the laity, I ended up right behind the cardinals. These knelt in a semicircle around the altar, the pope himself kneeling by himself on a raised platform. Not for a mint of money would I have changed places with anyone! I was privileged not only to see the Sistina, but also to listen to Gregorian chant, the authentic Roman chant! … You see, even a blind hen sometimes finds a grain of corn! I thanked God that my mother did not speak standard German with us, or else I would not have got in there.”

Always a pastor and a witty one at that, Abbot Francis adds a practical application:

“So also will it be at ‘heaven’s door’ when the end of the world is upon us. Whoever does not have the right ticket will not get in, unless perchance he speaks a known language or happens to be a countryman of Saint Peter!”

Still in Rome, a chance cropped up to see a little more of Italy. A group of tourists were about to set off on horseback to Mount Vesuvius. Anyone was welcome to join. As usual, Wendelin’s mind was made up immediately. Leaving Naples, it was he who led the group up the mountain. What was Vesuvius compared with Vorarlberg’s summits? He was the first one on top and, reckless as usual, stood so dangerously close to the crater’s mouth, that the others shouted to him to be careful. The edge was crumbly and the crater had spat fire only six months earlier!

Back in Agram, Fr. Pfanner reviewed his Italian experience. He had spent much time at the tombs of the Apostles, pondering what he should do with the rest of his life. His health was not good and the atmosphere in Croatia, hostile. Perhaps he should enter a monastery and spend the few years remaining to him in prayer and penance to prepare for death? The thought stuck. Soon it was only a question of which Order to choose, the Franciscans or Jesuits.

While he was still undecided, two men in brown garb came to the convent door. They were Belgian Trappists begging for alms for their monastery. This was towards the end of 1862. Fr. Pfanner’s curiosity was roused by the strange apparel of the monks and until late that evening he questioned them about their Order and lifestyle. “Trappist” – the very name mesmerized him. Then and there he decided: “I will rather die from penance [as a Trappist] than from studies [as a Jesuit]!” That very night he wrote two letters, one to his bishop to dispense him from the diocesan ministry; the other, to Mariawald in Prussia, the only Germanspeaking Trappist monastery, to apply for admission. The Prior replied by return post: “Come!” Our would-be candidate was happy but wondered if he had included enough information. So he wrote again, this time also mentioning his two hernias and his voice which might not be an asset to the choir. Abbot Francis: “The second reply took a little longer and was perhaps also a little more reluctant than the first.”