By Michael Patrick O’Brien–
On a cold late December morning, Maria Domingo delicately laced her threadbare Reeboks, hoping to get one more day of wear from the tattered old walking shoes that long ago had exceeded their typical lifespan. Just moments before, she’d learned about an unexpected half day job offer, to clean a nearby home. Her young family needed—always needed—the extra money earned from such gig work.
Twelve months earlier, in the dead of night, Maria and her husband Jose had gathered their two young children Luca (age 9) and Sonia (age 2) and fled their home near Coahuayutla, a small town in southern Mexico. The local narcotics cartel had beaten Jose, extorted money from the family, threatened even more violence, and promised to return for Luca when the gangsters deemed him old enough for initiation into the criminal organization.
The Domingo family endured unspeakable additional hardships during their escape and the long journey to the United States that followed. With help from refugee support workers at Catholic Community Services, however, they finally settled in Ogden, a former railroad town in Northern Utah. The Domingos joined a community centered at the historic Saint Joseph’s Catholic Church; an old edifice perched on a hill overlooking the local downtown business district.
Saint Joseph’s parish started in the late 1800s, when the emerging diocese in nearby Salt Lake City assigned an Irish priest to work with Ogden’s Catholics—primarily immigrant Italian farmers and railway workers or miners from Ireland. Over the next several years, these blue-collar Catholics pinched their pennies and, beginning in 1899, erected a lovely Gothic revival sandstone church featuring golden-yellow brick and terracotta rock.
Almost from its inception, the Ogden Catholic Church had served as a hardscrabble haven for those folks destined to struggle to make a living and to suffer while living their lives. By the time the Domingos arrived there over a century later, the hardworking Ogden Hispanic community had inherited both the role and the place, and lovingly tended to the sacred old building and its congregants.
On the December morning when Maria was called into work, Jose already was gone, off with one of the construction or landscape crews that employed him sporadically. Maria had no one to care for Luca and little Sonia. The young mother was about to call back and decline the work opportunity when Luca spoke up, and bravely told her that he could watch his sister for a few hours.
Maria agreed, reluctant but relieved. The bone-piercing chill in their poorly heated apartment near the Church put an exclamation point on her decision to take the job. They needed the extra money to move to a better place. She kissed the two kids, walked out the door, and reminded Luca, “Make sure Sonia takes her nap, and keep her warm!”
The large house Maria cleaned that day was close to their apartment, on historic Jefferson Avenue, a two-block-long residential monument to the bygone glittering wealth and conspicuous prosperity of certain captains of industry or finance at the end of the nineteenth century. About a hundred years ago, some local business magnate had owned it and welcomed Ogden high society there. The aging three story Victorian building had seen better days, but the current owners were sincere and did their best to preserve and maintain it despite a limited budget. They appreciated Maria’s help, paid her, and included a few extra dollars “for a Merry Christmas.”
Maria walked home satisfied, unlocked the apartment door, and found Luca sitting on the couch reading a book. She asked, “Is Sonia asleep?” Luca said “yes” without looking up from his book. Maria cleaned her small kitchen, studied the nearly bare refrigerator, and considered what the family might possibly eat for dinner. An hour later, she went into the bedroom to wake Sonia.
A loud shriek startled Luca. Maria flew into the family room screaming, “Where is Sonia?” Luca said, “She’s warm and asleep.” Maria thought the boy was confused, and yelled, “No she’s not, I was just in there!” Luca tried to explain, but Maria rushed to the phone and called the special number Jose had given her with strict instructions to “use it only in an emergency.”
Jose raced home. A frantic and crying Maria told him the story. While Maria called everyone they knew, Jose ran around the apartment building, pounded on neighbors’ doors, and asked if someone had seen the little girl. No one had. The panicked parents were about call the Ogden police and report the missing child, when they noticed that Luca remained strangely calm.
They asked him again, “Do you know where Sonia is?” Luca told them, “She is warm and asleep.” His mother demanded, “Where? Show me!” To their surprise, the young boy marched out the apartment door. They followed. He walked along the tree-lined street, up a hill, and passed small and large homes in various states of disrepair. He turned a corner.
The great stone facade of Saint Joseph’s Church loomed before them. Luca pointed at it, determined but silent. Maria pleaded again, “Show me!” Luca took her hand, walked up the concrete steps, opened the heavy oak doors, guided her through the vestibule, and headed to the front of the Church. Jose followed closely behind.
