By Michael Patrick O’Brien–
Whether you celebrate it as a Christian holiday or not, I think the true meaning of Christmas is that some 2,000 years ago, a force for peace, goodness, and joy was reintroduced into the world. We needed it, and still do today. It is our task to recognize and incarnate that force and give it meaning in the lives of our family, our friends and, as Charles Dickens once put it in A Christmas Carol, our “fellow passengers to the grave.” This community of friends and family, past and present, is at the heart of the Christmas celebration.
The last few years I have been collecting and chronicling the writings of my grandfather, Donald Raymond O’Brien. Don’s father, Edward O’Brien (my great grandfather), tragically died of tuberculosis at the very young age of 25, when Don was less than one year old. Don’s widowed mother, my great grandmother Annie McCarthy O’Brien, raised him, living with her parents (my great great grandparents) Jeremiah McCarthy and Alice Fitzgerald McCarthy. Jeremiah drove trains, Alice kept house, Annie sold hats, and Annie’s sister, Mary “Mame” McCarthy was a tailor. The family got by, and lived in Burlington, Vermont.
Despite the persistence of a number of personal and economic problems, Don won a college scholarship in a newspaper context and soon embarked on a career in journalism. He wrote stories and did advertising and public relations work for a number of publications, including the New York Times. Don eventually moved back to Burlington with his wife, Florence (known as his “Constant Companion” in his writings) and their family, including their fifth child Kevin, my father. From about 1947 to 1955, Don wrote a weekly column called “Vermont Vignettes” for his hometown newspaper, The Burlington Free Press. When he was not writing or newspapering, he loved to escape to his small wooden cabin on the shores of Lake Champlain, in Northern Vermont just a few miles south of the Canadian border.
I never knew Don. He died in February of 1963 when I was not quite two years old. I have the vintage 1930s era typewriter he used for many of his writing projects. I only have come to know my namesake grandfather through our mutual love of writing. One of my favorites of his articles is a Christmas message he published on December 27, 1954 (see below). I think he would be pleased that I am sharing it with you now. I hope your own special star guides you and yours to kind and happy destinations.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year!
***
Words, as a rule, roll easily off my typewriter and why shouldn’t they, considering that I’ve been pounding them out these last four decades and more.
But to devise a truly meaningful Christmas thought for all readers – that’s something different. I struggled to grasp an idea, but none would come—none, anyhow, that I thought was worth the printing.
Perhaps this one isn’t it. But you are the judge—and you need read not one syllable beyond the point where I’m unable to hold your interest.
At any rate, while I was groping aimlessly and fruitlessly, the thought of a star somehow came into my mind. Not just any star, but a very special one.
I thought of a star which seemed oft time to take up a position directly over our house, where I could see it as I walked down Church Street after work.
That, I’d think, is our special family star. Continuing to let my imagination run its own course, I’d picture the Divine Father carefully setting a star in the skies for every family—a sort of beacon, perhaps, to keep everybody moving His way.
It’s like, for instance, when you’re out on the lake in a boat—and there’s one special light ashore that guides you to your harbor. And in my Constant Companion’s and my favorite North Country, you can see an awful lot of stars when you’re out at night.
I used to eavesdrop now and then on some of the conversation of the people who stopped at the Nativity Scene. I heard one tot ask his mother.
“Isn’t little Jesus cold out there?”
“No,” the child’s mother told her toddling boy, “There’s a special star that shines down on him and keeps him warm. And the animals also help to warm him.” The little one smiled happily.
Christmas has passed, of course. And you’re reading this amid its chaotic aftermath. So, while I can’t wish you a Merry Christmas, I can still wish you this:
That the special light which the Divine Father has set in His skies for you may guide you to true happiness, protect you from harm, and lead you straight toward Him.
*Mike O’Brien (author website here) is a writer and attorney living in Salt Lake City, Utah. His book Monastery Mornings (found here), about growing up with the monks at the old Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah—and about his family’s roots in Burlington, Vermont—was published by Paraclete Press (more information here) in August 2021.
