When I was leaving Bukoto a few months ago, Father Jjajja had a single request of me. He did not ask for money or sponsorship; he has no need for American pen friends (he already has acquaintances scattered around the globe). Instead, he showed me a set of prayer books that an American priest had gifted him with decades and decades before. Four volumes, each coloured to match its period in the church calendar, which laid out the daily order of prayers and readings for the entire year. Used before they even reached him, these books have been Father Jjajja's daily prayer companions ever since. The spines were removing themselves, the ribbons fraying: the prayer books of a man who faithfully prays for his congregation and colleagues.
His one request: try to find the publisher in the United States and see if I could find him a new(er) copy. He didn't mind having a used copy, but he would really like to use books which were in slightly better condition. Most likely I wouldn't be able to find anything, and that would be perfectly fine, but could I please try?
I promised I would.
Last week, after getting rained on while we saw the new developments at St Jude Junior School, a friend and I walked up to the parish to visit Father Jjajja in particular. We had been invited to dine with the Fathers later that evening (true to his youthful observation, many priests continue to eat quite well), but I wanted to spend a little extra time with Father Jjajja before that. In part, I knew he would be excited to make a new friend; even more than that, however, I was excited to surprise him with the gift I had tucked into first my suitcase, and now my backpack: four brand new leather bound volumes of the Liturgy of the Hours. Wrapped in white paper and accounting for a few of the kilogrammes of weight I was allotted on the British Air flight, these books had been a delightful burden since arriving in my mailbox last month. So, we walked up to the parish, found Father, and started conversing with him.
When I could barely contain myself and was about to bring the books out of my bag anyway, Father Jjajja finally brought up his earlier request. Had I had any luck finding out about those books which he showed me before I left? Later, he told me that he didn't really expect that I would have gotten them: it was a bit of a long shot and really the kind of question you ask a friend who is leaving but don't really know if they'll give a thought to it after they've left (kind of along the same lines as all of my fellow teachers who never expected to see me in Bukoto this Christmas and thought I had promised to return simply to make them “feel comfortable”...).
How delighted was he when I unzipped my pack and started pulling out the four paper-covered texts. He exclaimed over each one as Madame Noe, my friend, and I helped unwrap them ever so carefully. Aw, delightful!
We spent the next hour or so watching to Father flip through the books and explain to us the order of their contents: daily readings, morning prayers, saints' day prayers, psalms, evening prayers, coloured ribbons and gilded pages. He brought out his older copies and showed us where he had added “Ug” to the list of countries whose bishops had approve this text. This newer edition already included Uganda. He showed us the prayers at the end of the psalms, this being one of his reasons for preferring this American version to the Irish ones typically used by his brother priests. He read to us the prayer for the day, then explained the inserts for additional saints and common prayers. On and on, oh, he was so happy with this gift!
Later that night over supper, Father Jjajja compared his joy over these new prayer books to that of a small child gifted with a new dress or new shoes. Just as children can spend hours – or even days – looking at their new things, just as they delight in putting them on and noticing how smart they look, just as they are extra careful not to spoil their new things: so was he with his new books. Indeed, a more than adequate comparison!
And how wonderful to share in an old man's joy and delight this Christmas.
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