In startling contrast with the parental anguish that consumed Maria and Jose, the century-old Church that surrounded them was beautiful and quiet. The spacious interior sanctuary featured a whitewashed arched high ceiling with brown wooden beams and colorful stained-glass windows on all four walls. The front altar was an intricate masterpiece of carved wood. To its left and right were shrines devoted to Joseph and Mary, parents of the baby Jesus.
Luca led Maria and Jose to the front of the church, and then to the side of the main altar where each year the pastor erected a Christmas Nativity scene. A small group of people surrounded the scene and blocked both the view and the way. Seeing the hushed crowd, Maria and Jose feared the worst.
Luca pushed through with his parents, and the crowd parted for them without a word. Next to the Nativity scene, the pastor Father Dominic Avila sat in a chair. He saw the young parents, gestured for silence, and pointed to the manger filled with real hay. Maria and Jose saw the figure of a still child there. They drew nearer, filled with apprehension.
It was Sonia, sound asleep.
“I found her here an hour ago,” the priest whispered with a smile. “I tried to call, but your phone was always busy. Sonia was sleeping peacefully, so I left her undisturbed, sat here to watch over her, and planned to bring her back home after she woke up.” Jose and Maria sobbed, quietly and gratefully.
Maria spun around, her brown eyes betraying her relief and confusion. Trying not to sound too angry, but barely succeeding, she demanded of Luca, “Why did you do this? Why did you bring her here?” Luca said, “You told me to help her nap, and to keep her warm. Our apartment was cold. This was the best place, where Baby Jesus slept with the farm animals.”
At that very moment, Sonia awoke, smiled, and reached out her arms. Jose lifted the babe from the manger and handed the child to her mother, who hugged her joyfully. Maria thanked the priest, took Luca’s hand, and said to Jose, “Let’s go home.”
On the way, Jose stopped at the neighborhood grocery store. He used most of his day’s wages to purchase an extra delicious dinner for his family. “It’s OK, for today” he said. Back in their apartment, Maria turned up the thermostat just a few degrees. “It’s OK” she said, “just for tonight.” It was Christmas Eve.
After the unusual events in his church that day, Father Dominic sat down at his desk computer and reread the Christmas Eve Midnight Mass homily he had written earlier. He smiled, deleted the entire text, and started over. Later that same night, he walked to the wooden church lectern in front of the assembled crowd, and said:
“On a night like this, two thousand years ago, a bright star shining high in the sky and a multitude of angels startled some shepherds below by announcing the birth of a child. They proclaimed, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and good will toward all.’
Kings, wise ones, and even regular people like you and me went to the site of this blessed event, a simple Nativity scene in the small Judea town of Bethlehem. There, visitors found a baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger, because there was no room at the inn.
You know this story, but you might be surprised, or maybe even upset, to find that unlike in Bethlehem, there is no baby in our own simple Nativity scene here beside the altar. There is no child in the manger tonight. We have an empty crib for Christmas. Why?
Earlier today, a real child was there, sleeping. In the words of the old Christmas carol, she slept in heavenly peace. Such rest, however, is rare in this child’s life so far. Instead of peace, she and her family mostly have known fear, violence, hunger, poverty, homelessness, danger, forced migration, prejudice, and rejection.
When it comes to cribs and mangers today, we are the ones who bring the baby Jesus into the world, but we also are the ones who keep him out. Whenever a child of God is cold, hungry, ignorant, neglected, addicted, abused, trafficked, homeless, fearful, or suicidal….the crib is empty.
For you see, there can be no Glory to God in the highest…there can be no good will towards all…and Jesus cannot truly be born among us, until every child of God can sleep in heavenly peace. We are the ones left to make real that glorious proclamation of the angels and of the star from over 2,000 years ago.
How will you fill the empty cribs of your family, friends, and neighbors with love and joy at Christmas, and on every other day of the year?”
*Mike O’Brien (author website here: https://michaelpobrien.com/) is a writer and attorney living in Salt Lake City, Utah. Paraclete Press published his book Monastery Mornings (https://www.amazon.com/Monastery-Mornings-Unusual-Boyhood-Saints/dp/1640606491), about growing up with the monks at the old Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah, in August 2021. The League of Utah Writers chose it as the best non-fiction book of 2022.
