Nun reaches out to hidden Catholics

by Robert O'Steen
MIAMI

Like one of the early Catholic missionaries in Florida, she rode the circuit from coast to coast to reach special persons who needed her.

Whom did she seek?

A group of people who often live behind a veil of silence, who because they cannot hear or talk in the manner of others, too often go unnoticed by the rest of society, including the church.

Back in the 1970s, Sister Connie Brannan drove from parish to parish, from Palm Beach to Naples to Miami, throughout the eight southern counties of the state, which at that time made up the Archdiocese of Miami. Once the persons without hearing were located, she and a priest brought the church, its liturgies and ministries to them. Years later she and the priest even founded a center, or "home," for them.

Now, after 30 years of ministering to those who are deaf or disabled, "Sister Connie" has been honored by the South Broward chapter of the American Business Woman's Association with their Spirit of Excellence Award. It was presented to her and a colleague and 10 other women last month during a banquet at the Broward Airport Hilton Hotel.

As a Sister of St. Joseph in 1972, Sister Brannan was teaching first grade at Holy Rosary Parish in Perrine when Father James Vitucci (now deceased), a priest in the parish, was appointed to head the archdiocesan ministry to the deaf.

He asked the sisters to help him, but only Sister Brannan stayed with it. The ministry to the deaf, up until then, had been minimal, a Mass once a month.

"We realized it wasn't something he would do just once a month," she said. "So I asked my order about going back to school for it."

She went to Gallaudet University in Washington, D.C., to study deaf culture and sign language, earning master's degrees in deaf education and learning disabilities.

Father Vitucci and Sister Brannan drove from parish to parish providing interpreted (sign language) Masses, religious education and pastoral care in people's homes.

For the first time, the ministry was based on an expansive vision of reaching out to this group of Catholics who had been "invisible" to the rest of the church.

"I went to all the parishes and talked to the priests to see if there was a need and got names and addresses to let them know there would be Masses and services for them. And that's the way we got started," she recalled.

"Father Jim," as he was known, would teach the adults and she would teach the kids.

"At that time many of the adults didn't know sign language. So he would teach them to sign and sometimes religion, and I would teach the kids religion," she said.

The ministry progressed that way for several years. Then came a major breakthrough. Joseph J. Schott Jr., a successful business entrepreneur, was attending Mass at St. Mary Magdalen Church, Miami Beach, where the pastor, Msgr. Lawrence Conway, offered signed Masses monthly. Father Vitucci served as interpreter.

When Schott asked Father Vitucci where he normally ministered to deaf persons, the priest replied jokingly, "In my car."

"We used the trunk for our classroom supplies and books and were like pilgrims in covered wagons," Sister Brannan said.

Schott asked if they would like to have a school for the deaf. "Jim said, Who wouldn't!'" she recalled.

In 1986, a church and hall for classes was built in what is now Cooper City, just off Flamingo Road between Sheridan and Stirling streets. It was the beginning of the Schott Center, where Father Vitucci and Sister Brannan provided classes and services for persons who are deaf or handicapped, whether Catholic or not, that continue to this day. They also offer classes at St. John Vianney Seminary in southwest Miami.

Father Vitucci once said, "We have never striven to serve only Catholics. They are all God's people, the work of God's hands, regardless of their faith."

He died last January, but Sister Brannan and others carry on the legacy they both developed for almost 30 years.

Dominican Sister Margaret Johnson is now executive director of the Schott Center, which includes two residential facilities: a state-of-the-art home for developmentally disabled women and a six-apartment complex for persons who are deaf or disabled.

The co-founder of the Schott Center has cut back on her duties, but is still an active presence there. If she's not visible right away in some function, someone usually still asks, "Where's Sister Connie?"

Not to worry. She's still there, giving her love and devotion. With Sister Brannan, there are no barriers.
  

I wanted to be one of them
Nun to the deaf sought religious life early on.

by Robert O'Steen
COOPER CITY

Sister Connie Brannan's religious vocation seemed destined from the beginning.

"I was 6 years old. I wanted to be one of them, but I didn't know how I was going to get into that thing.' I told my momma I wanted to be a nun, but how did I get into that outfit?"

"I didn't think they had legs, I thought they only had shoes that moved," she said with a familiar twinkle in her eye.

What attracted her, she recalled, was their great relationship with God and the Blessed Mother.

"No matter what they were doing there was a great drive toward unity and purpose in everything they did. There was togetherness like a family relationship."

Through the years, her vocation as a Sister of St. Joseph has called her to many places and ministries, from teaching in Catholic schools to providing a roving ministry to the deaf and disabled for the past 30 years.

What has this traveling nun, now 76, learned about the deaf?

"Once they get to know and trust you, you have a friend for the rest of your life," she said. "They would like to be treated like everyone else."

Sister Brannan said the deaf are normal people, but have barriers to employment because they don't communicate like the hearing majority. One program that will assist the deaf when they center a hospital is the Welcome to my World program. It teaches hospital personnel how to communicate with the hearing impaired, or palsied or blind people.

One incident that touched her was when a little boy asked, "'Am I going to be deaf when I get big?' He thought he might grow out of it," Sister Brannan said.

She looked at a picture on the wall of a deaf man playing dominoes with two deaf children.

"The deaf children related to this man because he is deaf too," Sister Brannan said. "The kids don't always realize adults can be deaf."

from The Florida Catholic Newspaper, 11/28/02

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