Family of Mary: the story of Iveta, from a forced vocation to the true self

ludovica eugenio 19/04/2024, 16:10

Iveta Korčáková (now Iveta Hudaková, after her marriage) was only twelve years old when, in 1992, she was first "noticed" by the two founders of the Family of Mary (a community now under Vatican supervision, as detailed in our investigation), Gebhard "Paul" Sigl (currently under ecclesiastical investigation) and Monsignor Pavol Hnilica, a Slovak bishop ordained in secret under communism, a highly controversial figure. This story takes place in northeastern Slovakia, in Iveta's homevillage of Litmanová: it's the story of a forced vocation.

Iveta is not an ordinary child: since 1990, she claims that the Virgin Mary has been appearing to her (and not only to her but also to a peer, her friend) on the mountain, Hora Zvir. This continues for five years and then stops; in the meantime, the place becomes a pilgrimage site (an open shrine was built there in 2008, declared a place of Greek-Catholic Marian pilgrimage of the Archeparchy of Prešov under the patronage of their archbishop Ján Babjak, the then head of the Slovak Greek-Catholic Church) and Iveta's life is turned upside down and was subjected to unprecedented pressure from her family, the village, and the Church. Her story is recounted in a 2008 documentary, "Ivetka a Hora" (Ivetka and the mountain) by Czech director Vít Janeček, which revisits that event, highlighting how Iveta eventually comes to the attention of the founders of the Family of Mary, who urge her to join the community. This community, let's recall, originated in Slovakia, officially recognized at the diocesan level in 1992 by Bishop Eduard Kojnok of Rožňava.

For Sigl and Hnilica, having a visionary among their members would have been advantageous as they launched the "new" community, emerging from the dissolution of the Work of the Holy Spirit (a community founded and led by Austrian Father Joseph Seidnitzer, who was convicted multiple times for pedophilia and was a mentor to Father Sigl) in 1990, as well as from Monsignor Hnilica's Pro Deo et Fratribus, founded in 1968 to channel funds to Catholics in communist Eastern Europe, needing a new mission after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Sigl and Hnilica, particularly devoted to Our Lady of Fatima, were so keen on having a visionary in the community that, around the same time, during the temporary decline of Medjugorje due to the war in the former Yugoslavia, they also brought in Theresa Lopez, a North American pseudo-visionary whose visions were later deemed non-supernatural, in order to create an alternative to the Bosnian site. For Sigl, having Iveta, the visionary of Litmanová, whose fame in Slovakia was growing, in the community would have meant a lot, at least in terms of spiritual credibility, public attention, and (self)approval.

But let's return to Iveta. Aside from her previous mystical experiences (which were accepted by Slovak Greek-Catholic Church and currently awaiting official pronouncement from Rome), her story is that of a minor whose self-determination is violated. Despite having no inclination towards religious life at 15, she is forcefully persuaded to join the community at Stara Halic, the novitiate headquarters of the Family of Mary. Father Gebhard "Paul" Sigl pressures her, dismissing her doubts as demonic temptations, leveraging the "privilege" she has been bestowed with, and instilling guilt in her until he succeeds in convincing her.

On the one hand, it will be a story of unhappiness and despair leading to a suicide attempt, of isolation and neglect endured, and a story of manipulation, dependency, infantilisation, exploitation, control and emotional manipulation. On the other hand, it is also a story of an inner journey in which hope finally emerges from the darkest abyss of despair, a story of a young adult navigating through the adolescent struggle to autonomy and individuation where any of these was ruthlessly suppressed and denied, and a story of faith that endures the challenges than giving in to fatalism.

A story that lasted a daunting nine years, during which Iveta, however, managed to keep alive the flame of her true self and find the strength to break away. Iveta, who now resides in the United Kingdom, recounts it firsthand in an upcoming book, of which she has kindly allowed us to preview the chapter detailing those years.

