Until the land was expropriated to make way for new developments, Oakville was home to an exceptional tropical fish store. At its center was a massive circular aquarium filled with sharks and other predatory fish, and once each week the employees would host a feeding frenzy that was open to the public. One of them would climb a ladder to the top of the tank and begin to toss pieces of meat to the creatures lurking below. No sooner did the flesh hit the surface and the blood begin to seep into the water, than the sharks went mad, thrashing, circling, fighting over the bits. Rarely did a piece make it all the way to the bottom before two, three, or four sharks were battling over it, shredding it, gobbling it down.
They could almost have been us—people who so often delight to tear one another apart, to focus on flaws more than virtues, to be critical rather than encouraging, harsh rather than tender, vindictive rather than merciful.
I recently found myself studying the Parable of the Good Samaritan and marveling at its example of mercy. Because that particular example is bound to a certain setting and
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