about something significant in their lives?
They write – and the words come.
On the twenty-seventh of February at 11:15 am, Father
William Mehrkens died. He was surrounded by those who loved him – and they read
and sang together. The last song was Let
Justice Roll Like a River. Then someone whispered to him in Ojibwa:
Giga-waabamin Miinawaa Bizaan igo gaye giin
(I shall see you again.
Peace be with you too).
Our years of living on the East coast were tumultuous and an
education for the two of us growing up on the prairie. The March on Washington.
Wandering the streets with others in shock and disbelief when JFK was
assassinated. Sitting on the Jersey side of Manhattan the night the power grid
failed and seeing the darkened city. Tap water that would make Flint’s water
seem like a clear mountain-stream.
Now it was time to find a safe place to raise a family – a
peaceful place. When a job opened up in the North Woods, we did not hesitate.
Here we could begin a new life.
Leaving behind New Jersey’s heat of 105 degrees, we set off across
country. Less than an hour after arriving at our destination, a fierce wind
blew through, wrapping a canoe or two around trees and toppling other trees
across town. If we had been looking for a sign, this was it. There was to be no
peaceful life for us! But we were tired after the long drive and not looking
for signs.
It was just a year after Vatican II. Father Bill Mehrkens embraced
new winds blowing through the Church – as unexpected as a wind-storm in
northern Minnesota. Within days he and my husband met. They were a matched pair
of change-agents. It was the beginning of fruitful ecumenical work together.
In these days after Father Bill’s death, we have searched
for words to describe him. After fifty years, it would seem to be an easy task.
Instead what we found were seemingly contradictory sets of words. Looking more
deeply, these “contradictions” were exactly who Bill was.
Humble, modest, and kind. A fiery and passionate social
activist. Sometimes getting into trouble for standing his ground. A long list
of accomplishments – though he would never enumerate them. At the same time, he
never stood out from the crowd. Ego? It was never a visible part of him.
Perhaps the best description of this good man was that he
lived the Gospel. He did not just talk the Gospel. Feed the hungry – he did so.
Take in the homeless – he did so and was threated with jail time if he did not
stop. Once he gave his coat away to someone needy – as well as the coat of a
fellow priest. He sought out injustice. Then acted to rectify what he saw.
A healing person, he was sent to Red Lake Reservation after
an earlier priest committed horrendous acts of destruction in the Indian burial
ground. There in his early 80’s, he again brought about change – and learned
Ojibwa. While I could not master passable Spanish at half his age.
Asking ourselves what Bill would have to say to us about his
passing from this life, I think he would say: live the Gospel in whatever way you are called. And don’t spend your
tears on me, but on the world that needs you.
I am sure Father Bill did not spend much time thinking about
the legacy of his life. He simply did what he felt called to do.
He was a blessed and ordinary-extraordinary man. And his
presence blessed the lives of so many of us.
