My friend Mary, a career nursing leader, will never draw a full breath again. A smoker for more than forty years, she is tethered to an oxygen tank twenty-four hours a day. "Well, she was such a smoker," one of her caregivers told me. "I guess that's what you get," she continued, as if it was hard for her to empathize.
In my work as a filmmaker, I encounter a triplet of letters on every script: POV. There is also a PBS television series that uses the same combination.
You may well know that POV, in these contexts, means "Point of View." When things are seen from one character's POV, the camera sees what that character sees. This means that the camera cannot see the point of view of the other character and must change locations to have that perspective.
Because of the proximity of Valentine's day, you may imagine heart shapes in the photo above left. If you spent your time as a sculptor, you might wonder if this image is made of clay.
The mind will always ask two questions when seeing any image:: 1) What is it? and 2) From what angle of view was it taken? But, from what POV did I make the image?
Only by staying with a complex subject can viewers appreciate what the artist may be trying to say – or what the viewer would like the image to communicate.
The first picture is a kind of orchid. It was made from directly overhead.
Because black and white and drains the orchid of color, the eye has a better chance to focus on what black and white is all about including light, line, shadow, texture, depth of field, angle and POV – both yours and mine.
If you spent your life in prison then the second photo may bring bars to mind. But, this is only a chair. Angle of view and editing highlight contrast. There is no sharper contrast than pure white and hard-edged black.
What can orchids and chairs have to do with caregiving? We are all inclined to our particular point of view. Yet, the magic in our hearts enables us to shift our point of view without moving.
We connect with a patient's pain when we connect it to something we have experienced. The moment we do, our point of view swings towards the patient.
Immediately, our compassion rises. Only now can we begin the work of healing beyond curing.
Jesus grounded his healing in profound empathy. He was so much in touch with our suffering that he offered his life for us. He took our point of view.
There are only two tiny slices of color in the picture below – two glances of blue amid black and white curves.
Every person in need hopes we see the nuanced colors of their need. We can only do this by climbing into the cave of their pain so that we may lead them toward the light.
-Rev. Erie Chapman
Journal of Sacred Work 
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