This past year the Worcester Art Museum held a striking exhibition entitled, “Be Not Afraid: Hope and Healing in a Time of Plague.”  The exhibition’s 37 works focused on the bubonic plague of the 14th century … a plague that destroyed cities and towns, affecting rich and poor alike.  One third of the population of Europe died. Economies were ruined. The plague itself was bad enough, but it was exacerbated by two attendant epidemics: fear and confusion.

Gathered from museums and private collections from around the world, the exhibition included such artists as Tintoretto, Canaletto, and Van Dyck – Renaissance and Baroque masters who explored disease, fear and faith in an age of epidemic.

Today the world suffers an HIV/Aids pandemic. Millions die annually of malaria, tuberculosis and other curable diseases. There is fear of Mad Cow disease, a possible avian bird flu pandemic … not to mention the seasonal influenza which, on its own, kills 36,000 Americans each year.

In addition, the devastation of the south Asian tsunami, of earthquakes, hurricanes and fires, the ever worsening situation in the Middle East, the prevalence of guns and shootings in the streets of our cities and, last but not least, living in a time of terror … all contribute to a climate of fear.

Like our ancestors, some view these catastrophes as punishment from God; others look for scapegoats; others just wonder: why is this happening and when will it end?

In a time such as this, in time of fear and plague, what is the role of faith, the role of the church? What is our role? What can we do? How shall we act, think, pray and minister?

In ancient times, the Judeo-Christian tradition understood both disease and natural disaster as a sign of God’s judgment and power.

For instance, in the passage from Deuteronomy we heard this morning, the Israelites are warned of the consequences of breaking their covenant with God. If they break it, if they are unfaithful, God will punish them with calamities and disasters, including plague.

The bubonic plague of the 14th century was also called the Great Judgment. In other words, in the Christian world-view of the time, the plague was deserved. As Christians looked about them for the cause of God’s wrath, regrettably, they often named scapegoats – Jews, for instance – in a desperate and misguided attempt to discover the cause of the calamity.

While most theological thinking has evolved from there, there are notable exceptions. Following the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks, Jerry Falwell proclaimed that the attacks were the result of God’s anger at lesbians, gays and abortion providers. More recently Pat Robertson pronounced that Ariel Sharon’s stroke was God’s punishment for his willingness to divide Israel. Two weeks ago we heard from Ray Nagin, Mayor of New Orleans, that God’s anger at America caused the hurricanes that caused the floods that ravaged that city.

As hard as it may be to believe or to understand, such archaic and pre-scientific views do persist among an influential portion of Christian leaders.

In the wrong hands, the hands of people like Falwell, Robertson and Nagin, theology can become a crude and cruel weapon … a weapon that can be wielded against any population to scapegoat … to blame, to hurt and to destroy. But just because theology can be so abused, it is not reason to give up on theology.

To give up on theology is, in effect, to give up on God.  Theology is our human attempt to talk about God, to understand God … even to know God.  If nothing else, Falwell, Robertson and Nagin should inspire us – propel us – to do good theology.

The reason this is so important, is because in the right hands, theology can be a means of grace; it can be beautiful and life-giving, redemptive and healing.

The story of one early New England pastor shows how good theology can heal and help. In 1669 Thomas Thacher became the first minister of Old South Church in Boston.

Like many early New England clergy, Thacher was well acquainted with the medical literature and the medical arts of his day. Before being called to ordained ministry, Thacher had practiced medicine. At Thacher’s funeral, the great New England divine, Cotton Mather, described our Thomas Thacher as “an excellent physician.” Mather eulogized him saying that “for his lively ministry, he was among the angels of the churches,” and for his “medical acquaintances, experiences and performances” he could truly be called “a Raphael.”

In the story we heard this morning, Jesus broke religious rules in order to relieve human suffering. Ever since the time of Jesus, Christians have made it a priority to minister to the body as well as the soul: opening hospices, founding hospitals and nursing homes, and ministering to persons with leprosy, HIV/Aids and a multitude of other diseases. Like many of his contemporaries, Thacher, believed that the body and the soul, physical health and spiritual well being, were interrelated.

