Mother Paula Cordero Foundress of the Daughters of St. Paul in the United States
By Sr. Donna William Giaimo, FSP The Daughter of St. Paul who planted our congregation in the US in the summer of 1932 was a young woman from the Piedmont region of Italy. For over 60 years the Daughters of St. Paul flourished under her guidance and charismatic strength. I don't know how many times I heard her tell the story, but I vividly remember her manner of recounting it on one occasion. We were a small group of novices—young, eager, enthusiastic—listening in rapt attention to this, our "Maestra" (teacher), during one of her weekly classes with us. At a certain point she veered from her regular lecture style, warm and familiar as that was, and spoke to us in a comically conspiratorial fashion—as if she were a peer letting us in on some funny secret. Her face became animated, and she suddenly looked a lot younger than her seventy-plus years. Her clear, startlingly blue eyes twinkled with mischief. Though the incident had happened well over fifty years earlier, it was as fresh to her as if it had taken place yesterday. ...It was only days away from religious profession. But as young Adele descended the stairway that would take her down to chapel, she was momentarily preoccupied with another personal, if not equally
pressing, matter. As a sign of their calling, the new religious would receive new names—and the names were to be picked out by the superiors. It wasn't just a matter of being stuck with Eusebius or Gertrude for life; Adele had prayed so hard that she would be named after the Order's patron, St. Paul. But how was that to happen? She was simply one among several young women with the more-than-likely equally strong desire. At that precise moment, the door to one of the landings opened and her superior, Mother Thecla, fell into step beside her. Now, up until this point, Adele had prided herself on her tremendous control. She would never ask for or even acknowledge her preference in the selection of a name; no, she would smother any purely natural satisfaction and be holily disposed to accept God's will—no matter what. But one could always hope, couldn't one? Adele continued her feign of virtuous indifference and smiled serenely at her superior. Mother Thecla smiled back, undeceived. In her early thirties, with only a few more years of religious experience behind her, the CoFoundress still knew exactly what was going on in this aspirant's mind. "I have a nice surprise for you," she said knowingly. "You do?" Adele remained exteriorly placid, but her pulse began to race. "Yes. We have chosen a name that I think you'll like." "Is it St. Paul?" Adele cried excitedly, blowing her cover to smithereens. Of all the memories I have of Mother Paula Cordero, somehow this one sticks in my mind. It seems to capture so many of the qualities I loved and admired in her: the unconscious, "innocent" boldness and vibrancy; that singleness of purpose, unmarred by complicated personal agendas; the easy-to-relate-to and unabashedly admitted humanness; most of all, the strong and loyal attachment to the greatest apostle of all times. Paul was the only logical name choice; no one else could have so resembled his spontaneous, fiery nature.
There are leaders who are gifted with particular dynamism, with an innate ability to attract others and stir them to action, with the kind of natural charisma that radically distinguishes them from anything common or ordinary. Mother Paula Cordero was such a leader and more, because she was primarily a woman of God, the kind of woman not easily forgotten. In June 1932, Mother Paula set out from Italy to conquer America for Christ. She transported with her the Pauline charism she had received directly from the Founders. She also brought along her own grand dreams of beginning the Pauline mission: using the press media to promote the Gospel and to spread the teachings of the Church. They were large-scale dreams because Mother Paula never did anything in half-measure; she wouldn't know how. She was twenty-three, knew no English, and had very little money. Did the odds frighten her? Anyone who could ask that couldn't have known Mother Paula. She was fearsome, dauntless and intrepid—and for three very good reasons: God had called her for this very purpose; the Church had confirmed her religious consecration; the Founder, Father James Alberione, and Co-Foundress, Mother Thecla Merlo, had issued her mandate. For Mother Paula, these three realities levelled all other odds; they simply toppled over in her favor. In typical pioneer fashion, she blazed a trail where the path lay unmarked before her. The ship docked in New York harbor on June 28, 1932. It wasn't the best of moments. America was squeezed within the grip of depression, and Mother Paula didn't have ecclesial permission to begin an establishment in the first place. Besides, whoever heard of religious women printing and selling books? The idea was too disconcerting, too novel. Although Church officials advised them to return to Italy for their own good, Mother Paula trusted in the will of God as it had been expressed through the Founder. She stayed, and the Lord worked miracles through her. During her lifetime, she witnessed the phenomenal growth of the province to which she had committed her life. From its literal stable beginnings (the first sisters used to make and house the books they produced in an abandoned barn), the Congregation expanded from
