Compassion is one of the older words in the English language. Scholars say it dates to the 14th century, derived from a combination of Latin words that describe “bearing” and “suffering.” Together, they speak to a caring response to the distress felt by another. It is not about “pity.” That implies a level of contempt. It is not about mere “sympathy,” but suggests a desire to aid or help another. Surely, most Americans favor such an outlook on life. Only the heartless would prefer that compassion is never extended.

Or is the line always so clear? Can one man’s compassion be an act of betrayal towards another?

This week, Baltimoreans bore witness to at least two high-profile examples of compassion in action, one where it was forcefully rejected, another where it was accepted under unlikely circumstances. The first took place after a religious service in the Washington National Cathedral, the other after an National Football League playoff game involving the Baltimore Ravens and Buffalo Bills. See if you can spot the model behavior.

On Tuesday toward the end of her 15-minute sermon during an inaugural prayer service at the cathedral, the Right Rev. Mariann Budde urged President Donald Trump and Vice President J.D. Vance to “have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now.” She went on to ask them to show compassion toward members of the LGBTQ+ community and to migrant workers who are in the country illegally.

“There are gay, lesbian and transgender children in Democratic, Republican, and independent families, some who fear for their lives,” she said. And migrant workers? Those who “pick our crops and clean our office buildings; who labor in poultry farms and meat packing plants” may not be citizens with proper documentation, she said, “But the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes and are good neighbors.”

After the service, President Trump spoke out against her, stating that he didn’t much care for what he’d heard. By Wednesday, he was far more explicit, demanding a public apology from the Episcopal bishop for her “inappropriate” statements and describing her on social media as a “Radical Left hard line Trump hater” who had been “nasty in tone” and “not compelling or smart.”

Now, contrast that to the recent experience of Ravens tight end Mark Andrews who, as every devoted local football fan will recall, both fumbled and dropped a crucial two-point conversion pass in a must-win playoff game against the Buffalo Bills. The veteran athlete was clearly upset by his failure, refusing to talk to reporters after the contest even as his teammates and coach insisted he should not be blamed for the team’s 27-25 loss.

And so what did hardcore Bills fans do about this circumstance? Did they taunt him? Did they mock him (as some so-called Ravens fans did on social media)? Did they simply ignore his pain? Now, here’s where things get interesting. No, they launched a GoFundMe page to collect money toward Andrews’ favorite nonprofit, Breakthrough T1D, which seeks to find a cure for Type 1 diabetes which the veteran player happens to have. As of Wednesday night, Bills Mafia, as they are known, had raised more than $90,000. You can bet the Ravens noticed.

“Shout out to Bills Mafia for showing support to our guy Mark Andrews and donating to the @BreakthroughT1D organization, which works towards curing and improving the lives of those dealing with Type 1 diabetes,” the team posted on X.

The actions by Budde and the Bills fans were unquestionably compassionate; however, the reactions were markedly different. President Trump viewed the Reverend’s act of compassion as an act of betrayal against those that he cares for. Should we empathize with migrants, whom Trump claims commit crimes and steal American jobs and taxpayer money, and the LGBTQ+ community, whom he alleges threaten American culture, the nuclear family, and women’s sports. Or should we extend compassion to migrants who navigate perilous landscapes to escape extreme poverty and gang violence, and to the LGBTQ+ community seeking to live life free from governmental intrusion?

Compassion, it seems, is never so simple. In the case of the Bills, few would oppose curing Type 1 diabetes, while, with Trump, many people believe they have been wronged by the government in relation to migrants and the LGBTQ+ community.

Perhaps we should simply admit that compassion is not so simple, and that it is often two sides of the same coin. Maybe compassion is dependent on nothing more than whose story we choose to embrace.