As we think about the joys resulting from the spring arrival of Pentecost, and of our young men and women celebrating the sacrament confirmation, we often reflect upon the coming of the Holy Spirit. Our minds might linger on thinking a bit enviously what it would be like to have the Holy Spirit descend upon us. We long for the experience of being filled with indescribable peace, knowing we are close to God, that He loves us enough to come to us, to fill us with energy and enthusiasm, reviving us to live out His will.
Over the last two decades, I have spent a great deal of time working with and teaching medical students. Extraordinary sponges of knowledge, these eager scholars emerge from the dark cave of incessant testing and classwork (dominating their first two years of medical school) only to be bleary and blinded by the deep complexity of the patients in their charge.
Sated with knowledge, but bereft of experience, they find themselves going down abstruse rabbit holes of inquiry, entertaining inconceivably long lists of diagnoses, and performing the most contortionist of exam maneuvers. After emerging from the patient’s room (usually 15 minutes later than desirable), students find themselves dazed yet delighted. They are finally practicing medicine.