One of my favorite Christmas stories goes this way. A few years back I was at the wake of a neighbor with my father. We struck up a conversation with another neighbor who, like my father, fought in World War II. I can’t remember why, but the neighbor said the most beautiful mass he ever attended was Christmas Eve in Heidelberg, Germany, 1945. My father matter of factly replied, “I was in the choir.” Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. Here’s the rest of the story, though. My father was lucky to be in the choir that night because on December 25, 1944, minutes after hot Christmas meals arrived in my father’s camp, the Germans overran his position. My father, 19 years old, was awarded a medal for holding off the attack and allowing his company to retreat safely. The official report states: “Many lives in his withdrawing company were saved.”

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