Christmas and the Legionnaire 2/3

Christmas is a Christian holiday, but throughout the world it symbolizes something powerful. A time to look out for one's neighbor, to share a few words of friendship, messages of hope, and truces in conflicts. One only needs to look at television screens to take a tour of the world of the magical Christmas Eve celebrated across the globe, in the icy cold of Scandinavia, on the sunny beaches of the Southern Hemisphere, among revelers who spend exorbitant sums for the occasion, or with the destitute in the poorest neighborhoods who mark this special day with what little they have.
Regardless of their status, people are keen to mark this tradition of sharing with gifts, and children receive presents commensurate with their social standing. All countries, in a great ecumenical communion, celebrate Christmas, even if they revert to their old habits the very next day. Yes, Mr. Fourcade, it's a shame there's only one Christmas a year!

Christmas, beyond all beliefs, is a celebration for the Legion family.

We owe it to ourselves to pay attention to everyone, especially the youngest legionnaires. And for those who will be experiencing their first Christmas in the Legion, their elders must envelop them in a very special warmth, that of their new family, so that they try to forget a touch of loneliness or a heavy sense of absence.
Christmas is the holiday that legionnaires remember because, for many, it represents the embodiment of what they came to find in our ranks: solidarity with their new comrades, respect for them as individuals, and the warmth and hope of a new family.

In his long, merciless journey, the future legionnaire has sometimes wandered alone, abandoned by the world, exiled from his homeland, sometimes banished from his community. It's an understatement to say that Christmas in the Legion is a saving oasis for him, a new hope, not forgetting the painful memories.
These memories will undoubtedly resurface, for there, in his childhood village, a family is experiencing the same sacred moments that Christmas represents, without him physically, but by their side in spirit. And the same is true for him.

In this demanding environment, he will experience a moment of peace, a brief respite.

At Mass, he will sing "Silent Night" or "Stille Nacht" as his mother taught him, in an intense communion he shares with his new traveling companions. There, on both sides, unfortunate souls like himself will share this solemn moment, experience the same reverence, feel the same emotion. He will even notice that around him are comrades who don't pray to the same God.

That's the magic of Christmas.

And before the celebration of this traditional Mass, he will certainly have participated in creating the nativity scene for his section, his company. As his predecessors always did, even in the worst moments of their lives, amidst the fighting and turmoil.
Sometimes with next to nothing, it was above all about celebrating this extraordinary moment when time seems weightless. It's something unreal in the minds of men.

Everyone adds their personal touch. Even with the language barrier—I'm referring to the young recruit in training—one can admire the creativity of the legionnaires. The care taken with this symbolism. The desire to affirm this belonging to this new family, with its duties, certainly, but also its values, solidarity, and the gift of hospitality.
The nursery brings him brotherhood when he was crushed by isolation. It gives him serenity in the face of anxiety and erases doubt, fostering confidence.

And the public will come in great numbers to reflect at these nativity scenes, simple or living, which bear witness to what remains of our civilization that some intellectuals would like to change. As if we needed them to tell us where good lies and where evil lies.

To be continued...