A voice "out there", a voice "in here"

“Discovering vocation does not mean scrambling towards some prize just beyond my reach but accepting the treasure of true self I already possess. Vocation does not come from a voice out there calling me to be something I am not. It comes from a voice in here calling me to be the person I was born to be, to fulfill the original selfhood given me at birth by God”. (Thomas Merton)

It all started unnoticed, when a group of students together with their German teacher Gebhard stopped at our house just to say hello. I was struck by their enthusiasm and piety, which was not often seen among young people when it came to religion. I was not even twelve at the time. They had started to make pilgrimages to the hill where I used to receive apparitions from Virgin Mary since I was eleven. Occasionally we exchanged a few words or an affable glance. In the same period, I got acquainted with Bishop Hnilica, who treated me kindly from the first moment we met. He invited me to do a spiritual retreat with a community under his pastoral care. I didn’t have the faintest idea, back then, of the controversies associated with this community. I first read about it not long ago and I have come to know that the founder of the community, Fr Joseph, was accused of serious paedophiliac tendencies. Apparently, he inclined to spiritual grandiosity and claimed to have all sorts of mystical charismas and exceptional gifts which attracted youth to him. But because of his contentious past, Fr Joseph had to eventually give up the spiritual leadership of this community. His successor, Gebhard, was an extraordinarily gifted member in the same community. Yet, back then, thirty-three years ago, all what I saw was a lovely group of zealous young people. What I remember from this retreat is the smiling faces of happy-looking students who were already captivated by this lively group.

During this retreat, Gebhard asked me if I already had any plans for a summer holiday and in case I didn’t, he was happy to take me to Rome. I was surprised and excited at the same time, and it never occurred to me to speculate what could be behind it. So, myself, my cousin and two other girls spent about a week in Rome in a beautiful villa that belonged to the community mentioned above. At the end of the week, Bishop Hnilica asked me, if I would like to go to Russia with him. It was an irresistible offer. I had never travelled anywhere before, so I was incredibly curious and captivated by the unknown. My cousin returned home with the girls, and I went ahead with the travel. We were also accompanied by five candidates for priesthood: Gebhard, Luciano, Johannes, Aleandro, and Rolf. We passed from Moscow to the Urals. Since I did not speak any foreign language, I spent most of my time with Bishop Hnilica. We visited mission stations, mental institutions and orphanages. This trip made a great impression on me.

In the following years I was always invited to join the summer retreats with the community. I also had the opportunity to attend Gebhart’s (Fr Paul by now) First Mass after his ordination to priesthood. After the last apparition of Virgin Mary, Fr Paul asked me to come to Rome. This time, together with a few Slovakian girls interested in joining the community.

Manipulated and under pressure

I had noticed that Fr Paul was held in high regard by his followers. They admired him and looked at him with devotion. During my stay in Rome, he invited me for a chat in which he told me about his firm conviction that I had a vocation to join his community. I had never thought about it before, nor did I feel drawn towards it that way. One girl, who had already decided to enter the community, translated our conversation as I was not able to speak any foreign language yet. I firmly explained to him (well, I tried) that I did not feel called to this life and that I had no desire for it either. He wasn’t prepared to listen. After all, I was only sixteen and I didn't understand why it would be so urgent to decide on something enormously important under such pressure. I was still a minor just after the second year of medical school, and he was a forty-six-year-old man academically well developed and artistically incredibly talented. The level of life experience between us was incomparable, as was the influence he could have had in the position of an admired leader. Fr Paul dismissed my doubts and insecurities in a way that could not be challenged. He described my objections as temptations and the voice of the devil. I knew exactly that what was happening was not right. I felt it in my body, in my soul, that it was not my decision, and that it was not about me at all. He told me that if the Virgin Mary had not wanted this sacrifice from me (meaning immediate entry into his community), she would have appeared to any donkey! Frankly, after all this, I felt like a donkey even though I made the sacrifice. And the only thing that remained from this bewildering experience was, the thought that I still remember exactly: "My God, how am I going to get out of this."

On reflection, I can now see that it was an especially vulnerable time for me to assert myself any more than I tried. The Apparitions had stopped. I saw the Virgin Mary for the last time and that had a significant impact on me. I should say that, personally, I was going through a challenging time of transition after having had apparitions for about five years. I suddenly found myself in a very lonely place. I wanted to get as far away as possible from the hill which evoked in me the most painful feelings I ever had. I felt abandoned and lost. And at that time, anyhow, I did not know how important it would have been to admit these feelings and really get in touch with what was happening inside me. There was no one to help me to process this pain with compassion and understanding. Retrospectively it seems self-evident that it was the least suitable time for any fundamental changes or making any serious decisions. And definitely it was the most vulnerable moment for me to be manipulated. I found myself under the influence of a person who himself suffered from excessive self-belief. My own struggles with uncertainty were too fragile to stand the absolute certainty of his convictions.

