By: Fr. Bob O’ Rourke

It was Fr. Bob’s first Christmas in Burma. It was to prove the most memorable of his life.

I had been in Burma just two months and I was to spend the Christmas of 1963 in Tingsing. It was to prove the most memorable Christmas of my life.

Tingsing was a small mountain village, a four-hour walked from the nearest road. The church, a frame structure with a galvanized iron roof, was set on knoll. Next to the church stood a bell tower with three bells. Everything for its construction had been carried up the mountain by hand, so you could appreciate the justifiable pride of the parish priest. Fr. Larry McMahon. Imagine the work involved in bringing in those bells.

It was the custom for people to come from the out villages to Tingsing for the Tingsing for the Christmas feast, and they began arriving on Christmas Eve. Some would herald their arrival with shots from the homemade rifle. Other groups would blow a bugle, or beat a drum to announce their presence. All would report to the rectory on arrival bringing a donation of eggs, or chicken, or a bottle of homebrew. Then after finding out where they where they were to be billeted, the catechist would lead them off.

The main billeting area was a ‘mandat’, usually an impoverished building with a thatched roof, but no walls. Larry mandat had a galvanized iron roof, and half walls, with dirt floor.  People would bring their own mats and blankets for sleeping, and pots for cooking. Piles of firewood for cooking would surround the ‘mandat’.

Confessions were scheduled for the afternoon, and almost every baptized child and adult was expected to go to confession. Since I was still mixing up “good morning” and “good evening’ in Kachin, Larry heard all the confessions. The catechist took choir practice, and as with all recent converts, the people wanted to learn as many hymns as possible, so they eagerly attended the practices. Catechists brought in their lists of people to be baptized, and a time was set for the examination.

A water buffalo had to be slaughtered, and the meat divided up between the various groups. Rice too had to be distributed. So the village was I festive mood as others continued to come in. Bells were rung in greeting, rifles fired, trumpets blown, greetings exchanged, and petition made for medicine, while choir sung, and the animals were slaughtered, and list for Baptism were made, and I took it all wide-eyed. Larry recognized each group, and would tell me a group was from such and such a village, and would comment on their degree of Christian fervour, which he knew from visiting down through the years.

Plumes of smoke began to rise through thatched roofs in the village below us, as people prepared meals for themselves and their visitors. Women and girls could be seen carrying water from the river in the bamboo containers.

Baptism would take place before the midnight Mass. After dusk, with a slight mist falling, the weather turned cold. A slight lull set in, as people had eaten, and were resting before the midnight Mass. Then at ten-thirty the bells broke the silence, inviting everyone to the Baptisms and Mass. Larry did all the Baptisms, and I assisted him, as he went around the circle of adults, children and babies. It was a High Mass in the pre Vatican II tradition, with singing and incense. Afterwards, Larry celebrated a second Mass, because those were the days when a priest was expected to celebrate three Masses for Christmas. About one-thirty we went to bed fasting and the blankets felt good in the cold night. I fell asleep with the images of all that I had seen and heard.

We had a quick breakfast after the morning Masses, and then Larry had “sick call”. A group of gathered outside the rectory, and Larry set up his phonograph player, and played some record, usually bagpipe music. Everyone who was ailing came along and explained their illnesses; medicine for malaria or dysentery, for eye sore or aching muscles and bone, for anemia or open cuts and for prevalent  huge goiter, about the size  of a baseball, hanging from the women’s throat. One man had cut his thumb about a week before, and it was festering. Larry patiently cleansed the festering wound, lecturing the man on keeping the wound clean, and then wrapped the hand in a new white bandage. He went away proud.

A big meeting was held in the ‘mandat’ at 2 P.M. Everyone was there. Village chief, catechists, teachers, and Fr. Larry all spoke. For one who did not understand much Kachin, it seemed from the fervour of the presentations that some of the world’s major problems were being solved. I sat beside Fr. Larry, and he kept me informed on what they were saying: some had not paid their dues for the feast; a catechist had not visited a village for a months; village leader were not insisting on the people attending Sunday worship. The meeting dragged on for about three hours, with nodding much in evidence. When it was over, everyone was congratulated on how well they talked.

The houseboys prepared a Christmas dinner of chicken and rice and a few-spuds. Larry’s friends and family had sent some Christmas goodies, so we had a nice big piece of fruitcake.

People kept coming to the door to discuss one thing or another with Larry. The night was getting cold, but we still had to make one more courtesy visit to the ‘mandat’. We circled around greeting people, and asking them how the feast went. Everyone seemed to think that it was a big success.

We returned to the house and lit a fire in the fireplace, and sat there reading our Christmas mail, and talking about Christmas home. It was a cozy scene with a fire and a cup of hot chocolate.

We could hear the steady beat of the jungle drums, as the people danced in the ‘mandat’. It was nice to have all the activity of the day behind us, and let the cold and tiredness ooze out of our body.

About 11:30 a knock came to the door. It was one of the catechists to tell us that a young woman had just given birth to a baby in the ‘mandat’, and since the baby was premature, they were afraid that it would not survive the night, and would the priest come down and baptize the baby.

We gathered the water, book and oils and a flashlight, and made our way down to the mandat. It was a cold starlit night, and as we entered, drums and dancers were in full rhythm. In one dark corner a circle of women sat on the dirt floor around the fire. One of them, a girl of about fifteen, held a little bundle to her breast. She was the mother who had just given birth. She had come from a far away village, without her husband, and looked a little frightened. Larry baptized the baby, a first born boy. I went back to bed with the sound of the drums still in the air, and fell asleep with sights and sounds, and the mother and baby imprinted on my memory.

“As we entered drums and dances were in full rhythm. In a dark corner a circle of women sat on the dirt floor around a fire.