“Should Churches Meet During COVID-19?”, Part 1

By Joel Nelson, Guest Series

Introduction

The one-two punch of the global COVID-19 outbreak will result in the year 2020 being remembered as one of the most divisive and life-changing years in at least two generations. Old customs and established procedures slipped away in a matter of days in March 2020, and only eight months later seem almost entirely forgotten by some. Many seem to welcome these developments, viewing the dismantling of what once existed as a blank slate for construction of a new world order. The use of the word “unprecedented” to justify all manner of societal changes and suspension of long-held legal and sociopolitical traditions in the year 2020, is, for lack of a better word, unprecedented. The response of many churches during the last eight months largely mirrors the rest of society: either a complete shutdown and move to “virtual” meetings reliant on electronic devices and high-speed Internet connections, or implementation of measures such as so-called “social distancing” and mandatory imposition of face coverings (the vast majority of which, aside from some medical-grade N95 respirators, have little ability to filter viral particles which are measured in nanometers). The purpose of this essay is not to critique these changes on political or medical grounds, but rather to address the church’s response to government edicts and orders. Specific consideration will be given to the mission and witness of the church, present and historical, and the challenges imposed by government edicts and orders.

Historical Accounts

This essay will first consider several historical accounts of how Christians have responded to prior plagues and pandemics. The historical record reveals many instances in which, during past plagues (with a death toll much greater than that of COVID-19), the church stood out for its resolve to keep going about her mission even as societies effectively shut down. The church historian Eusebius cited a letter written by Dionysius, Bishop of Alexandria, regarding the witness of Christians in contrast to pagans during a fifteen-year plague in the third century:

“Many terrible things happened to us also before this. At first we were driven out, persecuted, and killed, but we kept our festival even then… But the brightest festival of all was kept by the fulfilled martyrs, who feasted in heaven… Most of our brethren showed love and loyalty in not sparing themselves while helping one another, tending to the sick with no thought of danger and gladly departing this life with them after becoming infected with their disease… The best of our own brothers lost their lives in this way—some presbyters, deacons, and laymen—a form of death based on strong faith and piety that seems in every way equal to martyrdom. They would also take up the bodies of the saints, close their eyes, shut their mouths, and carry them on their shoulders. They would embrace them, wash and dress them in burial clothes, and soon receive the same services themselves.  The heathen were the exact opposite. They pushed away those with the first signs of the disease and fled from their dearest. They even threw them half dead into the roads and treated unburied corpses like refuse in hopes of avoiding the plague of death, which, for all their efforts, was difficult to escape.”

In the middle and latter part of the sixth century, plague broke out in the Frankish Empire and had an estimated death toll of nearly 1 in 3 cases. It was significant enough to postpone the Festival of the Presentation in the year A.D. 543 by four months. Subsequent outbreaks continued for more than fifty years. Yet historian R. A. Markus observed that in writings preserved from that time, such as those of Evagrius and Gregory of Tours, there is no evidence of deep spiritual crisis among church leaders. Despite panic, famine, rioting, and political upheaval, there is little evidence that the mission of the church was changed or drastically transformed. Ministry went on and opportunities for evangelism increased.

In A.D. 591, the second year of the papacy of Gregory the Great, Gregory urged bishops to use the opportunity afforded by the plague to admonish and exhort pagans to convert, stating that “the closer the last judgment, the more we must fear the strict Judge.” Despite the plague having been present for nearly fifty years, this is a rare mention in Gregory’s writings. The plague did not bring ministry and evangelism to a halt—the shepherds continued shepherding their flocks.

In A.D. 1348, the plague arrived in Europe. Cycles of widespread death from the plague would persist for more than three hundred years. Although understanding of contagion was in its infancy at the time and various local councils did at times attempt separation or isolation methods— whether separating the sick from the healthy or closing city gates— there was no method to gain completely the upper hand over the spread of disease. The shadow of death hung over civilizations for generations upon generations. Europe during this time has been described by Philip McNair as a “death-oriented society.” This would have set a particular context for ministry, but as in Gregory’s time, it did not result in widespread suspension of pastoral duties.

When the plague arrived in Valencia in 1395, the city council met and adopted some new measures to try to combat the epidemic. Their first order of business was prayer, and their second order of business was to authorize an extensive cleanup of the city’s streets. The churches were not closed, but rather the initial response of the city’s leaders was going to the church to appeal to God, interceding on behalf of the people for prevalent sins of blasphemy, gambling, and sexual sin. The leaders understood public health in terms of analogy to the human body, so the solution was not to segregate and divide up the body, but rather to work for the health and healing of the body. In fact, in a subsequent wave of the plague, the entire Christian population of Valencia was instructed to gather in the cathedral and pray for the city, exiting the cathedral to walk through the streets, praying for safety and healing.

