ON Tuesday, October 16, 1894, a clear cool autumn day, the steamship Ems cast anchor in the harbor of New York. Ten days had passed since it had last sighted land, and they were days of alternating serenity and turbulence. Small wonder then, that as the ship stood there in the dock, with the ocean’s foam dripping from its damp, mucky sides, it tenderly hugged the land that gave it hospitality anew.
Within the boat, the sailors and officers’ efficient haste demonstrated an activity indispensible to the early release of its one hundred forty-six passengers. The latter’s eager gleaning of their last belongings indicated their reluctance to prolong their stay unnecessarily aboard. At the first signal of the ship’s blasting sound which blended with the shrill whistles of the city’s thousand factories’ sirens, they hastily descended the gang-plank dividing them from the sidewalks of New York and their floating home of ten days, filled with an overwhelming joy that they had safely attained their goal.
The New York Times of the day carried the names of the passengers of the Ems, but few readers scanned the column on page two bearing the news. In the foreign news section the condition of the czar of Russia wasting away gradually from cancer highlighted the news; of local interest were the concerts held in the city in honor of the silver jubilee of the Viennese waltz master Johann Strauss’ first appearance, thirteen being held in New York alone, each featuring his American waltz.
Among the names of the passengers, still less would the name of Sister Veronica attract the readers’ interest, for surely it indicated no connection with any family illustrious or renowned. Had they a vision of the future on that October day of 1894, they might have halted there, for despite the seeming insignificance of the name, here was a member of an illustrious family indeed. She was a daughter of the great Franciscan family, bringing to the United States the beautiful traditions of the past seven centuries of Franciscan life.
Although they did not know the new language which the Sisters heard in New York, they had little difficulty in making their way. The steamship agent gave them all the necessary help. He telegraphed Father Jachimowicz in Mt. Carmel and then on their request drove them to the rectory of St. Stanislaus church, where they were to meet Father Strzelecki, like Mother Veronica a native of Warsaw, who was in the United States since 1885. The priest was known for his protection of Polish immigrants, and most of them were reminded in the old country to stop at his rectory, for his wise advice and sage instruction were known to have saved many a new-comer from the ravages of a dollar-colored existence. The sisters agreed to spend the night at the rectory having received word that their new pastor would call for them the next day.
The following morning Mother Veronica went out into the city to make her first purchase in America. She had little money, for her poverty-stricken convent back home had little to give. The agreement had been made with Father Jachimowicz that they would be recompensed for their work in his parish after they had commenced teaching in his school. So very small was the sum that she had at her disposal that she would have to use it for what was most indispensable at this time in the new world. Did she have a premonition of the future sacrifices that the Lord would demand of her that she put out her hand first for a crucifix? Was her act of embracing the newly purchased image of the Sacred Heart for which she laid down her last pennies, a symbol of the affectionate attachment to the Sacred Heart of her Community, whose growth was still hidden in the womb of the future?
The crucified Lord and the Sacred Heart – these two were most important. The crucifix and the image of the loving Heart were to be acquired first on the threshold of the new world. “I am the door; if anyone enter by me, he shall be safe,” (John 10:9). In the shadow of the cross she was to plant the seed of her new community whose full growth her bodily eyes were never to see. From its ardent attachment to the Sacred Heart, the source of all love, it was to imbibe the lessons of a sacrificial love for God and neighbor, to which purpose it owed its very being.
The Sacred Heart! It had loved her so tenderly! In the chapel of the Sacred Heart in the convent of Zakliczyn she had dedicated herself to it; her tongue to proclaim its glories, her mind to think of it, her will to desire it, and her heart to love it alone. She had offered a countless number of times all that she was and had; now she was offering it this project so new and unknown, to be guided by that Most Sacred Heart; her toils and labors that they be blessed by it; all her sacrifices and those of all future Bernardines to be sanctified by it. In the love of the Sacred Heart she placed all her hope and confidence. She wanted it to be the sole object of her love, the center around which she moved, according to whose example she would mould the lives of her daughters. All her life she had clung to the Sacred Heart as she clung to that new image which she bought in a New York shop. She clung to it with a passionate love; now she was devoting herself entirely and solely to its service to gain souls to its love. That Heart would also be her strength in temptation, and her only consolation in the days of tribulation and sorrow that unknown to her were awaiting her in her new land.
