All day long we sat in a little upstairs office off a narrow dusty alley in Islamabad. For nine hours victims courageous or able-bodied enough came to tell their stories of robbery, rape, and murder –as minorities, they live like lambs among wolves. We saw their scars and shared their tears.

About 8:00 this evening Jonah drove us over to the hospital to visit Pastor Masih, who was severely beaten by several men in his village near Malapura. We walked through a dark courtyard, careful not to stumble over people spending the night there. Families of patients huddled together in the shadows, sometimes spotted only by the clink of cooking pots or the orange glow of a cigarette. In the hospital ward, 40 men were housed with Pastor Masih. Cats darted in and out of the room, and flies lingered over the blood-spattered floor.

The left side of the young pastor’s head was smashed in. The blows severed his ear and have left him blind in one eye. Because of convulsions, his wrists were awkwardly tied with cords, leaving him in a position of twisted agony. His wife Shinaz sat next to him, holding their 3-month old son. She stared blankly at her husband with indescribable sadness in her eyes as the baby nuzzled her and cried softly.

We took issue with the doctors over his poor treatment; but it seems clear that they hoped Masih would be dead by now, and they are uncomfortable with the attention his case is now getting. Masih began to stir before I left and fixed his one eye on me. Who can describe the sorrow in that eye—or the anger I feel tonight?