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Ordination and first Holy Mass

Wendelin was ordained sub-deacon on 14 July 1850, deacon, on 21 July, and priest, on 28 July – all by Prince Bishop Bernhard Galura, in the chapel of the Brixen seminary. Ten of the fifty seminarians ordained that years hailed from Vorarlberg! Soon after becoming a priest Wendelin traveled by horse carriage across the Brenner to Innsbruck and from there by postal coach via Reutte on the Bavarian border to Hindelang, where his father and the assistant priest of Langen waited to meet him. His first Mass was scheduled for 12 August at his home parish in Langen.

Abbot Francis:

“Very many of my relatives who lived scattered in different villages in the Bavarian Allgau came to Langen to welcome and congratulate their priest cousin, who was about to say his first Holy Mass. People in the Allgau consider a first Mass a particularly joyful event. The first thing these cousins and aunts of mine did was to kneel down to receive my blessing. People formed not just a procession but a triumphal parade, starting from the last village on Bavarian soil. Amid the crackling of small cannon and canopied by green triumphal arches I entered our homestead, people pressing in on me from all sides to wish me well. My mother stood with unconcealed pride in the doorway, ready to welcome me. She and my father knelt to receive my blessing, as also did my twin brother whom I had so often thrown into the grass during our boyish games in younger years. … My first Mass was a rare occasion for Langen, because the last such Mass had taken place fully twenty-five years earlier, when my priest uncle Wendelin had stood for the first time at the same altar as I. Now he and I celebrated together, he preaching the sermon.”

Before we follow the newly ordained priest to his first assignment, it may be well to pause for a brief review. It is based on the reminiscences which Fessler from Bregrenz, one of Wendelin’s classmates shared in 1888 on the occasion of their 25th anniversary of ordination. Fessler wrote:

“Pfanner was always serious about his studies. He excelled in Maths. I would like to illustrate his simplicity and self-control by referring to something he once said to us when we criticized a certain dish: ‘What does it matter how it is prepared as long as it is edible? Eat what is set before you!’ – While we were at the seminary, he was several times asked to mediate between rivalling friends and classmates. We came to appreciate his astute, practical mind, his clear vision and exquisite tact whenever he dealt with a sensitive issue.”

The editor of an 1888 commemorative brochure in honour of Abbot Francis expressed similar sentiments. According to him, the abbot was even as a youth known “to be diligent, industrious, solidly grounded in faith and morals, above board in every respect, opposed to evil in any shape and form, and fearless in expressing an opinion when it was called for. A good speaker and excellent mediator, he knew no regard for persons when he brought warring parties to terms. His faith was not shaken; neither did he change his mind once it was made up. Not given to making big or many words, he did study the theory of a proposition before he tabled it.”

II.
Parish Priest. Confessor to Sisters and Convicts

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.”

III.
Pilgrimage to the Holy Land

Sightseeing in Egypt. Farewell Letters to Friends

Fr. Pfanner was still waiting for a reply from Brixen. The bishop was a former seminary professor of his and took his time, since he knew him well.

Meanwhile, the Severin Association of Vienna was looking for a priest to lead a group of pilgrims on a tour of the Holy Land. The advertisement was a heaven-sent for Fr. Pfanner. He immediately applied and being just as promptly accepted, began to make preparations. First he ordered a proper saddle from the workshops of Lepoclava, because Arab saddles, as he was told by travelers to the Near East, were sheer torture for Europeans. To the Sisters, however, he did not breathe a word about his plan to become a Trappist. They thought that he wanted to improve his knowledge of Scripture by going to the land of Scripture. But to his bishop to whom he wrote a second time he did confide that he wished to see the Lord’s homeland before burying himself in a Trappist monastery.

The group he was to guide met at Trieste. There he was given his official appointment and all the faculties he needed as president. Apparently, the organizers had been told that he spoke Italian and a little Arabic. Above all, they seemed to have known that he was not a coward. The group was mixed and manageable. It included three priests. One of them, a teacher of Religion at a gymnasium in Bohemia, he appointed treasurer. Then there was a rural pastor in his seventies, also from Bohemia, and an assistant priest from the Diocese of Regensburg. A young probationary judge from Wuerzburg was made secretary. But a Hungarian pensioner proved such a pain in the neck that “we would have been better off without him”. No one in the group had ever been outside his home or traveled. They boarded a steamer destined for the southeastern ports. As soon as it put to sea president Pfanner, like most other passengers, became seasick. “Only my secretary was spared the scourge!” They traveled via Corfu to Rhodes and Cyprus and from there to Lebanon.