The cross and the Sacred Heart! The act of purchase of the two objects at the very dawn of the Community’s life in the new world were a synthesis of the life of their superior and her work with which she was still closely allied for twenty years. The majestic monument before the convent’s main entrance, placed there in 1911 on her initiative, is a lively reminder of Mother Veronica’s spirit. The “In Hoc Signo Vinces” in gold on the cross in the hands of the Savior was literally fulfilled in her life. The “Ecce Cor Adeo Dilexit Mundum” found its most beautiful reflection in her interior life and exterior deeds.
Father Thaddeus Jachimowicz, the pastor from Mt. Carmel, arrived as he had promised, and after a slight delay another trip by train was resumed. There was no convent ready for the Sisters when they arrived in Mt. Carmel, so they received hospitable shelter in the rectory for a few days until their own home was ready. School was already in session for it was the middle of October, a lay teacher and the organist being in charge. The Sisters immediately in true Franciscan fashion buckled down to work, and the following day saw them in school, too. There were almost three hundred children enrolled, which was a large number for the two to handle, so grouping them into four classes, Sister Frances, Sister Catherine and Sister Gertrude gave a helping hand.
Love for the new work made the labor light, and joy that they were called upon to perform a work of such merit eased the otherwise heavy burden. To teach little children the fundamental truths of their religion, to train them in habits of goodness and truth; to imbue them with an appreciation for all that was beautiful and holy and true, to cultivate within them an attachment to Holy Mother Church, to hand down to them and preserve for them the beautiful traditions of their Catholic native land – all this made light the strenuous days in their new school.
There were difficulties, it is true, their inability to speak the language being the greatest, but in the light of existing conditions in 1894 it was not unbearable. They were in a parish where immigration was fresh and where all spoke the native tongue including the children. The mother tongue was in demand by the parents and the pastor. The English part of the curriculum was taken care of by the lay teacher until the Sisters would be ready to assume the task. In order to remove the difficulty of the language, however, they began a serious study of English and the younger two soon showed signs of remarkable progress.
Occasionally a feeling of loneliness clutched at their hearts. It would be evoked by the voluminous voices of the men singing at the High Mass the Holy, Holy, Holy God Almighty, God Immortal, which was an echo of the hymn sung by their fathers across the ocean blue; it was called forth by the scent of fresh incense before benediction, recalling memories of the glorious moments spent in their convent chapel in the old world; it arose at the sight of waves and waves of ripening grain in their agricultural homeland, or the sound of the nightingale or the whippoorwill – which loomed up in their memories at time of leisure or pensive mood. But time is a successful healer and gradually it erased the scars which separation from all that was dear to them had left.
The first letter from their Provincial Superior back in the homeland with its expression of fatherly concern bolstered their courage, shot new energy into their lives, and gave a new impetus to the work undertaken.
“My dearest Sisters in God,” it began. “I have long awaited news from you. Thank God that you have arrived safely at your destination.
“I extend to you my most cordial wishes and my sincere blessing on your new work. May the Lord Jesus grant you health, a long life so very important for His glory and for your new home in America.
“When my dearest Sisters were making preparations to leave I feared most for the health of the Reverend Mother Superior, Mother Veronica; now my fears are allayed since, despite the storms on sea you have happily attained the object of your journey.
“I need not remind Mother Veronica how much the new venture depends upon her. Our whole Province, nay – the whole Order looks toward its success. I have hope that you will respond well to the trust placed in you. Do not say that it is above your strength, for since the Lord sent you, He will not refuse His help and grace. From heaven you are blessed by our Patriarch, St. Francis, St. Elizabeth, and all the saints of the Franciscan family. To be assured of help from above you must faithfully fulfill your vows and the promises you made to God. Therefore despite all obstacles, remain attached to the spirit of your rule.”