coast to coast. From gluing and sewing books together by hand, the sisters progressed to a level of technical preparation and execution sophisticated by today's standards. From an understanding of media evangelization restricted to working with the press, Mother Paula's foresight impelled the young American province to risk new and daring apostolic undertakings: radio, sound recordings, video. Today's province, spread across the U.S. and Toronto, stands as a vibrant tribute to an indefatigable apostle. Without a doubt, Mother Paula was a woman of prayer and action; the two were so intimately fused it would be difficult to distinguish one from the other. She seemed to have an inexhaustible reservoir of energy within her, springing from and strenghened by a prayer that had become her whole life. This energy was coupled with an acute sense of the ripe moment, of God's moment. Her faith in the Lord's fidelity—especially as expressed through the intercession of St. Paul—was proverbial. She would speak of him with incredible familiarity: confidently invoking his protection, thanking him once a favor had been obtained...and warmly admonishing him when he seemed to be a bit slower in answering than usual. "St. Paul is our father," she would repeat over and over again. "Go to him because he loves you." Years of sacrifice and the scaling of obstacles carved her as a figure of strength. Her great, booming voice could be heard easily above the din of machines when she would daily visit the sisters working from one end of the apostolate area to the other. "By myself I can do nothing," she would call out—the truest reminder we would have during our day—and anyone within earshot would respond to the familiar prayer, "but with God I can do all things. For the love of God, I want to do all things. To him, honor and glory; to me, the eternal reward." The short prayer was characteristic of her own spirituality, but she loved it for another personal reason. Composed by the Founder, it had initially ended differently: "To him,
honor and glory; to me, scorn." Somehow this didn't sit well with Mother Paula, and when Fr. Alberione visited his American province, she let him know about it. In answer, the great Founder lowered his head and pondered a moment; Mother Paula probably held her breath while he did so. When he looked up again, a faint smile hovered about his lips. The prayer—with its altered ending—became Mother Paula's favorite from that moment on. Although there was a certain "toughness" about her, a quality that had been useful in her role as American foundress, Mother Paula was a person of great tenderness and humor. Tears of compassion readily filled her eyes when she listened to someone express a difficulty or personal sadness. She couldn't pass a baby without at least remarking how she would love to reach out and "squeeze" her. She enjoyed a good joke more than anyone, and would literally shake with laughter at a truly funny story. She had a motherly heart that made itself felt in large and small ways by those privileged to have known her. Mother Paula often expressed the desire to "die on her feet," to spend her last energies in service of the Gospel. God asked of her something far different. Due to a series of strokes first suffered in 1985, she was soon confined to a wheelchair. Still her active thoughts followed the apostolic works of her daughters throughout the United States, and in her wheelchair she continued her daily tours of the apostolate. Gradually, as her health declined, she became bedridden. The once vibrant, independent woman was now dependent upon others for the smallest things. Yet, as she had been a model of Pauline active life, she now became a model in interior acceptance. And this stage of her journey, though perhaps the most painful, was no less precious. She resigned herself to the Master's will with remarkable patience: a candle that isn't abruptly snuffed, but whose flame gradually goes out. For the sisters who attended her, this final illness became a time in which they could freely express a tender, grateful affection tinged with reverence at the solemn approach of the Eternal Bridegroom. On February 13, 1991, surrounded by her sisters, Mother Paula quietly expired. She was three days away from her eighty-third birthday.
There is a saying that we of the present age are merely dwarfs who stand upon the shoulders of giants. For us second-generation Pauline apostles, the phrase couldn't be truer. We realize that our 'yes' to God has been possible only because of a yes that first preceded it—a heroic yes, a yes made notwithstanding the sacrifices and pain attached. Although deprived of her physical presence, we believe that Mother Paula's spirit is undimmed. It lives within our other treasured pioneer sisters who embraced the same challenges and sacrifices with the same love Mother Paula did. It lives within each of us who have been called to love the Lord and our brothers and sisters in that same special way.