Wendelin Pfanner (Confessor to Sisters at Agram, Croatia) as pilgrim’s guide to the Holy Land

In Beirut, he bought a riding crop to keep away “the crooks and rogues” who lay in wait at every city gate to pillage and plunder unsuspecting pilgrims, not simply demanding but extorting bakshish. He did not hesitate to lash out at them, commenting that “nobody would have suspected this whip swinging commander to be a kid-glove confessor to Sisters.” The group considered itself fortunate to have him.

Haifa was the first port of call in the Holy Land where they were allowed to go ashore. They climbed Mount Carmel and afterwards sailed to Jaffa (Joppa, Tel Aviv-Jafo) and there disembarked for good. It was a one of a kind experience: Arab porters stood ready to carry them like sheaves through the churning sea, after which they set them down on the beach. Once ashore, they were on “holy ground”. They knelt to kiss it.

The seasickness was gone as if it had never existed. So the tour of the Holy Land could begin.

After his return to Agram, Fr. Pfanner described his experiences in a letter to his mother and siblings, dated 4 June 1863:

“As president of the pilgrimage, I wasted precious time on official errands and visits besides acting as interpreter for my group. During Holy Week, I celebrated Mass in the very place where Jesus was nailed to the cross. I was so moved that for a moment I could not continue with the Prayers at the Foot of the Altar. On Holy Thursday, I had the honour of being one of twelve pilgrims who had their feet washed by the Patriarch of Jerusalem. Yes, this prelate of supreme rank washed, dried and kissed my feet! He also gave everyone a small cross, carved from the wood of the olive trees which still grow in the Garden of Gethsemane where Jesus suffered his agony before he died. On Good Friday, we visited the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem. We kissed each Station but otherwise felt most unworthy to be without a cross in a place where Jesus carried such a heavy cross! The following night, in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, we listened to the seven sermons traditionally preached there in seven languages: Italian, New Greek, Polish, French, German, Arabic and Spanish. At five o’clock on Easter morning I was allowed to say Mass in another special place: the very tomb in which Jesus was buried … It was a rare opportunity which not even a high ranking Franciscan enjoys who perhaps spends his entire life in Jerusalem, because priority is always given to visiting personalities.”

When the Easter celebrations were over the group rode to Bethany where Lazarus had been buried and raised to life. Then they continued to the place in the desert where Jesus had fasted for forty days. From there they proceeded to Jericho and the Jordan River. They pitched their tent on the bank and went into the water to fill their bottles. Afterwards they followed the Jordan to the Dead Sea and climbed the hill country to see the Church of the Manger and the Shepherds’ fields at Bethlehem. At Hebron, which they visited next, they remembered Abraham, and at St. John-in-the-Mountain, the Holy Baptist.

So far their journey had been without incident, but on this last leg the president’s horse stumbled. But for the fraction of an inch he would have plunged into a ravine. In another instance the horse did throw him in full gallop, but both times he and the horse got away with a bruise and a shock.

After a brief sojourn in Jerusalem, the president led his group to Sichem to see Jacob’s Well, then up Mount Gerizim and on to Nazareth. Later they climbed Mount Tabor from where they descended to the Sea of Galilee, in order to continue along a road leading to the Hill of the Beatitudes and the plain where Jesus multiplied the loaves. Via Cana in Galilee, renowned for the Lord’s first miracle, they returned to the sea. There they made a cash check.

Abbot Francis:

“Before we left Palestine, we distributed the remaining money. Everyone got back 93 guilders. Latest now they realized that their president had managed the tour to their benefit. They had saved money though they saw more than most other pilgrims … Now everyone was free to choose his own way home, make his own plans and manage his own funds.”

Fr. Pfanner decided to return via Egypt. Would anyone like to come along? Most did and promptly re-elected him leader.

In the Land of the Pharaohs

Embarking at Haifa, they were told that the crossing to Alexandria would take twenty-eight hours. They braced themselves. But then the sea changed; it became so rough and the going so slow that it took them more than twice the length of time: sixty-eight hours! A nightmare for the leader!

