During the outbreaks of Bubonic Plague, better known as the Black Death, many devout Christians
believed that the prophecy inherent in the book of Revelation was about to be
realized. The disease came after drought
and famine, and as the bodies began to pile up, people desperately tried to
find a rhyme or reason as to why some were infected and some avoided getting
sick. Ships arrived in port with every
sailor sick and dying, and in at least a few cases, the vessels ran aground
because everyone on board was already dead.
At night, people reported strange fires and mists that seemed to carry
pestilence and immediate death. All day
in the sweltering heat of summer, the pope kept huge fires burning in the papal
apartments at Avignon, believing that aromatic wood would ward off
infection. Those days of fire did
nothing to keep Death at bay.
The plague took three
forms: a lymph infection causing buboes,
apple-sized swellings that became purple or black in the armpits and groin; a
blood infection resulting in deep purple bruising and skin discolorations all
over the body; and a pneumonic form causing the coughing up of blood and
respiratory failure. All three forms
were fatal, usually, and the last was most puzzling to people at the time. They had yet to understand airborne
contagion. There were stories of people
going to bed well and dying before they woke up the next morning. Others died within twenty-four hours of first
symptoms. Whole households would perish,
but others would be untouched, or have only a few family members die. Monasteries were obliterated, and priests
disappeared. Doctors also fell victim,
leaving a dearth of medical aid for those who remained. Husbands abandoned sick wives and children. Children left their parents, or were forced
to fend for themselves when the parents died.
The very structure of family and communal life was destroyed as the
plague swept the cities, towns and villages.
But all of those
people were wrong about Revelation prophecy.
The Black Death did not visit their homes because of something written
in an apocalyptic book of symbolism and metaphors dated to the first century of
the common era. In their panic, they
looked for signs and indications to understand what was happening. In the same way, the recent Ebola outbreak
around the world must be understood and kept in perspective.
Over the weekend,
President Obama appointed an “Ebola Czar” to oversee the United States’
continuing response to the health crisis.
Many are criticizing his choice of Ron Klain, a former member of Joe
Biden’s staff who is not a doctor or health care expert. In recent news reports, the president has
been portrayed as impatient and angry with government agencies’ responses to
the terrifying illness. When interviewed
on CNN or any other news outlet, officials from the Centers for Disease Control
say that there is little chance of an outbreak among civilians, and that some
infection in doctors and nurses who treat the sick is to be expected. On the other end of the reactionary spectrum,
people like Rick Perry demand that borders be closed and travel
restricted. I’m waiting for someone to
step up to a microphone and tell us this is God’s work, a punishment foisted upon
us for our own deviant lifestyle.
A colleague of mine
greets every mention of Ebola with, “So this is the end, right? This is the end of the world?” The world could end in many ways, and for
sure will end when the sun collapses on itself sometime in the future. However, Ebola, although a threat to human
existence, is not the end of the world or of us. It will cause deaths because it is a dangerous
disease, but the stupid statements that it is a genetically engineered sickness
designed to limit population growth, that’s just conspiracy hogwash. In history, there have been many extinct
species, and each died off because of certain factors in the environment, in
hunting practices, and in just basic bad luck.
Until we find a vaccination or a reliable cure, Ebola will kill people,
especially those poor folks who live in dire circumstances and cannot afford
first world medical treatment. Even with
that treatment, some may die. But life
is like that; it is dangerous. Ebola is
just one more thing that can kill us.
When did we come to
believe that we are invincible? That is
not natural. No threats, no terrifying
diseases, or vicious, wild animals, or bad guys, that’s not realistic in the
life equation. We have always been
chased and threatened and forced to fight or run away. People are born, they live, they die. That is what is. Ebola, and every other dangerous thing in the
world, should make us think about what is important: the people we love, the art we create, our
commonalities, the beauty and symmetry of our differences.
Last night, I was in a
restaurant having dinner when an African-American family arrived at the next
table. They were dressed in their Sunday
best—a son in his 30s, a wife, a teenager, and an elderly man who had to be
helped to his seat, and his wife who was confined to a wheelchair and could not
speak. As the son tucked the napkin into
his father’s collar, the old man said: “This
is so great! We didn’t know what we were
going to eat at home before you all called to take us out.” His voice had the gravelly richness of Louis
Armstrong, and was full of pleasure and gratitude. His words stabbed at me. The joy of good food and family obviously
meant something to him, namely a richer life.
I leaned over to my wife and told her the old man’s voice reminded me of
Armstrong singing the song, “What a Wonderful World.” Watching the family enjoy their time together
on a Sunday evening before starting the crush of a new week, I felt strangely
exhilarated and renewed. I felt hope
that even with the pain and suffering in this life, there would always be the
simple joys and pleasures of family dinners, time with friends, and a moment of
relaxation ahead of a hectic work week.
Ebola reminds us how
to live. It takes from us, it threatens
us, it instills fear. In the poetry of
Psalms, we know that we are forever walking through the valley of the shadow of
death, but we should not fear because we are not alone. Ebola just might bring us a gift. As with all things in life that remind us of
the fragility of existence, we must see the world and recognize its terrors,
but we must not be afraid to live.