Writing in A.D. 1527, nearly two centuries after the plague first arrived in Europe, Martin Luther addressed the question of whether it is proper for a Christian to run away from a deadly plague. Luther did address some points in favor of public health limitations, including quarantining of the sick in accordance with Old Testament teachings about leprosy, and individuals and families doing “as much as they are capable of doing” to limit the spread. Those who were infected ought to “stay away from other persons or allow himself to be taken away and given speedy help with medicine.” Nevertheless, Luther also recognized that in God’s sovereignty, he may also act in ways that “mock human preventative health measures” in order to demonstrate that man’s action should be ordered around showing fidelity to God, not in securing life at all costs. “If it be God’s will. . . none of our precautions will help us,” Luther wrote.

The notion that human beings can gain mastery over plague and illness does not surface in Luther’s thinking. The question, then, of whether to flee from plague-stricken areas or to continue to minister is inherently centered around submission to God’s will.

“Search and examine your own heart thoroughly and you will find whether or not it clings to God alone. Do you have the kind of heart that expects from him nothing but good, especially in distress and want, and renounces and forsakes all that is not God? Then you have the one true God. On the contrary, does your heart cling to something else, from which it hopes to receive more good and help than from God, and does it flee not to him but from him when things go wrong? Then you have an idol, another god.”

Reflecting on Luther, Per M. Anderson concluded in 1993 (during the global AIDS crisis) that “Though the new technological society may come to doubt its ultimate trust in more and better technique, it will not stop looking to human powers in time of need. Luther’s reflection upon plague gives us reason to wonder whether modern technology is a massive, now established project of unbelief.” Anderson’s words seem particularly prophetic in the context of the global health crisis merely twenty-seven years later.

In Milan in A.D. 1576, a wave of plague also struck that city filling hospitals to capacity, shutting down trade and commerce, and draining the city’s financial resources. But one facet of civic life remained open: the churches. Remi Chiu notes that even as “draconian measures” were enacted, the cathedrals remained important in community life. Citizens flocked to the cathedrals to sing, chant, worship and intercede for the city, closely following the liturgy of Gregory. There was a two-fold purpose of this: first, religious rite. But second, human community and solidarity. Because the plague befell the entire community, the entire community’s response was needed. But despite the contagion of the plague, liturgy and worship—including singing and corporate prayer—were understood to be non-optional. The health officials of Venice and Milan did attempt to forbid such religious gatherings, but the gatherings occurred anyway over their objections. Ingrassia, a Christian physician, opined,

“Those who are not in favor [of processions] think that it will avoid a great unruly multitude of people in the midst of this highly dangerous contagion. But I am of the opinion that we should not abandon the idea for that reason. Who could think, as a faithful Christian, that if the people go to worship the Holy Sacrament with devotion, weeping and praying for grace, that they would succumb to plague?”

Ingrassia believed it was more important that Christians continue gathering together in worship than to avoid spreading contagion at all costs. Though we may rightly disagree with him on several points including his object of worship (the Holy Sacrament rather than Christ himself) as well as his presumption regarding the spread of contagion, it is evident that even this physician did not hold to a “safety at all costs” approach. Worship still received priority.

These are but a few of the known historical instances in which the church did not back down from its duty to minister and serve. Even in the face of death rates as high as one in three during the waves of plague that swept Europe on multiple occasions, and even as much as health officials in locations such as Venice and Milan attempted to shut down the actions of the church, many ministers continued to lead worship and visit the sick.

This is not to say that ministers were willfully ignorant of risks. As stated, Luther advocated for the sick to be quarantined and to seek medical attention. Writing in 1580, Theodore Beza addressed a disagreement between factions who supported “going aside for the plague” (retreating for a time) and who condemned the practice. Beza’s own view was that of caution, to not act rashly and so provoke the wrath of God for carelessness. By the 17^th century A.D., much written evidence exists indicating that ministry did adapt— though not cease altogether— as scientific understanding of disease and contagion progressed. Writings from this era contain echoes of the tensions of the present day, as pastors and theologians discussed and differed over how to navigate pandemics. As is the case today, these debates were colored by differing views on the function and identity of the church, the extent of the authority of the church and of magistrates, scientific and medical understandings of the actual severity of outbreaks of illness, and the needs and concerns of local parishes and congregations.

With this backdrop, the focus of this essay turns to the present day, entering into this often-vigorous debate by examining the purpose and role of the church in weekly gatherings during a time of viral spread, the impact those gatherings may have on the broader community, and the tension between church and state when government edicts impact church gatherings.

Scientific and Technological Considerations

Ordinary life in A.D. 2020 does not mirror life in past centuries, let alone even past decades as many alive today will remember well. Today, it is governments, not churches, which are regarded as the foundations of cultures and societies; likewise, science, not religion, is regarded as objective truth. Would similar ministry activity as those medieval and Renaissance-era Christians engaged in be appropriate today, since in the centuries that have elapsed there have been significant changes in societal expectation, religious belief, government power, scientific understanding, and the role of technology— as was already taking shape by the dawn of the 17^th century? 

