The Bishop in Blue Jeans

By Fr. Ron MacDonnell, S.F.M.
January 1999

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Bishop George and Fr. Ron MacDonnell comparing musical tastes. Itacoatiara, Brazil (1991).

The afternoon bus ride through the Amazon jungle was fantastic. Towering trees, many hues of green; a heavy blanket of humidity; and the occasional burst of rain. It was October, 1986. I had just arrived in Brazil at three o’clock that morning and Sr. Frances Baker of the Sisters of St. Joseph met me at the airport in Manaus.

The five-hour bus trip from the airport came to an end in the main square of the city of Itacoatiara. As we climbed down from the bus I saw a man in blue jeans hurrying towards us. He approached me, a big grin on his face, extended his hand and said, “Ron, welcome to Brazil!”

The man was Bishop George Marskell and I was struck by the fact that he was wearing blue jeans. Anthropologists say that clothes are indeed a language; we communicate things about ourselves by what we wear. Blue jeans certainly conjure up many images. The first is of the working person: jeans were invented for rough and tumble work. Another image is of youth: many youth the world over have adopted blue jeans as a type of international youth badge.

Blue jeans are adaptable to many situations as well. In fact, I was to learn that in Brazil, blue jeans (clean and well-pressed ones, of course) are considered fairly formal wear: many people wear them to church. Finally, blue jeans can be casual: they are clothes for knocking about, for just hanging out and relaxing.

That day back in 1986, the ‘bishop in blue jeans’ welcomed me into his house, which I was to share with him over those first few months of my new life in the Amazon. We sat and chatted at the kitchen table, Bishop George, Sr. frances, and Fr. Dionisio, a Brazilian priest working in the prelacy. “We’re glad to have you here,” they told me. “We’ve got lots of work for your to do!” When Bishop George saw my serious face, he flashed his grin again, as if to say, “But don’t worry; not just now!”

As I got to know Bishop George over the next few months, I came to realize that his blue jeans, which he often wore, typified his personality. George was a hard worker, always on the go, holding meetings and giving courses, celebrating Mass and visiting the sick; he hardly seemed to have time for himself. He supported workers, the poor, and the oppressed. He prided himself on being the son of a Hamilton steelworker and a domestic. In his pastoral orientations, he often spoke of the right for unions to organize and for the worker to have a just wage.

Bishop George was young in spirit. He liked to joke with people and always seemed upbeat. He gave plenty of attention to the prelacy’s Youth Pastoral Commission and to supporting children’s catechetical programs. And he was casual. “I wish the new priests would stop calling me Bishop George and just call me George,” he once commented to me in an exasperated tone. Then he flashed his famous smile. “Okay, George,” I replied, grinning back. “No problem!” It felt great to have a new friend. He certainly didn’t fit my idea of what a bishop ‘should’ be like.

I ended up working in the prelacy for six years, downriver in Urucara. It was the parish farthest away from Itacoatiara, and I liked to joke with George that he sent me as far away as possible because he didn’t appreciate the rock music I listened to when I stayed with him those first few months.

After those years of parish work I returned to Canada to do studies in linguistics in preparation for work among Indigenous people. In December 1997 I received the sad news that George had pancreatic cancer and was to undergo surgery in Toronto. I went to visit him in March while he was recuperating at our central house in Scarborough, and I was shocked at the amount of weight he had lost. “The doctors say that I have only six months to live,” he told me. “I want to go back to Brazil. I want to celebrate Easter Mass with our people. Would you come along with me?”

The return journey for George was one of suffering, of weakness and pain, of being vulnerable and fragile, of giving up independence and facing death. As well, it was a journey of graced moments: intense prayer, new insights, George’s sense of humour, feeling the love of the people for their pastor, and acceptance of God’s will.

We eventually returned to his house in Itacoatiara, the place where he had welcomed me 12 years before. Those of us who accompanied George in his last months of life (Sr. Teresinha Vieira, Scarboro missionary Fr. Doug MacKinnon, lay missionary Sylvia Ribeiro) stood powerless at the foot of his bed. We could only be present. George gave his spirit back to God early in the morning of July 2.

Death brings sadness and tears but it also brings a quietness, a peace, a sort of timeless perspective of what that person has lived. The brazilians have a beautiful custom of celebrating a Seventh Day Mass one week after the person has passed away., We had a Mass for George on July 8 in the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Rosary in Itacoatiara. The people organized an entrance procession with symbols representing George’s life: his bible, his rosary beads, his glasses, a small wood carving of a boat, a pair of his shoes, his bishop’s staff, one of his shirts, and a pair of his old blue jeans—old, worn-out blued jeans, faded and frayed in parts; he must have worn them lots. The people carrying the symbols held them high for all to see until the entrance song was finished.

Looking at those symbols made me all choked up at first as I remembered my friend. But then I felt a wave of peace flow over me. Those symbols represented what George had lived: he was a man of prayer; a man who worked serving people by travelling by boat to far-flung communities; a man who exercised authority in our Church but one who did so humbly; a man whose spirit was young; a man of good cheer and of good news, one who walked closely with the people... a bishop in blue jeans.

During the Mass my sadness was transformed to joy. George’s spirit was alive! He lives! His example has given me courage to imitate the values which he so ardently lived. The experience of knowing George and walking with him has deepened my faith in the Resurrection and has drawn me closer to Jesus to build a world of justice and love, with a preferential option for the poor. Wearing blue jeans has taken on added symbolic significance for me, and conjured up one more image... that of a worker for the Reign of God.

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