Bon dia Señor Mario! The joy in the child's voice sails across the cement pavement and kisses the cheek of a white wispy haired man caught midway into adjusting his glasses. Turning slowly to face his small friend, the man displays a giant grin of affection, honored to have received such a fine gift. Bon dia, Bon dia he laughs, waving his wrinkled arm in a grateful salute. The child scampers off and Marion Way does what he has always done for the past forty nine years- he gets to work.
Standing a mere 5'7" with a thin frame and a slight hunch, Marion Way does not strike you as the type of person who was once a political prisoner of the Portuguese provincial government of Angola. During the Angolan war of liberation in 1961, Marion- then a freshly minted missionary- found himself incarcerated for a brief time as the Portuguese cracked down on the American missionaries who were thought to be sympathizers of the rebel insurgency. Eventually freed from captivity, Marion and his wife were given the option of either setting up shop in Japan or Brazil. Not wanting his Portuguese to go to waste (and admittedly dreading having to learn Japanese), Marion and Anita landed in Brazil in 1962 and buried their hearts and lives deep into the side of the oldest hillside slum in Rio de Janeiro.
If you ever visit the slum where Marion has spent the better part of his life, you'll find an assortment of cement and brick structures stacked high on top of each other like a high stakes game of Jenga. This is Providence Hill and until just a few years ago the drug lords and their cronies made it a dangerous place for unwelcome outsiders to visit. The slum sits on prime real estate just a brisk walk from Rio's modern downtown and next door to the bustling dockyards that feed South America's largest country. It is here that a man by the name of Dr. Clarence Tucker founded the Insituto Central do Povo (ICP) in 1906 as part of the Methodist church's first foray into area. Originally a place for illiterate dock workers to come and gain an education, the Institute grew over 100 years to be an integral part of the slum's existence and social identity. Perhaps no person has contributed more to that transformation than Marion.
Marion trudges through the front door of ICP's main building, a soaring stone plantation house built before the first shots were fired at Lexington and Concord, and sets up his office. Officially retired for over a decade now, Marion's work space consists of wherever he can find an open table and chair. Scuffling past workers who have known Marion for well over twenty years, he receives a monsoon of affectionate greetings and responds with his own shower of salutations. Upon finding an open table, Marion begins unpacking his black attaché and readying the tools- a notepad, cell phone, and datebook- that he will need for a couple hours of work. Then, like a chef who has gathered all of his ingredients begins to blend them together in a bowl, Marion stirs his illegible scribble into phone conversations covering everything from fundraising for ICP to a group of Americans who wish to come for a visit.
Marion trudges through the front door of ICP's main building, a soaring stone plantation house built before the first shots were fired at Lexington and Concord, and sets up his office. Officially retired for over a decade now, Marion's work space consists of wherever he can find an open table and chair. Scuffling past workers who have known Marion for well over twenty years, he receives a monsoon of affectionate greetings and responds with his own shower of salutations. Upon finding an open table, Marion begins unpacking his black attaché and readying the tools- a notepad, cell phone, and datebook- that he will need for a couple hours of work. Then, like a chef who has gathered all of his ingredients begins to blend them together in a bowl, Marion stirs his illegible scribble into phone conversations covering everything from fundraising for ICP to a group of Americans who wish to come for a visit.
When Marion offers you some of his homemade soup, you should prepare yourself for an experience. Marion's granddaughter, Julia, describes her grandfather's soup making skills as a kind of going out of business sale for the refrigerator- everything must go. Eschewing traditional soup combinations of vegetables and beef or chicken and noodles, Marion's soup recipe begins by clearing out the fridge. No ingredient is lowly enough to be ostracized from the pot and the end result is a goulash whose contents, while not understanding their final composure, conclude that in Marion's way of cooking, they are an important part of the recipe.Marion's cooking skills reveal much about his personal philosophy of ministry. Stories abound in the slum of how Señor Mario did not say "no" when someone needed to be included in his care.
