A medical show gave me a window into life inside the ER. I cannot vouch for how accurate the drama was, what with romantic flings between staff, and obscure diseases showing up every day. But there was an element that seemed both accurate and stunning.
Doctors were unwavering in their commitment to heal their patients. Even when the perpetrator in a shooting was as banged up as his victims, everyone received the best care available. On occasion a nurse or resident might let a sliver of their feelings show, but in the end the bad guys were treated as mindfully as the good ones.
I recall a time long ago in church when John said that God loves evil spirits as much as He does the angels, and my son turned around with raised eyebrows.
"What??" he mouthed. I shrugged. I believed it, at least in theory. But watching a fictional episode where an angry maniac explodes in a rampage, those beliefs are strained.
The cavernous gap between those physicians and my own capacity for compassion reminds me just how far I have to go to be in the image of God.