First, we must acknowledge that not all change necessarily results in improvement or progress without some trade-offs. Writing more than 30 years ago, Lesslie Newbigin warned of the dangers that science grounded in post-Enlightenment rationality could pose to human quality of life. He wrote that “What is loosely called ‘modernity’ does not provide enough nourishment for the human spirit… The human spirit cannot live permanently with a form of rationality which has no answer to the question ‘Why?’” Newbigin saw the need for a boundary to be drawn between science and other facets of life, as science— like every human activity— is a socially embodied exercise lived out in the world, not in a laboratory setting.

Newbigin’s concerns have been realized in this viral outbreak, not only of the failures of societal structures but also of modern science itself, as “trust the science” has become a mantra used by politicians to justify seemingly limitless curtailing of human activity. Scientists have been handed the right to venture far outside their disciplines to influence and declare public policy with minimal resistance from the legislative bodies whose actual task it is to draft and pass laws. And in nearly every setting across the world, the scientists who have the ears of politicians are narrowly focused on the single task of stopping viral spread, with almost complete disregard for quality of life and nourishment of the human spirit.

Furthermore, within just the last fifteen years human contact with one another has been redefined as high-speed Internet capable of supporting live video technology has become commonplace in private homes. (It is debatable whether this technology should be embraced as an unequivocal blessing, making forms of ministry possible that have not been possible at any previous time in history— or as a distraction or worse?) Much has been written in recent months about the benefits of Internet connectivity which has made it possible to see others’ faces and hear others’ voices while not being physically present. Because this technology exists (for those who can afford it and who understand how to use it—so there are exclusions) it is seen as making “social distancing” easier. It seems likely that we would not see the same rush to embrace “distancing” if these virtual Internet substitutes did not exist.

But virtual—no matter how high the bit rate and how pristine the audio quality—is still no substitute for in-person community. Modern inventions which allow transmission of messages, Internet and video—whether the telegraph a century and a half ago or WhatsApp today—still provide at best an inferior alternative for being present in person. Whether these technologies offer a net positive or a net negative to society in general is a subject outside the scope of this essay, although it is the author’s opinion (from observations gleaned through work in the computer/technology industry) there has been a net loss in human interaction coinciding with the rise in virtual communication. There are certainly relational benefits that can only be realized in person. One example is seen in Paul’s epistle to the Christians in Rome, where he tells that he is keeping them always in his prayers, but longing to see them in person (Rom. 1:11) in order to impart a spiritual gift of strengthening, and to enjoy their company for a while (Rom. 15:24).

If technology has led to a net loss in human interaction, then is evident that “social distancing” has rent asunder the fabric of human interaction. Even as I write this essay during the second week of November 2020, popular news outlets are running stories advocating for cancelling the American Thanksgiving holiday, even Christmas if necessary, and political leaders operating in lockstep have instituted edicts for the purpose of banning such feasting and celebration. Shunning relatives who believe and practice differently, even if one’s own flesh and blood, is now seen as virtuous. Meanwhile, suicide rates skyrocket, cancers go untreated, domestic violence goes undetected, children’s educations get put on hold, and all these things are considered unfortunate side effects at best, and outright virtuous sacrifices at worst. In order to avoid death by an invisible particle, many are marching headlong to death by isolation, addiction, and both temporal and eternal loneliness— yet they do so willingly, as captives to the fear of death by an invisible contagion.  

Paul exhorted the Colossians to “see to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the stoicheia (elements or elementary principles) of the world, and not according to Christ” (Col. 2:8). These elements have been disarmed (Col. 2:15) and as such, the work of Christ has delivered Christians from their power. Lesslie Newbigin, in The Gospel in a Pluralist Society, interpreted these stoicheia as human offices and powers as well as the unseen spiritual powers behind them. Though they have been disarmed, they are not yet destroyed: the church still has to wrestle with them, making manifest to them the wisdom of God as revealed in Jesus (Eph. 3:10).

“All human life is lived and has to be lived within limits which are set by certain structural features, both of the natural world and of the world of human society… These structural elements are necessary to guide and protect human life. They serve God’s purpose. But, as we well know, they can also become demonic. The God-given authority of the state can be used for tyranny. Roles can become de-humanizing so that even our best efforts at goodness can become— as Jesus said— play-acting, hypocrisy… [Norms, roles and structures], says Paul, are good creations of God. They have a part to play in his purpose. But they can come to usurp the place to which they have no right, the place which belongs to Christ and to him alone. They can be, as we say, absolutized, and then they become demonic.”

Newbigin’s message about these structural elements of society ought to be heeded as human rulers and authorities continue to roll out new waves of restrictions which grow arguably increasingly tyrannical and de-humanizing. This is not to say that every government edict, restriction or advisory is evil. But we ought to recognize the possibility that some may be. We will now turn directly to the church’s response to such edicts.