The remaining part of the letter is an explanation of how the activity of the new life may be substituted for the mortifications of the cloister; how the parts of the lengthy breviary may be replaced by prayers recited at times free from active duty. There is a gentle reminder of offering their prayers and works for the needs of the Church, before the letter closes with the beautiful Franciscan blessing.
Mother Veronica did not help with the teaching, but she did all else that needed to be done in addition to her duty as superior. But she had occasion to meet the parents of the children who were taught and the little children, too. She loved these immigrants with all her mother’s love. She looked forward to meeting their fair smiling faces every time they appeared on the field before school each day. She knew that their parents had come from a land where hardships were great and advantages few; where it was a crime to speak the language of your fathers and a sin to profess your faith in the one church you knew was the true one. She had lived for many years in the domain of the czar and therefore knew conditions there well. In Mt. Carmel there were numerous victims of that despotic rule. The Kulturkampf of Prussia was the indirect cause of many others’ presence here; adverse economic conditions in Austrian-controlled Poland many more. They were all people of her own nationality, culture and race and her spirit reveled in all that was akin to her Slavic origin.
The greater number of Polish immigrants in Mt. Carmel founds means of sustenance by their labor in the coal mines in the vicinity, for the town lies in the rich anthracite section of the state of Pennsylvania. She often watched the miners on the way back from the mines with their clothes all covered with grime and soot. Then she would commend each one with his family to the care of St. Barbara, the patroness of miners in her own country. All around her were grim reminders that her people worked well, and that the land was exploited perfectly; the rising collieries silhouetted against the azure sky; the conical hills of coal dirt as black as night, like sleeping volcanoes or magic dreams rising above the clouds. The naked land, bluntly cut and stripped, exposed here and there wide yellow scars on its surface. Between these were marks of large patches of green, resembling remnants of a gorgeous green tapestry cut by a sharp sword, or blown up by a powdery blast, remnants of the beauty of this land. The coal mine workings did not add to the charm of the countryside with their ravages on its beauty, but Mother Veronica knew that they furnished the means of support for many people in the town.
As the year wore on, the shadow of Mother Veronica’s first cross in America began to appear on the low horizon of her otherwise contented life. Conditions in the agreement upon which the work was accepted, at close range began to appear to militate against the observance of the rule which was Mother Veronica’s chief concern and responsibility, and having notified her superiors in Europe of the same she was ordered to abandon the place and seek the establishment of a center elsewhere or else return to Europe. Once more she had to feel the pangs of suffering in the insecurity which this command brought her, for giving up the convent in Mt. Carmel left the Sisters without resources and literally with no roof over their head.
Before making any definite plans for the future, Mother veronica went out to the Middle West to Wisconsin to meet Sister Bruno, Felician, whom she had known back in Warsaw. Sister Bruno knew conditions in America better and would be in a position to give Mother Veronica the advice she sorely needed. Whether it was from Sister Bruno or others moved by charitable concern, it is not known, but she received advice to return to the East as the need for Sisters was just as great here.
Since the Sisters were leaving the diocese, Mother Veronica sent Sister Trances and Sister Catherine, both having a command of German and therefore always used for settling official business, to the Most Reverend Bishop McGovern in Harrisburg, to notify him of their departure, for it was with his permission that the entry into the diocese the year before was made. Bishop McGovern opposed their leaving at first, but when the Sisters made clear to him the reasons for doing so, he agreed, and gave them his blessing on their way, veiled densely by the unknown future. It was to this Episcopal blessing that Mother Veronica attributed the immediate help which God sent them, a help which anticipated their most glorious hopes.
Strange are the ways of God’s Providence! Mysterious are the means He chooses to advance His designs! What may at the time seem an ordinary act of chance, has been planned by an all-knowing and an all-loving Father! This is brought out strikingly in the planting of the Bernardine Sisters Community in the United States. Father Thaddeus Jachimowicz who had extended his plea to the convent in Europe for Sisters for work in his parish in Mt. Carmel had accepted the appointment as pastor in February, 1894. The Sisters responded and commenced the new work in October of the same year. The following summer, 1895, the Sisters departed from St. Joseph’s and a few months later, December 1, 1895, Father Jachimowicz left the parish for Chicago never to return to the East.