My novitiate year fully resembled my entry to the community. I most resolutely tried to explain that I didn't belong there, and by occasionally breaking the rules, I believed that I would get them to kick me out themselves. After a year of wasted effort, I finally gathered enough courage to leave the community. I came home with the intention of not returning. However, in the typical rural mentality of the small village that I come from and in their simple faith, leaving religious vocation can only be perceived as a fall from grace and a great failure hence shame on the individual and the family.

The darkest night

Scared of humiliation, my mom insisted that I should go back to the community. That was the beginning of the truly dark night for me. I could see nothing but darkness. And therefore, it seemed absurd to go back and pretend I was alive. I had completely and utterly lost my sense of self as well as a connection to my external roles - being a good daughter, a normal youngster, a trustworthy visionary, an honourable lay novice, a decent person - all fell away. In the midst of all these there was one thing I knew with an unshakable certainty that God truly understands my dreadful inner nakedness. And so, however ridiculous it might sound now, I had reached the rock bottom of helplessness that night and I tried to end my life. Luckily for me, my mom burst into the bathroom in time... And I will never forget how we both wailed on the cold bathroom floor. Neither of us had words for the pain we both felt.

Yet I must admit that the suicide attempt was the last thing I would have imagined I was ever capable of. Especially in the religious background it would be regarded as sinful and morally contemptable. I am sure, as a child, I had already picked up such sensitivities from the adults. So, I was absolutely convinced that it would never happen to me. Still, I didn’t know how little I understood and really grasped the depth and force of life. Hardly anyone deliberately sets out on that road. Therefore, what you see on the surface is rarely what happens underneath. Many of us have been brought up in the habit of basing our judgements merely on first impressions. But what we happen to see is mostly the outside – just a cover for what is hidden below. For me, the greatest pain was the violation of my soul – being forced against my will, not being heard and the spiritual authority being used to trample down on me. It was like I couldn’t see any other exit from this unbearable situation.

Despite all this, I had to return to my novitiate because my mum couldn’t really fathom the prospect of facing the shame of leaving the religious congregation. Fear of shame had the last word, and I went lifeless and worn-out as a wreck. I understood that I had no choice, I had to adapt if I wanted to survive. Throughout my stay there, I often wished I could forever silence my inner voice. How much easier would my life have been then? And yet despite my goodwill and the community’s attempt to straighten me into a better person as they saw it, the real me inside couldn’t be silenced.

Fear-based thoughts

I knew I had to pass this period of my journey regardless of the cost. Forty women living together as a community was demanding yet pleasant at times. There was everything to find from true affection to jealousy, from gossip to eager effort for holiness. I experienced in the novitiate house genuine friendships as well as terrible loneliness. I was fond of Madre Agnes. I recall her as a great teacher, with natural authority and dry humour. She was different to Fr Paul: more to the point and far more down to earth. Her lectures on excerpts from the Bible were enriched by her own personality. On the contrary, the approach of Fr Paul struck me as purposefully sentimental and grossly simplistic. I had the feeling that he had no place left for doubts or the complexity of life. His spirituality, however picturesque and polished at first impression, was rooted in fear-based thoughts. He appeared to have an idealistic black-and-white understanding of the world which made him feel very empowered.