It was in 1677 – during the outbreak of a smallpox epidemic – that Thomas Thacher’s skills as a healer and a minister came together. In the midst of an epidemic that eventually took at least 700 lives, Thacher wrote and published a broadside, or poster, entitled, “A Brief Rule to Guide the Common People of New England How to Order Themselves and Theirs in the Small Pocks, or Measles.” This was the first medical treatise published in America. It was, in fact, the first patient information brochure.

Thacher compiled the best medical information available and then put it in a form that was easily accessible. Imagine a terrified citizenry, without access to good information, gathered around this poster that was conspicuously exhibited in public places.

Thacher’s poster was addressed to everyone in the region, no matter their condition. One section was addressed those who had symptoms, for whom he provided information to help them properly diagnosis the disease. Another section was addressed to those who had already contracted smallpox or measles. For this group, Thacher provided remedies and treatment to alleviate the pain and symptoms. Finally, a portion of it was addressed to those who had not contracted the disease. To this population he gave tips on how to avoid doing so.

Not only does Thomas Thacher provide concrete information about diagnosis and treatment … at the end of the broadside, he directly addresses the reader. I have printed that portion of his piece on page four of your Sunday bulletins, next to his portrait.

Thacher writes:

“These things I have written Candid Reader, not to inform the learned physician that has much more cause to understand it and what pertains to this disease than I, but to give some light to those that have not such advantages  … I am, though no physician, a well-wisher to the sick, and therefore entreating the Lord to turn our hearts, and stay his hand, I am A friend, Reader, to thy Welfare. Thomas Thacher”

This poster was the next best things to a doctor’s home visit. Through this genre, Thomas Thacher brought the care of the church into the homes and lives of the “common folk of New England.”

As a Puritan minister, Thacher did see the hand of God in the epidemic that killed so many. But in his publication he chose not to blame the people, not to name scapegoats, not even to venture a guess as to the cause of the disease. Instead, he simply and effectively ministered to the people. He, thereby, replaced fear, chaos and scape-goating with information, kindness and assistance.

Thomas Thacher’s medical tract was a theological message from the church to the public … a message of hope and help. When the people were experiencing terror and panic, Thacher reached out from the church to the people with a pastor’s heart, a healer’s touch, and a scholar’s wisdom.

As churches we have many means to reach people. Our meeting houses often do double-duty as community centers. Our pews are filled with medical professionals, scientists, ethicists, educators, and public officials. We have Web pages and newsletters. We can play an important and mediating role in disseminating good information, and giving people practical help in a time of chaos and fear. We can live and speak and act a theology that communicates God’s mercy. Like Thacher, we too can bring the care of the church – indeed, the care of God – to the people.

It is an extraordinary time in which we live: a time in which threats of epidemics and terrorism haunt us daily.  In such a time as this, how can we give witness to the hope that is in us? To a population experiencing a disorienting fear, how can you minister from the solid ground of your Christian faith?  To a people bruised and battered by anxiety, how might you embody God’s healing and hope?  In a world wherein shrill and accusatory voices are so prominent and so destructive, how can you give voice to God’s mercy and love?

Like Jesus and, indeed, like our own Thomas Thacher, how can we embody and communicate a theology that is beautiful, redemptive, life-giving and healing?
 
 

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References

The Black Death and Pastoral Leadership: the Diocese of Hereford in the Fourteenth Century, by William J, Dohar, University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia (1994)

“A Brief Rule to Guide the Common-People of New England How to Order Themselves and Theirs in the Small Pocks or Measles”, by Thomas Thacher, Boston (1677/8). Facsimile Reproduction of the Three Known Editions with an Introductory Note by Henry R. Viets. MD, The Johns Hopkins Press, Baltimore (1973)

History of the Old South Church, Boston (1669-1884), by Hamilton A. Hill in two volumes, The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass (1890)