To Mother Veronica the bishop’s blessing presaged a happy turn of events. Following in the footsteps of her Father, St. Francis, her imitation of the Saint was in many ways striking. Not only did she imitate him in the intense love which she bore for the most Sacred Heart, whence radiated every external work undertaken by her, but she bore a resemblance in the many manifestations of the Founder’s practical virtues. Like St. Francis who refused the Sacrament of Holy Orders out of his great feeling of unworthiness to be an “Alter Christus” and who was known to have kissed the very footsteps of Christ’s priests, she, too, showed the greatest reverence and esteem for the priesthood and every priest servant of God. Her actions and attitudes, her conversations and conferences all revealed the deep respect which she bore for every priest, regardless of whether he was a humble assistant in a poor, lowly parish, or one having episcopal authority over a vast diocese. In her presence no one ever dared make the slightest derogatory remark about one whose position marked him as one dedicated to be the mediator between man and the Almighty. But if she saw God’s hand raised in benediction each time she knelt for the blessing of a priest, greater still was her appreciation of the blessing of the bishop who enjoys the fullness of the priesthood.
Meanwhile the Sisters, having left the episcopal residence in Harrisburg, walked out into a heavy thunderstorm which had been ironically awaiting them and which appeared as a counterpart of the one figuratively raging over them at the time. From dark leaden skies the rain beat unmercifully the parched ground and everything that occupied space on its surface. It poured in torrents from rainpipes forming flooded streams widening out and covering the streets of the town. The wet and glassy world from which all vestiges of life vanished having taken shelter under every reasonable cover, took the place of the one which but an hour before held out its smiling countenance to the bright sky. Out into this storm emerged two Bernardines, fortunately to be met by Sisters from one of the parishes, who, taking them into their home, provided them with shelter and a little convent spirit before they were again on their way.
Leaving these good Sisters they turned their steps towards the railroad station where they were to take the train to the town which held what they still called their home. They did not then know that they were to meet a disappointment on the way which at the time seemed almost disastrous, but which the Sisters for all time would call blessed. They arrived at the station in Reading where they were to change trains for Mt. Carmel at late evening only to learn their train had left just a few minutes before their arrival. There was nothing to do but seek shelter for the night in Reading, and resume their journey the next day, for the railroad station was surely no place for the Sisters to remain for the night.
The logical thing to do was to inquire at the closest rectory where lodgings for the night could be had, and since they learned that the Polish rectory was not far away, they turned their steps in that direction. God’s Providence directed them here for with the meeting of the pastor here, the last turn of the key opening the way of the Bernardine Sisters into the work of the Church in America was made. For this Church the Community was now to begin a work in its efficacy reaching far into the ages ahead. The difficulties and hardships in making its way were all necessary for God’s plans for the building of the Community. There would be many more before it took the shape which He desired it was to have. It was not to tower magnificently above the others, but standing apart in the shade it was to serve in a humble way its Omnipotent Master. Its meek beginnings were to be a perpetual reminder that it was not the creation of gifted minds and outstanding intelligence but a part of the profoundly wise scheme of the all-knowing Divine God. It would never boast of a foundress whose judgment swayed events and destined outcomes that were a wonder for all time, but rather admit that it was begun by a pliable though weak instrument in the hands of God for a work that was distinctly His.
Father Adalbert Malusecki, the pastor of St. Mary’s in Reading, accepted the Sisters for the night; what was more, the following day he made the proposal for them to come to Reading to help with the teaching of the children of his parish. He had at the time the services of two lay teachers. When they returned with the news to Mother Veronica her only answer was “Magnificat! This is the Lord’s will.” Without delay preparations commenced for coming to Reading and on September 6, 1895, Mother Veronica, Sister Frances, Sister Catherine and the tertiary Barbara were there. Gertrude Widmunt, not having been able to endure the rigors of the new life and greatly disturbed over the uncertainty of the future of the Bernardines in the United States, returned to Europe.
