Father Frederic Baraga answered the call to adventure—and changed and saved countless lives.
It was January 1853. Benjamin Armstrong, an Alabama-born frontiersman, was traveling nearly 100 miles from La Pointe, Wis., to Ontonagon—a Michigan village located on Lake Superior’s south shore.
Halfway through his journey, Armstrong met Father Frederic Baraga—a Slovenian-born Catholic missionary—who was in trouble. His snowshoes had “given out and it would have been impossible for him to have proceeded far without them on account of the deep snow,” Armstrong wrote when recalling the encounter. He had learned Father Baraga was en route to Fond du Lac, Wis., making a 250-mile journey because he heard of “the great suffering there and that one family in particular, a widow and her children,” who were all sick. The priest, leaving in the dead of winter and without hesitation, packed medicine to aid them.
This was not uncommon in Father Baraga’s life. The snowshoe priest, as he was affectionately called, once walked nearly 60 miles through uninhabited wilderness, from L’Anse to Copper Harbor, Mich., to baptize a dying Native American child. In a reflection, he humbly stated he was acting like any other missionary, who “would be willing to travel, not only fifty-seven miles, but also 570, solely to procure eternal happiness through Holy Baptism for one single immortal, infinitely precious soul.”
Born on June 29, 1797, Baraga grew up in a period of “political upheavals” in Eastern Europe caused by the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars. He was orphaned at 14 years old, moving in with his uncle and then a professor of Church history and canon law. The young man studied law at the University of Vienna, but then entered seminary in 1821, and was ordained two years later. By late 1830, after hearing about a need for priests in the Diocese of Cincinnati, Father Baraga asked for—and then received—permission to become a missionary. He left Europe on Oct. 18, 1830, arriving in New York City on New Year’s Eve.
For nearly 40 years, Father Baraga ministered to Native American tribes, particularly the Ojibwe and Chippewas, and European immigrants across thousands of square miles in the Great Lakes region. Throughout his life, he not only built missions, trying to evangelize the natives, but also educate them—in their own languages. According to The Diary of Bishop Frederic Baraga: First Bishop of Marquette, Michigan, the missionary priest compiled many Native American books; so much so that “Ottawa and Chippewa Indians of Michigan have a preserved, written language” as a “direct result of Baraga’s prayerbooks, Grammar, and Dictionary.” Indeed, the Ojibwe Dictionary is “considered the largest Ojibwe Dictionary to date,” as noted by Father Baraga and the Ojibwe Natives site.
A gifted linguist, mastering German, French, English, Latin, and Hebrew, Father Baraga often celebrated the Catholic Mass in native languages. He held a deep affinity for his flock, who were under constant harassment from the U.S. government to relocate to Oklahoma after the Indian Removal Act’s (1830) passage. To curtail this, Father Baraga purchased lands so the tribe would “have no threat of removal” and when “the land was secure,” he would “deed the land over to the chief of the tribe,” according to Father Baraga and the Ojibwe Natives site.
People, like German cartographer, Johann G. Kohl described him as “made of iron,” for, “Nothing holds him back and he lives even in places where an Indian would die of starvation.” Kohl also went on to say:
“There was hardly a locality of the lake which is not connected with the history of his life, either because he built a chapel there, or wrote a pious book, or founded an Indian parish, or else underwent danger and adventures there, in which he felt that Heaven was protecting him.”
For his tireless efforts to the native tribes and mining communities, Father Baraga was appointed the first bishop of Marquette in 1853. Under his auspices, the Catholic Church in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan grew from six to 32 churches, while the Catholic population amounted to nearly 20,000.
His life was devoted to God’s people and prayer—often risking his life doing so. In one instance, while crossing a frozen lake on a mission trip, the ice cracked. Father Baraga and his native companion drifted toward certain death; yet the priest remained steadfast, believing they “would escape all right and that they must trust in God, their loving Father and Protector,” all the while singing Chipewa hymns, according to a footnote in his diary.
When Father Baraga finally passed away on Jan. 19, 1868, more than 3,000 people braved the blizzard conditions to attend his funeral Mass at St. Peter Cathedral in Marquette.
Today, the Slovenian priest—who journeyed from Eastern Europe, across the Atlantic Ocean, and throughout northern America—is on the path to canonization in the Catholic Church. His influence in the region still echoes, not only through the Bishop Frederic Baraga Association, but in physical landmarks like the Bishop Baraga Shrine. Built in the 1960s, the shrine’s centerpiece is a large copper statue of his likeness overlooking Keweenaw Bay on Lake Superior, where he ministered to countless souls.
Father Baraga’s life is reminiscent of the same call his spiritual father Abraham heard from God thousands of years before his own: to go to unknown lands and work with His will. This is an intimidating challenge—yet imagine the lives, particularly the natives’, if the Slovenian priest had refused the adventure or failed to persevere through trials. Not only would they not have had an ally protecting their freedom, but the sick and suffering, like the family he aided in 1853, may have not survived.
This charitable heart spurred him on; and his story should encourage all of us that no matter where God is calling you—either to help weary souls hundreds of miles away or a mile down the road—to tenaciously lift up those who desperately need tender mercy and hope. Our joyous “yes” to that adventure, large or small, will echo through the ages.
