A Lesson on Compassion through Failure

I failed to show compassion today, and sadly I did not regret it, until a few minutes ago. I was placed in a shelter home for people with mental illnesses who had no one to care for them. They had it all, from the muted and catatonic, to the manic and downright psychotic! I halfheartedly tolerated them while taking their blood pressure, but I could not stand those with very interesting odor and questionable discharge oozing out of places where the sun don't shine.

I was taking the measurements of those who could not get up from their so called beds. It was at this time that my compassion was truly tested, and I failed terribly. The third man form the left was laying on a very thick layer of dead skin, which I assume was his, and had a very pungent odor. My pen had touched his body while I was noting down his blood pressure and I later threw it away. I was trying to be really quick with my job, paid no attention to the soul trapped inside the wasted body, and quickly left the room afterwards, with a very disgusted face which fortunately was covered with a facemask. A nasty odor and the pitiful scene of an extremely ill man was all that it took to extinguish my compassion, what a small flame it was.

I was really convicted when I read an essay by Adam J David on the culture of compassion, let me share with you a small part of it. It tells the story of a woman with a very wealthy upbringing who used all her resources for the service of the poor and sick.

Elizabeth was drawn to the sickest, most abject patients in her hospital. Her disciple, Isentrude, described how Elizabeth wiped filth from the mouths, ears, and noses of the sick in the hospital. She not only endured sights and smells that her handmaids in the hospital could not begin to tolerate, but took delight in doing so, often smiling and laughing. For a while Elizabeth cared for a paralysed orphan boy who hemorrhaged blood, often cleaning his bloody (and soiled) clothes. When this child died, she adopted a malodorous leprous girl, who until that point had always been shunned. Elizabeth hid the sickly girl in her own house and cared for her until Elizabeth’s harsh confessor, Conrad of Marburg, discovered the hidden child. He expelled the girl from Elizabeth’s house, only to have Elizabeth adopt a new child, this one afflicted with ringworm. What Elizabeth’s hagiogaphers emphasized was the fervour and love with which she devoted herself to assisting the most helpless.

How hypocritical it is for me to write an essay on compassion, but had a very small tolerance for that man. I realize I have a lot to learn. I have not the slightest clue on compassion. I have a few more chances in the coming week. Hopefully I can learn to be a truly compassionate person.