St. Pachomius is known as the father of Koinonia, of “cenobitic” (communal) monasticism. The Western Christian Benedictine Order has its basis in his Pachomian Koinonia. I begin the “Hospitality” section of my book, Putting Joy into Practice, with the story of how hospitality is what made him a Christian, and how hospitality (both that of welcoming guests and that of tending to the sick) defined the monastic communities he founded in Egypt. What I didn’t know was that Pachomius (Pachom in Coptic) died of a terrible plague that swept through his monasteries and killed hundreds of monastics. When my sister Mary K. Farag, who is currently Assistant Professor of Early Christian Studies at Princeton Theological Seminary, told me this story, I asked her to share some of her research here, the account of how this early Christian monastic father responded to this plague, and what it means for us as we grapple with the ongoing implications of the COVID-19 pandemic. To me, it means that as we work to keep each other safe following recommended procedures, we do this work out of love, not fear, we find ways to love and maintain our communities even when we have to be far apart, and we work to fight inequalities in health care access and treatment. Appropriately, we share this story on the eve of his commemoration in the Coptic Orthodox Church.

By Mary K. Farag

On 14 Pashons (22 May), in the year 347, St. Pachom died, having suffered for many weeks, as a devastating plague afflicted the monasteries he had founded. During the Holy Forty Days (Great Lent), Pachom went out to harvest with the brethren. He fainted, and the brethren discovered that he had a high fever. Pachom was ill, like many of the brethren at the time. So Pachom was taken to join all the brethren who had fallen ill. The monks could tell when their brethren were about to die from the plague:

“their color would change, and their eyes would fill with blood, and [they were] like persons who choke to the point that they can no longer breathe.”

(My translation. For the Sahidic Coptic text, see L.-Th. Lefort, S. Pachomii Vitae Sahidice Scriptae, CSCO 99 and 100, Scriptores coptici 9 and 10 (Louvain: Imprimerie Orientaliste L. Durbecq, 1952), p. 91).

Pachom, several other leaders, and about 130 monks in one of the monasteries alone all died from the plague that Paschaltide of 347 (Lefort, S. Pachomii Vitae Sahidice Scriptae, p. 91).

The symptoms (fever and shortness of breath) and the season of the year (Paschaltide) resonate with our current experience this year 2020. One thousand six-hundred and seventy-three years after Pachom died, we, as readers of a story told about him, can renew our hope by attending to the ways in which Pachom and his monks dealt with the plague and the proximity of death, while also strengthening their communal bond, their koinonia.

One prevalent message these days is that it is in our power, each and every one of us, to prevent illness and death. Pachom and his monks would not agree. In their view, yes, we can show compassion towards those who are ill, we can destigmatize illness, and we can make every effort to help those ill to recover. However, life and death are always in the hands of the Lord.

Egyptian monasteries in the fourth century had robust healthcare systems. Pachom’s monasteries were no exception. Pachom himself was often counted among those ill. The writers of his life story did not interpret his illnesses as punishments, failures, or the like. Instead, like the apostle Paul in his illness, they heard the Lord say, “My strength is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor 12:9b). Like Paul, Pachom is said to have been taken up to heaven, and this happened during one of his illnesses.

Compassion toward, healthcare for, and de-stigmatization of those ill—these works Pachom and his followers would fully support. But to think that we can prevent someone from dying—on this point, they would not agree. “The visitation came to all the monasteries of brethren by the command of the Lord,” a writer said about the deaths from the plague of 347 (My translation. For the Sahidic Coptic text, see Lefort, S. Pachomii Vitae Sahidice Scriptae, p. 91). If one lived or if one died, it was in the hands of the Lord. Life and death were not rewards, punishments, or the results of human success or failure, but mysteries of the Lord’s providence. Illness was a kind of weakness through which the Lord perfected His strength.

Pachom witnessed leaders of his monasteries and monks of his monasteries die of the plague, and he believed he would join them. In the midst of the distress over the loss of so many in such a short period of time, Pachom’s number one concern was the bond of the Koinonia. Even while ill, Pachom

“spent the four days of the Pascha without eating, while grieving and groaning to himself that the bond of the Koinonia would not be dissolved”

(My translation. For the Sahidic Coptic text, see Lefort, S. Pachomii Vitae Sahidice Scriptae, p. 88).

Pachom was distraught not because the death toll itself was staggering, but because of the potential damaging effect it could have on the Christian love and fellowship that characterized and bound his communities together. Even though he was ill and suffering from the plague, he fasted for four consecutive days during Holy Week, praying for the bond of the Koinonia. To be sure, Pachom would never enjoin such a fast on anyone ill; in fact, he is said to have rebuked those who refused to fulfill the needs of anyone suffering from an illness. The ill were to eat whatever they needed, including items that were usually prohibited from the monk’s diet, like meat. As the father of many monasteries, however, Pachom held the greatest level of responsibility. His concern over the bond of the Koinonia recurs throughout the story of his life, from his very first (failed) attempt at gathering and binding a Koinonia to his death, by then having founded several thriving monastic communities.

And, so, we hear that at the end of Pachom’s life, this concern preoccupied him. He did not try to prevent the visitation of the Lord to the monks of his monasteries. In other words, he did not assume it was in his power to prevent death. Yes, it was in his power to ensure that the monasteries provided healthcare services, that the ill were shown all compassion, etc. But death was in the hands of the Lord alone. So Pachom worried about maintaining the bond of the Koinonia, while fully accepting the Lord’s commands. If anyone died, it was not because one of the monks caused another monk to fall ill or because monastic healthcare services were not good enough. In other words, cause of death was not the focus. When it came to death, the emphasis lay upon the Lord’s accompaniment of those who were dying.

May Pachom’s example guide us in our experience of a plague. Like Pachom, we can take comfort in the fact that the Lord is present in all deaths. The Lord accompanies all those who depart, including those who die the most unjust deaths. Like Pachom, we should pray, fast, grieve, and groan over our communal bonds, strained as they are by all of the rules and recommendations that keep us physically apart and by the inequities that pervade our society. Pachom’s monasteries weathered the storm of the plague in 347 because they trusted God and loved one another. Even though the plague costed them their father Pachom, other leaders as well, and many, many monks, it did not cost them their koinonia. Like them, may we remember and learn to understand what the Lord said to Paul, “My strength is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor 12:9b).

Note from Dr. Farag: I am grateful to Dr. Lisa Bowens for her thoughtful comments on a previous version of this post.

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If you would like to learn more about St. Pachomius and his monasteries and read the story about the plague of 347, watch this June 10, 2020 webinar hosted by the East Coast Coptic Youth Convention.

Dr. Mary K. Farag is Assistant Professor of Early Christian Studies at Princeton Theological Seminary. She spends much of her time reading ancient texts on parchment, paper, or on the walls of ancient monasteries. She is fluent in both English and Egyptian Arabic, with advanced knowledge of German, and reading knowledge of French, Arabic, Coptic, Greek, and Latin. She is a wife and mother with an obsession for all things Tolkien. Read her talk, Glory and Mercy, in the Fall 2018 edition of Jacob’s Well, on page 40 here. You can also read her forward to the Princeton Theological Review’s Spring 2018 issue on “Arts as a Voice for the Church” here.