A picture of Marion taken a few years ago depicts him midway into a laugh, his left arm wrapped around a young girl happily hiding behind his lanky frame. The scene reminds one of a parent taking his child to visit Santa Clause at the mall. The parent smiles to demonstrate that all is well but the child still scuttles behind the safety of her protector, hand covering her face, embracing a strange mixture of excitement and uncertainty. The young girl was a frequent visitor to the Institute's outreach programs until she had the misfortune of witnessing a horrendous crime that put her on the hit list of the drug lords who controlled the hill. The girl's mother sought the help of Marion who quickly worked out for her to go live with a friend in a different part of the city outside of the reach of those who wanted her dead.Marion's ethic of inclusion extends to animals as well. Stray dogs find their way into Marion's car and eventually into the care of families willing to watch over them. Marion has a heart for strays and this is evident by the company he keeps. One year during a Father's Day celebration, Marion pulled close a young Brazilian who had come to the Institute as an orphan and proclaimed to everyone that he had the honor of being the young man's "father." The young man was touched by Marion's words and recognized the way that his “father” had always looked out for him by sending odd jobs his way during tough times and even assisting with his schooling.
It would be an impossible task to catalog the number of strays taken in by Marion. But if this is any indication of the amount, when Marion made the steep climb up the hill seven years ago what should have been a ten minute walk half way up the hill turned into a four hour celebration as the slum's residents came out to greet their beloved Señor Mario. Drug lords, mothers, orphaned children- all of them feel comfortable approaching Marion because they know that in his presence, they are more than tolerated, they are welcomed and treated with all of the respect and courtesy one would expect for a dignitary or celebrity. When one sees Marion interact with the diversity of people whom he is honored to call a friend, the sheer genuineness of the interaction is immediately evident. This generosity displayed by Marion is not a ruse but rather a virtue cultivated over years of habit forming hospitality and seasoned with a love that most of us will never experience due to our own personal prejudices and inhibitions. Sanctification seeps out of Marion's pores and protracts an aura of saintliness like that of St. Francis of Assisi or Mother Teresa. Just like them, Marion never could find it in himself to turn anyone away and this inability to exclude has been the secret ingredient of his ministry at ICP. Call Marion what you will, but please do not call him a hero. As Sam Wells writes, "The hero's story is always about the hero. The saint is always at the periphery of a story that is really about God." Marion's gift is that he understands his humble role in directing the hungry to a God who seeks out strays be they missing sheep, coins, or sons.
There are too few saints in this world but I am convinced that Señor Mario is one of them. I received news yesterday that this Godly man is nearing the end of his life and this pains my heart more than words will allow me to say. Marion Way is a saint who, in his walk with God, learned Jesus’ divine recipe for soup and practiced it every day of his life. May we be faithful in following this recipe as Marion did.
Standing a mere 5'7" with a thin frame and a slight hunch, Marion Way does not strike you as the type of person who was once a political prisoner of the Portuguese provincial government of Angola. During the Angolan war of liberation in 1961, Marion- then a freshly minted missionary- found himself incarcerated for a brief time as the Portuguese cracked down on the American missionaries who were thought to be sympathizers of the rebel insurgency. Eventually freed from captivity, Marion and his wife were given the option of either setting up shop in Japan or Brazil. Not wanting his Portuguese to go to waste (and admittedly dreading having to learn Japanese), Marion and Anita landed in Brazil in 1962 and buried their hearts and lives deep into the side of the oldest hillside slum in Rio de Janeiro.
If you ever visit the slum where Marion has spent the better part of his life, you'll find an assortment of cement and brick structures stacked high on top of each other like a high stakes game of Jenga. This is Providence Hill and until just a few years ago the drug lords and their cronies made it a dangerous place for unwelcome outsiders to visit. The slum sits on prime real estate just a brisk walk from Rio's modern downtown and next door to the bustling dockyards that feed South America's largest country. It is here that a man by the name of Dr. Clarence Tucker founded the Insituto Central do Povo (ICP) in 1906 as part of the Methodist church's first foray into area. Originally a place for illiterate dock workers to come and gain an education, the Institute grew over 100 years to be an integral part of the slum's existence and social identity. Perhaps no person has contributed more to that transformation than Marion.
Marion trudges through the front door of ICP's main building, a soaring stone plantation house built before the first shots were fired at Lexington and Concord, and sets up his office. Officially retired for over a decade now, Marion's work space consists of wherever he can find an open table and chair. Scuffling past workers who have known Marion for well over twenty years, he receives a monsoon of affectionate greetings and responds with his own shower of salutations. Upon finding an open table, Marion begins unpacking his black attaché and readying the tools- a notepad, cell phone, and datebook- that he will need for a couple hours of work. Then, like a chef who has gathered all of his ingredients begins to blend them together in a bowl, Marion stirs his illegible scribble into phone conversations covering everything from fundraising for ICP to a group of Americans who wish to come for a visit.
