Where is the compassion?
I see someone suffering, but he doesn’t look like me. Why should I help him when it will take something from me? I don’t have the time. I don’t have the money. I’m struggling myself. It doesn’t make sense to help someone else. I turn and walk away from the suffering man. His suffering offends me, convicts me, and messes up my plans. As I walk away and glance over my shoulder a small child walks over to him. The…