Published: Saturday, Feb. 07, 2009 / Updated: Saturday, Feb. 07, 2009 01:09 AM

Money problems force N.Y. convent to close after helping generations overcome life's obstacles

NEW YORK -- Ringed by massive red brick walls, the Convent of Mercy rose during the Civil War. Two decades later, the Brooklyn Bridge opened. And more than four decades passed before the Empire State Building appeared on the Manhattan skyline seen from the windows of the Brooklyn convent.

Since 1862, the fortress-like complex has sheltered, educated and nurtured people in need, from Irish orphans to developmentally disabled adults and poor Hispanic children.

But suddenly, some months ago, the convent's elderly residents faced shattering news: They learned they'd be forced to leave the "mother house" of the Sisters of Mercy in Brooklyn, a Roman Catholic order whose aim is "to help people to overcome the obstacles that keep them from living full and dignified lives," according to their mission statement.

The reason for the convent closure in mid-February: money. Engineers said it would cost more than $20 million to fix structural and safety problems discovered in the building in the Fort Greene neighborhood.

Preservationists fear that the property -- a collection of buildings that covers almost a city block -- could be targeted by developers and demolished, like other religious institutions across the country that have vanished for lack of money or members.

Convent transcends walls

To many, the convent transcends its walls.

"It represents the spirit of wanting to do things for the right reason," 91-year-old Sister Olivia Clifford said. "I can look at a person -- a poor person, or even a very rich person who needs help, and say, 'I'm doing this because Jesus lives in him as well as he lives in me.' And, therefore, you reach out to that person and do good."

In the spacious chapel, sunlight streams through German-made stained-glass windows -- one of them a gift from former orphans.

"This chapel means more to me than any spot on Earth, and I cannot bear the thought of losing it," said Sister Camille D'Arienzo, 76, a past president of the Brooklyn Sisters of Mercy who worked from convent offices, while living elsewhere. D'Arienzo would once have been called the mother superior, cloaked in a long black-and-white habit. These days, she wears civilian clothing, sometimes with elegant earrings.

The 29 nuns who lived at the convent recently were all moving to Catholic-run homes in the New York area.

"Sept. 28 -- I'll never forget it," said Clifford. "That's the day they broke the news to us that the house was slipping."

Countered 89-year-old Sister Margaret Clacherty, a Scottish-born retired teacher, "But the building seems to be in such good shape!"

"Yeah, but if you're sliding off your foundation ...!" shot back Clifford, who had lived in a tough neighborhood in her native Brooklyn, where she opened a residence for disabled youths.

The sisters' work -- which includes caring for abandoned children, teaching school, visiting prisoners and performing social and religious services -- will continue from the community's other locations. But the sisters will be gone from the shining convent corridors that were filled with the voices of orphans through the 1970s.

On a frigid winter day recently, the halls were silent.

From the far end of the convent's rose garden, 5-year-old Jeremy Aparicio pointed, explaining, "That's the mother house, where we do music."

The convent's auditorium was a special place where he performed as part of an after-school center for working parents who can't pay for babysitting. It's housed in a new two-story building at the edge of the garden.

The center's founder, Irish-born Sister Kathleen Quinn, said she was assured that it wouldn't be part of "any kind of deal" involving the convent.

Nearby is another small building where four developmentally disabled adults live while working in the city -- part of the Mercy Home agency that operates a dozen such group houses. These residents are expected to stay.

Complex's fate undecided

A decision on the future of the complex has yet to be made by leaders of the order's Mid-Atlantic Community, in Merion, Pa., who oversee 1,100 sisters in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Virginia, Massachusetts and New York.