I recently spent several hours in a hospital emergency room (I’m fine, by the way!). I dreaded it, but the triage nurse at my medical clinic, and my husband, demanded that I go. I hate ERs – the wait time is usually long and unpredictable, the price tag high, and my particular ailment didn’t seem acute enough to warrant this waste of time. My husband, however, was not going to let me off the hook. So, begrudgingly, I packed a bag of reading material, phone charging cable, my trusty laptop, some almonds and a bottle of water, and I headed to the hospital. It was already nearly 7 PM, so I braced myself for a long evening.

There were quite a few people waiting when I arrived, and more trickling in every few minutes. Not to mention the ambulance bay’s steady stream of arrivals with more acute patients. A beautifully colorful, albeit tragic, sea of hurting humanity. We were all clearly not having our best day. People were injured, sick, in pain, fatigued, and impatient. I overheard a bit here and there – a sports injury, a bad chemo reaction, a terrifying cough. The staff seemed to be working as expediently as possible, but still the wait time was long and some of the patient’s patience was short.

As I sat in the cramped waiting room, complete with the plexiglass barriers between each seat, I wondered about all of the stories in the room. Who were these people and what had happened to bring them here? I wondered about their childhood and their families. Due to COVID-19, most people were not allowed to have a visitor accompany them and I wondered if they felt alone. I wondered about their support system and if they would be okay. How did they get here, how would they get home? I wondered if they felt loved and if they knew Jesus.

By contrast, the staff were wonderful and professional. I realized that they have a unique position from which to see the very worst parts of the human condition. Though I’m sure they’ve seen it all, they approached each person and each case with such kindness and care. I was struck by the depth of compassion one would need in order to see so many people at their worst – day in and day out – and yet remain so gracious and kind.

It made me think that far too often we don’t extend enough genuine compassion to one another. I suspect we make assumptions about one another – and our ignorant paradigms are full of subtle accusations about what people deserve and what they did to warrant their conditions. I grieved at the thought.

Scripture says that when Jesus saw the crowds, He was filled with compassion because of all of their needs (Matthew 9: 36). Sitting there I realized that while I don’t know every story, Jesus does. And He loves them deeply. He created each one and knows them by name. While He would be the one qualified to rightly accuse and condemn, scripture also says that is not His purpose (John 3:17) and that in Him there is no condemnation (Romans 8:1).

So, since I had the time, I turned my attention to prayer – for both the incredibly compassionate workers and the hurting ones who needed them.

This week:

Consider areas in your life where you could be more compassionate. What paradigms or assumptions do you have about others, whom Jesus loves? Consider how you can be the compassionate hands, feet, and heart of Jesus to the hurting world around you.