Good New of Great Joy
Christmas 2020 was different for everyone. Covid-19 kept families and friends from gathering in their traditional ways. It was weird enough already. Then, in my region of the world, it got weirder still. I woke up and, like so many of us do, checked Twitter to see what I missed while I was sleeping. The first thing I noticed was my internet was out. That was a bummer because I bought my boys an Xbox, and the internet is kind of important in the gaming world. Oh well. I figured it was a temporary outage, like always, that would resolve in an hour or so. After opening other presents and then loading up the car to go see my parents and sister, it would all be back to normal by the time we got home. The boys would never even know. But the internet didn’t come back on all day.
Of course, my phone has cell service, so Twitter still worked. Scrolling through, I saw reports of an explosion in downtown Nashville. There were no reported injuries and only one death because even the honky-tonks close on Christmas. The blast damaged 65 buildings. One of them was the AT&T building that sent internet to my house.
We still don’t know a whole lot about what happened that night. A 63-year-old man parked an RV filled with explosives on 2nd Avenue and around 1:22 a.m. sent an automated voice out to the area warning people to evacuate. Then Petula Clark’s “Downtown” started playing. It sounded more like Halloween than Christmas. At 6:30 a.m., the explosion rattled the city. The only person who died was the man sitting in the RV.
Of course, there was an investigation. It was concluded that it was not an act of terrorism. The man gave warnings. He waited for people to leave. He was depressed, paranoid, and troubled. And his life ended with a burst of light on Christmas morning.
The news spread. It was so strange. Christmas couldn’t possibly start this way, could it? In a difficult year, this only added to the grief. I remember the images of the rubble. My beloved city looked like a war zone. The Old Spaghetti Factory I ate in with friends was gone in a flash. The places I walked, the places we laughed—all in pieces. It was not the news I ever expected on Christmas.
But, then again, even the first Christmas began with startling news.
Breaking News
The shepherds were out in the field watching over their flock. It was night. A normal night, by all appearances. Night-watching isn’t easy. Boredom fills the mind. Sleep is hard to stave off. During their very mundane work, something suddenly appeared and changed everything. It can all happen so fast, can’t it? An invasion from the outside that disrupts the entire order. This time it wasn’t a bomb, but there was a strange message and a song. An angel of the Lord appeared, and the glory of the Lord shone around them. Even the first Christmas started with a flash of light and great fear.
God was waging war on the sin in this world, but not in the way we would expect. God was coming and, in fact, had already come. Though the heavenly host was with him, their bows were not pointed downward. Their arrows weren’t even out of the quiver. Their swords were still in their sheathes. Their great King was not clad in armor. He was as naked as a newborn baby. The news that day was not warning and bombs, but comfort and peace. It was good news of great joy that would be for all the people. When God waged war on this world, he sent a child. He sent a Savior.
Eye-Witness
There was a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths. He didn’t have a crib. All he had was a manger. A poor boy was born to a poor family in a poor town. It was nothing, really, but it was everything. It was the fullness of time and prophecy. It was the coming of the king and the beginning of the end. It was the catastrophe that began a eucatastrophe—everything bad coming untrue. A happy ending in the middle of the present darkness.
The news broke to shepherds that morning with an appearance of the heavenly host praising God and singing out, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased” (Luke 2:14). God didn’t go downtown to break this news, he went outside the city to the lowly and lonely. It wasn’t the bright lights of Broadway, but the darkness of the pastures. There were a thousand finer places to be, but only this would work for God’s humble servant.
The only response was a purely rational one: “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened” (Luke 2:15b). They had to see it with their own eyes.
Nothing Left Standing
I remember driving downtown the first time after the bombing. I had to see it with my own eyes. It’s what we all do. No matter how bad the news is, we have to see it for ourselves. We want to lay our eyes on it. Reports are well and good, but eye-witness is the only real way to go.
The reality is always more jarring than we’re prepared for.
As I looked over the wreckage downtown, I realized how devastating it was. In some places, there was nothing left standing. Sometimes news is more than just news. Sometimes news is the message of total destruction. Sometimes news is the story of our undoing. Sometimes news is the story of our redoing. The breaking news of that first Christmas Day was both.
Nothing was left standing for those shepherds. But everything was being rebuilt.
Rebuilding
If you come to Nashville now, you can still see some remnants of the bomb, but most of it is cleaned up. Buildings are being rebuilt. Music City is back singing her songs. Some things in life are so surreal you can never forget them. I guess that’s how Christmas Day of 2020 in Nashville will be for me. I’ll never have a Christmas without the memory. It’s there, etched in my mind like the scars that will remain in the city’s foundation. It’s part of our story now.
When the shepherds arrived at Mary and Joseph’s makeshift inn, they found what they had heard about. The baby was lying in a manger. They told his parents about the news they had heard, and they had to see it with their own eyes. Here he was, just as it had been told—the news was true. That was news to Mary and Joseph. They wondered at what the shepherds said. How could their little lives be part of God’s great plan? How could this baby boy be the one to rebuild the world?
Mary treasured up all they said, pondering it in her heart (Luke 2:19). She would never have a day without those memories. It was all there, etched in her mind like the joy of hope that only the gospel can bring. Christmas Day, AD 1, in Bethlehem—the day the news broke.
Praising
The shepherds left, returning to their fields. Life went on. They came in wonder. They left in praise. They glorified God for all they had heard and seen. It was as they were told. The news was not fake or misleading. It was as true as true can be, and they saw it with their own eyes. It was, indeed, good news of great joy.
I do not know what that man intended to take from us on that early morning of 2020. Maybe he intended to give something instead. We will never know his mind. But we do know God’s intentions that first Christmas Day. It was to give his Son to this dying world. It was to undo our sins and make us right with him. It was to restore our fortunes and renew our hope. It was to grant us peace by waging war on what ruined us.
No matter what any future Christmas Days may hold, the good news of great joy of the gospel will never not overshadow it all. Like the morning sun that rises in the east, the Son of righteousness will come on eagle’s wings with the hope of a brighter day. The news is true. God has come. And he will come again.
David McLemore is an elder at Refuge Church in Franklin, Tennessee. He is married to Sarah, and they have three sons and one daughter. Read more of David’s writing on his blog, Things of the Sort.