Abbot Francis:

“Sailing was torture. I was so seasick that I vowed to myself a hundred times over never again to set foot on a boat. I must laugh as I write this. What good are man’s plans if God makes his own? The proverb that man proposes and God disposes couldn’t be more accurate.”

Yes, God has his own plans. As in Pfanner’s case, so he writes straight also with the crooked lines of our own lives. In Alexandria, Fr. Pfanner stood for the first time on African soil. Little did he dream that this was his introduction to a continent where, further in the south, he would labour for twenty-seven years to establish God’s Kingdom!

Cairo was memorable on account of the Pyramids and the Sphinx but also for an unfortunate incident. Shifty porters cut his saddle bag and stole his coat with his journal. Disappointed and angry, he comforted himself with the thought that “as a Trappist I will have no use for either, my coat or my journal”. Leaving the Pyramids, he and his group traveled far “to the place where, according to tradition, Mary and Joseph had stayed in hiding with their beloved Child”. They also visited the “Mary Tree” and “Mary Fountain” which according to legend had offered the Holy Family shelter and water.

Suez on the Red Sea – the canal was just then being built – was their next destination:

“Our short stay at the little town of Suez turned into a distressing experience for me. I caught dysentery, wide spread in those parts, which confined me to my room for several days. Relief finally came in the form of a remedy the hotelkeeper offered: rice cooked in unsalted water. Later, in Bosnia, I prescribed it to great effect for my sick Brothers, and when I was in London I was able to cure a whole family with it.”

The group disbanded at Suez and everyone went home by his own way. Fr. Pfanner chose to travel via Constantinople “on the same ticket and for the same fare”. He was much impressed with the Golden Horn and a cruise on the Black Sea. From Kuscendje he journeyed by train to the Danube and by a Hungarian steamer up that great water way to Belgrade and Semlin. There he transferred to a Sava-boat and later once more to a train which eventually took him to Agram.

“When my coach drove through the convent gate and I got off, no one welcomed me. Sister Portress did not recognize me on account of my pilgrim’s beard which, as a matter of fact, had not felt a razor for fully three months! I wore it for three more days and during that time paid my respects to the cardinal archbishop.

The glory of the world and its pomp held no more attraction for me. I was only waiting for the letter that would allow me to leave the world. There were all kinds of letters waiting for me on my return but none from my bishop. So I wrote again. This time I mentioned my visit to the Orient and the Holy Land and that everything was but vanity. The only wisdom, I concluded, was to serve God in order to see him when life was over.”

This time the bishop answered by return post. He wrote that he envied Pfanner his “holy solitude” and would love to hide himself away as well, if only he were free.

Goodbye to the World

Before leaving the world for good, Fr. Pfanner took leave of close relatives and friends. In a letter to his classmate Berchtold, pastor of Hittisau in Vorarlberg, he recalled their ordination thirteen years earlier and touched on his recent experiences. Returned from a great journey that took him: “from the cedars of Lebanon to the Red Sea with its pearl oysters”, he had no words to describe what he had seen and felt. He could only hint, for “at such times the heart is drowned in the joys of a world it has never known”!

The Feast of the Nativity of Mary (8 September) was reception and profession day for many of the Sisters in Agram. Fr. Pfanner preached the sermon and afterwards joined them for supper and Evening Prayer. Then he retired to his apartment. He wrote a few more letters to his loved ones and later that evening asked the mother superior for additional traveling cases. She looked at him, apprehensively: “Where are you going, Father?” He: “I leave tomorrow morning early to become a Trappist.” Thunderstruck, she cried: “Oh no! I cannot agree! Before you came, over thirty sisters suffered from scrupulosity. You helped them overcome it. But now I have to carry this heavy cross again by myself.” The good woman broke down, but he did not allow himself to be moved. Only to a friend he confided in a letter: “It is not easy to pull myself away, but I must follow my inner call. I want to live out my days in seclusion and solitude … I desire nothing more fervently than that God would accept my resolution. Please, remember me to your loved ones and pray for me that I do not waver in my resolution.”

His mother and siblings were still in the dark about his decision. His farewell letter to them is dated 8 September, 1863, like the others: