What would I do if I was a doctor, and someone like Cho Seung-Hui walked into my office needing medical care? The code of the medical profession, like the path of the bodhisattva, calls us to extend help and care and compassion to all beings. Unitarian Universalism calls us to radical inclusivity; how much more radically inclusive can you get than being compassionate towards a senseless murderer? And yet that is what I have found myself trying to do since I first heard the news on Monday. Of course I was moved to first say a prayer for the victims, their families, and the university community, though recognizing that there is nothing that can change their incredible losses. Then, I found myself wondering about the killer – asking why and how he could have come to that level of violence and desperation. As a future medical professional, I found myself wondering about his psychiatric and psychosocial problems, and whether any additional services and support could have been provided to him – for his own good, as well as for the prevention of this horror. I am not trying to absolve him of guilt for this crime; far from it, the majority of my being wants to wall him off from the species I call mine. But difficult as it is, I am trying to cultivate a level of compassion for him as well. Because as soon as we choose who is deserving of compassion and why, rather than extending it to all people (Buddhism says: sentient beings), the limitless compassion of the bodhisattva and the ideal medical provider becomes limited compassion, and loses its radical power, and is mired in judgment, and gives up its capacity to heal those who are in need.

I got choked up several times in the last few days as the news continued to come in, the number of dead and injured increased, and more and more bizarre and awful things about the behavior of Cho Seung-Hui were reported. But when I really cried, I wasn’t thinking about him, but about Liviu Librescu. He was the professor who physically barred the classroom door to give his students time to escape; he was shot, but saved their lives. I cried when I read that he, a Holocaust survivor, died on Yom HaShoah – the Jewish Day of Remembrance for the Holocaust. The fact that he survived one senseless killing only to lose his life in another hit me hard. However, with help from my boyfriend, I’ve been able to turn it around and see that his action is a reminder that even within incredible darkness, some light can be found. People who represent such points of light enable me to believe that there is a higher power of good and love and creation – one that moves within us – that can overcome the evil that is its absence.

[And I'm not far from the only one who has been so moved: in our own strange children-of-the-new-millenium way, young people by the thousands have been showing their respect and appreciation for Professor Librescu on Facebook.com, as well as sending their hearts out to the victims and the survivors at Virginia Tech.]

In closing, an incredible testament to the possibility of human goodness and compassion: a prayer from beliefnet.com that was posted for Yom HaShoah but on April 14 – who could have foreseen it would have an additional meaning after this April 16?
Lord, remember not only the men of good will, but also those of ill will. But do not remember all the suffering they have inflicted upon us. Remember rather the fruits we have brought, thanks to this suffering: our comradeship, our loyalty, our humility, the courage, the generosity, the greatness of heart that has grown out of this. And when they come to judgment, let all the fruits we have bourne be their forgiveness.
source: Found on a scrap of paper at the liberation of Ravensbruck Concentration Camp in Germany