Marion trudges through the front door of ICP's main building, a soaring stone plantation house built before the first shots were fired at Lexington and Concord, and sets up his office. Officially retired for over a decade now, Marion's work space consists of wherever he can find an open table and chair. Scuffling past workers who have known Marion for well over twenty years, he receives a monsoon of affectionate greetings and responds with his own shower of salutations. Upon finding an open table, Marion begins unpacking his black attaché and readying the tools- a notepad, cell phone, and datebook- that he will need for a couple hours of work. Then, like a chef who has gathered all of his ingredients begins to blend them together in a bowl, Marion stirs his illegible scribble into phone conversations covering everything from fundraising for ICP to a group of Americans who wish to come for a visit.
When Marion offers you some of his homemade soup, you should prepare yourself for an experience. Marion's granddaughter, Julia, describes her grandfather's soup making skills as a kind of going out of business sale for the refrigerator- everything must go. Eschewing traditional soup combinations of vegetables and beef or chicken and noodles, Marion's soup recipe begins by clearing out the fridge. No ingredient is lowly enough to be ostracized from the pot and the end result is a goulash whose contents, while not understanding their final composure, conclude that in Marion's way of cooking, they are an important part of the recipe.Marion's cooking skills reveal much about his personal philosophy of ministry. Stories abound in the slum of how Señor Mario did not say "no" when someone needed to be included in his care.
A picture of Marion taken a few years ago depicts him midway into a laugh, his left arm wrapped around a young girl happily hiding behind his lanky frame. The scene reminds one of a parent taking his child to visit Santa Clause at the mall. The parent smiles to demonstrate that all is well but the child still scuttles behind the safety of her protector, hand covering her face, embracing a strange mixture of excitement and uncertainty. The young girl was a frequent visitor to the Institute's outreach programs until she had the misfortune of witnessing a horrendous crime that put her on the hit list of the drug lords who controlled the hill. The girl's mother sought the help of Marion who quickly worked out for her to go live with a friend in a different part of the city outside of the reach of those who wanted her dead.Marion's ethic of inclusion extends to animals as well. Stray dogs find their way into Marion's car and eventually into the care of families willing to watch over them. Marion has a heart for strays and this is evident by the company he keeps. One year during a Father's Day celebration, Marion pulled close a young Brazilian who had come to the Institute as an orphan and proclaimed to everyone that he had the honor of being the young man's "father." The young man was touched by Marion's words and recognized the way that his “father” had always looked out for him by sending odd jobs his way during tough times and even assisting with his schooling.
It would be an impossible task to catalog the number of strays taken in by Marion. But if this is any indication of the amount, when Marion made the steep climb up the hill seven years ago what should have been a ten minute walk half way up the hill turned into a four hour celebration as the slum's residents came out to greet their beloved Señor Mario. Drug lords, mothers, orphaned children- all of them feel comfortable approaching Marion because they know that in his presence, they are more than tolerated, they are welcomed and treated with all of the respect and courtesy one would expect for a dignitary or celebrity. When one sees Marion interact with the diversity of people whom he is honored to call a friend, the sheer genuineness of the interaction is immediately evident. This generosity displayed by Marion is not a ruse but rather a virtue cultivated over years of habit forming hospitality and seasoned with a love that most of us will never experience due to our own personal prejudices and inhibitions. Sanctification seeps out of Marion's pores and protracts an aura of saintliness like that of St. Francis of Assisi or Mother Teresa. Just like them, Marion never could find it in himself to turn anyone away and this inability to exclude has been the secret ingredient of his ministry at ICP. Call Marion what you will, but please do not call him a hero. As Sam Wells writes, "The hero's story is always about the hero. The saint is always at the periphery of a story that is really about God." Marion's gift is that he understands his humble role in directing the hungry to a God who seeks out strays be they missing sheep, coins, or sons.
There are too few saints in this world but I am convinced that Señor Mario is one of them. I received news yesterday that this Godly man is nearing the end of his life and this pains my heart more than words will allow me to say. Marion Way is a saint who, in his walk with God, learned Jesus’ divine recipe for soup and practiced it every day of his life. May we be faithful in following this recipe as Marion did.
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