Pearls in the Pandemic
The Plague of Ashdod by Nicolas Poussin
“O Death, where are your plagues? O Grave, where is your sting?”
It might have been the first epidemic of smallpox in the Western World. Whatever it was, it benefited from an interconnected Mediterranean region and a scant understanding of infectious disease in its rage across the Roman Empire in the middle of the second century. Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-Caesar, wrote about the devastating plague that ravaged his empire for almost 15 years before he succumbed to it himself. He described long caravans of carts, overflowing with the bodies of the dead, as they were cleared from city streets. It was suffering and death on a scale that the Classical world had never seen, and as it spread almost unchecked, something else spread closely behind it: Good News of great joy.
The urban landscapes of the second-century were already miserable enough. Overcrowding, rampant crime, filth, fires, and structural collapses were a daily reality. The dumping of garbage, human waste and dead animals in the streets and waterways not only produced a rancid stench throughout the cities - it was also a catalyst for disease. Sporadic outbreaks of cholera, typhoid and dysentery were common, ending with the disposal of hundreds, or even thousands of human carcasses in city sewers, or piled high in fields outside the gates. But such outbreaks of common diseases were far-eclipsed by the great plague of the second century, which by some estimates killed between one-quarter and one-third of the Roman Empire’s population, some 20 million people.[1]
Undoubtedly, to experience death of such magnitude over the course of a decade must have seemed apocalyptic. Greco-Roman society offered few answers and little comfort. The rituals and traditions of the Roman state religion, more civic and ceremonial than personal, proved to be inadequate in the face of such a calamity. The stoic philosophers could offer musings of fate and determinism, but they could not offer hope or peace. The pantheon of gods might be assuaged by sacrifice, but they were otherwise aloof and disinterested in human affairs. Many of the plague victims, abandoned by their own families for fear of contagion, slowly died alone in the streets. In a culture that regarded empathy as weakness, hopelessness and despair were as ubiquitous as the plague itself. For all the things the Roman world offered, there were two things it did not: compassion and community. Enter the Christians.
Cyprian, an early church father and bishop of Carthage, recorded his perspective regarding the bold witness of the churches during the pandemic. His insight is keen, nearly prophetic, as he delves deeper than the mere questions of survival and divine placation, into the eternal purpose of such a cataclysm:
“How suitable, how necessary it is that this plague and pestilence, which seems horrible and deadly, searches out the justice of each and every one and examines the mind of the human race; whether they will care for the sick, whether relatives dutifully love their kinsman as they should, whether masters show compassion for their ailing slaves, whether physicians do not desert the afflicted…Although this mortality has contributed nothing else, it has especially accomplished this for Christians and servants of God, that we have begun gladly to seek martyrdom while we are learning not to fear death. These are trying exercises for us, not deaths; they give to the mind the glory of fortitude; by contempt of death they prepare for the crown…[our] brethren who have been freed from this earth by the summons of the Lord should not be mourned, since we know that they are not lost but sent before; that in departing they lead the way; that as travelers, as voyagers are wont to be, they should be longed for not lamented…”[2]
The idols were mute. Philosophy was vain. But the Christians took action. By simply tending to the sick and welcoming them into their communities, the believers not only saved countless lives in the act of risking their own, but more importantly, they set themselves apart, exposing the bankruptcy of the world around them. It would not be their only opportunity to do so.
Less than a century later, another plague ravaged the Roman world in the middle of the third century. Once again, the Christians showed uncanny courage and compassion in the face of death. Bishop Dionysius of Alexandria wrote,
“Most of our brothers showed unbounded love and loyalty, never sparing themselves and thinking only of one another. Heedless of danger, they took charge of the sick, attending to their every need and ministering to them in Christ, and with them departed this life serenely happy; for they were infected by others with the disease, drawing upon themselves the sickness of their neighbors, and cheerfully accepting their pains. Many, in caring and nursing others, transferred their death to themselves and died in their stead…The best of our brothers lost their lives in this manner, a number of presbyters [elders], deacons, and laymen winning high commendation so that in death in this form, the result of great piety and strong faith, seems in every way the equal to martyrdom.”[3]
In the midst of unfathomable suffering and despair, the Christians rose to exemplify the highest teaching of their Master, “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” [4] They did not have an explanation for calamity, but they had the answer for it, and the world took notice. The churches swelled across the empire, and despite occasional outbreaks of terrible persecution, the number of disciples continued to grow. By the time Christianity was officially tolerated by Emperor Constantine in the early fourth century, it’s estimated that almost 15% of his empire—over 8 million people—had already professed the Faith.[5]
Even the enemies of the gospel complained of the other-worldly charity of the Christians. Yet another calamitous plague swept across the Roman Empire in the 360’s AD. Emperor Julian, the last heathen Caesar, wrote a letter to his pagan priests in Galatia, urging them to show the same quality of benevolence that the Christians showed to the sick. He bemoaned that,
“the Galileans [Christians], in addition to their own, support ours…it is shameful that our poor should be wanting our aid.”[6]
The churches were known for their remarkable compassion towards both believer and infidel, which the religious estate of temple priests and shrine cults were unable to rival. Whereas the latter provided a means to appease the gods, the former offered the Good News of the True God already appeased by atoning blood. Against the backdrop of death and suffering, they displayed the ends for their Lord’s appeasement: the gathering together of a community—a Body—of those “called out” and set apart as His Bride. Death no longer had any claim on them, and therefore, they could confidentially look in the face of a diseased and dying fellow image-bearer and say, “O death, where are your plagues? O grave, where is your sting?”
Gabe Caligiuri is a regular contributor to the FAI Wire publication and podcast, as well as an occasional contributor to other FAI digital content on the subjects of history and geopolitics as they relate to the Great Commission. Gabe and his family live in California.
[1] “Roman Empire Population.” UNRV History. https://www.unrv.com/empire/roman-population.php
[2] Stark, Rodney. The Triumph of Christianity: How the Jesus Movement Became the Worlds Largest Religion. New York, NY: HarperCollins, 2011, p. 116
[3] Stark, p. 117
[4] John 15:13, ESV
[5] Stark, p. 157
[6] Stark, p 118