I spent four years in the novitiate (a year longer than others), and I did not want to move on to the next stage and receive the religious habit. Although it was a lay community and I was not officially bound by vows, my feeling towards my vocation had not changed a bit. Fr Paul suggested that if I took the so-called step into the darkness, if I expressed my blind trust in God, He will now for sure reward me with the certainty of a calling. Anyhow, in my life as a sister nothing had changed much: no enlightenment regarding my vocation came. On top of that, I was not given any responsibility, nor was I allowed to study. The punishment for my continued insecurity was absolute dependence on the community resources. Fr Paul called it the simple path - it seemed like I was supposed to try to get closer to the greatness which Fr Paul imagined for me. However, I honestly did not know who I really was because I constantly tried to be the person which everyone around me would expect me to be. I was only twenty and it seemed like growth from a developmental perspective had stunted in me. For example, building up a healthy level of self-confidence would normally be considered as an incredibly important step at this age. I felt like being completely useless for the aspirations of the community and was tolerated only because of my visionary status. It is not a place where anyone would ever want to end up. So of course I began to rebel the way I could. When the other sisters were allowed to read only the selected books of saints and listen to the lectures of Fr Paul, I began to discover the world of philosophy and psychology. As I mentioned, I was tolerated way more than others. For example, I ran in the afternoon every day, I wore sneakers and my own jacket, I kept a few close friendships outside the community etc. I wanted to be different as I really did not feel I belonged there. On one occasion Fr Paul consoled me that despite my disappointment at not having any responsibility and not having his permission to study, my task is more than great. In his opinion I was supposed to carry the responsibility for whole of Slovakia. But what was that meant to make me feel if I was not allowed to carry the responsibility for my own life? After all these long years, I was not able to experience any spiritual connection with Fr. Paul despite of significant efforts from his side.

Unreserved obedience

His guidance demanded unreserved obedience, so that we would supposedly be saved from errors. But how else, if not through mistakes, would we truly learn? He claimed to have the light for us, but I felt his light as an unscrupulous intruder not as a sign of God’s love to me. His spiritual methods of control and manipulation were very subtle and insidious. We were gradually stripped of our autonomy without it ever being registered in our conscious mind. Nonetheless, I believe that he did not mean to abuse or damage anyone and that he had indeed good intentions. He seemed to have surrounded himself with people who submitted themselves without questions to his spiritual enlightenment. Anyway, we are all capable of self-denial and spiritual pettiness but what emerges here is thirty years long impact on hundreds of young people. Leadership of this kind forms deeply insecure and dependent personalities who abandon their individuality for the sake of certainty from an external source. And they most likely find neither of those values - profound certainty or authentic selfhood.

My increasing dependency on community finances worried me, I complained to my mom that I was not being supported to grow in my independence at all, and that it saddened me deeply. All the other sisters who started the novitiate with me had already been to university. Finally, my mom decided to request Fr Paul, whom she considered an angel, to let me at least finish my high school studies so that I would not be embarrassed of not having any education. She was firmly convinced that he would succumb to a worried mother's pleas. But instead of offering her some kind of explanation, he irritatingly retorted “only through my corpse”. It was the first time that my mom became aware of my reality. She finally agreed that I could return home.

"You are a Slovak nothing"

When I finally left, Fr Paul’s parting words were: "You are a Slovak nothing and that's how it will remain. I'm sure you'll be begging for money soon, because you can't support yourself in the real world and you won’t achieve anything in your life anyway." I was terribly scared already, I only had primary school and I was a twenty-five-year-old woman without a certificate, without a past, without a paper speaking in my favour and without any prospectus for the future. Yes, he expressed it correctly, I had every reason to feel like “nothing”, but no one who has not gone through such hardships will understand what freedom this "nothing" meant to me! Indeed, it was almost unbelievable that, both at the beginning and at the end of our relationship, he hit the most vulnerable place in me. However, I later realised that it was only a projection of how he felt in himself. You are hit by his darker side if you did not conform to "his only right path, his light".

Often, when I recall my community experience, a line from the movie The Shawshank Redemption comes to mind: "First you hate those walls, then you get used to them, and finally you're addicted to them". That was my journey and therefore also a part of me. But I could not easily come to terms with my turbulent path. I rationalised my pain and did not want to come in touch with it anymore. I was ashamed to feel like a victim, I suppressed my anger and rage as long as I could. And you might perhaps wonder what is left in me from these experiences? I still carry a deep-rooted fear of groups and communities of any kind. I feel overwhelmed at times by real commitment. I get irritated if I meet someone who is absolutely sure of their truth and does not allow any space for questions or ambiguity. I learned not to trust people who have the answer for everything and are quick to advise without asking. Indeed, each of us has a story that often leads us to the dark corners of our inner world, where we would rather not go at all. But thanks to those dark corners we can recognise that our vocation is the constant longing of our soul to find the very place in our present life in which we might be capable of the greatest love.

Iveta Korčáková Hudakova

* Photo courtesy of Iveta Korčáková Hudakova