Each Christmas, whether we are ready or not, we are called to come to the manger. "O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant," the carol proclaims. In these very words is found the overriding concept that the faithful are quite necessarily "joyful and triumphant." No matter what is happening in our lives, that is what we are somehow called to be.

How do we come to the manger? As children, we run there, overflowing with enthusiasm, waiting for the presents of Christmas morning, amazed by the sights around us, astonished by the wonder of the Christmas story. Children truly believe all things and recognize as solemn truth the realities of faith that sometimes escape us adults. That is what Jesus Himself told us when he prayed, "Father, Lord of heaven and earth to you I offer praise; for what you have hidden from the learned and the clever, you have revealed to the merest children." (Matthew 11: 25) At Christmas, the faces of those "merest children" contain the wonder, the belief, and the joy that reflect the true spirit of the season.

How do we come to the manger? As young adults, we often pass through the seemingly perfect, almost magical moments that lead us to kneel triumphantly before the Christ Child. Among them we could number the soon-to-be bride at Midnight Mass, wearing her engagement ring that sparkles in the moonlight against the winter's snow; the young couple expecting their first child, standing before the crèche, knowing that they too will soon have a role in creating anew their small portion of the world; Moms and Dads giving Santa a helping hand by staying up late on Christmas Eve to assemble the toys left under the tree; young families content with life, prosperous in their jobs, flush with good health, and joyful in belief approaching the manger at Christmas Mass; elders content with life, happily teaching their grandchildren the joys to be found in a traditional Christmas. How do we come to the manger? It would be overly idealistic not to admit that sometimes we almost need to be dragged there! Older feet can feel tired and the burdens of life can seem unduly heavy. We remember those who are no longer with us in this life, but who watch us from the next, and we miss them. We experience the pains of aging and experience worry about life's many problems, yet we too are called to be "joyful and triumphant." Can we be?

Fortunately, our hearts and spirits rest not just on what is going on in our sphere of influence or in our wider world, but more importantly, in the greater hope that is found in the promises that God continually makes to us. Each Christmas Eve at Mass, we hear them repeated in this very familiar, beautiful passage: "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; Upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone. You have brought them abundant joy and great rejoicing. For a child is born to us; a son is given us; upon his shoulder dominion rests over his kingdom, which he confirms and sustains by judgment and justice both now and forever." (Isaiah 9: 1-6)

At Christmas, Jesus, the Lord, is born again in our hearts. That great light bursts through whatever darkness has saddened us, dragged us down or upset us. Our God takes up rest within us and if we but respond, brings us the greatest gift of all, peace.

While writing this, I think about how some of the some special people in my own life will be approaching the manager this year. Immediately Aaron and Judy come to mind. Blessed this July with twins, Olivia and Cody, with hearts full of joy, they approach as a family this year. Despite the challenges of raising two babies at once, and although tired, they smile, and my heart smiles with them. I knew Aaron when he was a baby, and now I see him as a father, holding his daughter, rocking his son, and making up silly songs to sing for them. Aaron and Judy are joyful and triumphant.

At the other end of life's spectrum, my godfather Uncle Guy comes to mind. His is a face without wrinkles despite his ninety years. A computer wizard, he plays the market as easily as he plays cards, never forgetting a trump or a bottom line. Always ready for a new adventure, ever learning, reading, studying the world, thinking and thoughtful, he comes to the manger grateful for his longevity and prosperity, but not without sadness. Still missing his childhood sweetheart and wife of over sixty years, he will undoubtedly again sign his Christmas cards to us with his name and hers. "Uncle Guy and Angel Stella," they will say.

Though he misses her, he still finds the strength to celebrate the people and the promises that remain. This year, God willing, we shall gather as a family at a wonderful post-Christmas party celebrating his 90th birthday. Some people would have chosen to overlook the occasion; Uncle Guy has wisely chosen to revel in it, celebrating it fully with us. He will come to the manger with gratitude for what remains, with memories of times past, with a philosophical acceptance of all life's stages.

Some people come to the manger questioning. I met such a woman today at our Sisters of St. Joseph Associates Advent gathering. She is past middle-age, with pure white hair and sad solemn eyes. As we were speaking about how we are expected to be euphoric at Christmas time, she told us that she hasn't felt that way since her son, Christopher, passed away, following a heart transplant, when still in high school. "For years, I would look at the banner in church that said 'Christ' and see the word 'Chris,'" she shared with us. The depth of her still sadness was palpable and undeniable, even in the face of her faith.

Being human, Jesus knew firsthand our joys and our pains. He too wept when contemplating the death of his friend Lazarus, and He who knows all things, understands the struggles in our hearts. So, Jesus knows the pain still felt by Chris' Mom and reaches out to comfort her with the great promise of everlasting life, a life won for us by His sacred coming.

Among those coming to the manger, I see my beloved Auntie Connie, whose intense dislike of the first draft of this column, has prompted me into staying up late to write this second one! Seriously ill herself in May, she lost her three sisters this year. To top it all off, she is suffering from the aftereffects of a fall in late October. The blackness around her eyes and the accompanying deep purple bruises that stretched down her cheeks almost to her chin are now fading into green. Laughingly, I call her our "Shrek." Though people still shriek when they first see her face, her condition is improving.

Under such circumstances, someone else would have walled herself up in her own personal brand of misery and headed to bed for the duration. Not Auntie Connie. Fresh from her fall, she was out, disguised in dark glasses, shopping for the Thanksgiving turkey. Attending the Memorial Mass for her sister Celia, she walked to the altar bringing up the gifts, then entertained all of us at her home all day long, even welcoming us to the annual "eating of the leftovers" at night. She is a study in the selflessness that constantly reaches out to help others. She will undoubtedly approach the manger in sadness, but also in service to us loved ones who remain behind. If we are sad at Christmas, it seems that the best way out of that sorrow truly is to extend ourselves by reaching out in a Christ-like way to those who need our help.

"How do you approach the manger this year," you ask me? Honestly, my heart answers "In sadness that so many of those whom we loved are no longer with us, but also in great gratitude for those who remain behind and for the many truly wonderful blessings that have been mine in this past year. Not the least of them was the restoration of my health following surgery and most especially, my becoming an Associate of the Sisters of St. Joseph on May 1."

God works through us in ways we never even imagine. Today, again at our Advent gathering, I met a woman who is considering becoming an Associate. After we had chatted for a while, she turned and said to me, "You know, I was there at the Mass in May when you made your commitment. You were so radiant, so transformed. The look of sheer joy that was on your face has inspired me throughout this year." As she spoke, I reflected upon how the memory of that day and how the love of my family and friends have carried me throughout this difficult year.

It is as St. Paul has written, "For God, who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' has shone in our hearts, that we in turn might make known the glory of God shining on the face of Christ. This treasure we possess in earthen vessels, to make it clear that its surpassing power comes from God and not from us. We are afflicted in every way possible, but we are not crushed; full of doubts, we never despair." (2 Corinthians 4: 6-8)

The Christmas Season is the time when we commemorate the greatest gift ever given, God's own Son, come down from heaven to become one of us in all things, except sin. In that Christ Child, we find we find the boundless generosity born of unending, undying, unselfish love. This Christmas, as we approach the manger, may we be signs of God's love and peace in a world that so needs the transforming grace of God's presence among us. Christ is born, not just in Bethlehem, but in our hearts. He challenges us to live our lives in His same spirit of generosity and gracious love.

As you approach the manager this Christmas, may God's peace fill your heart as you find reasons to be "joyful and triumphant." As you journey through the New Year, may those blessings that you bestow on others return to you a hundredfold.

- Carole Anne Scott