I was leaving (abandoning?) people I had just met and with whom I had shared a life-changing weekend: the homeless living on Austin’s streets. They who had “nothing” had readily shared everything they had with me, and I was transformed by their warmth, hospitality and kindness. They showed me where to eat, where to sleep and how to avoid harassment. I was feeling especially grateful for their sharing of their life stories of broken families, broken bodies and the broken dreams that led them to struggling to survive on the streets.

I wept because the mystery of solidarity had taken hold in my heart. My time with them left me connected to them at a visceral, human level. Though we had little in common materially, we had everything in common as human beings. Entering into their vulnerability on the streets connected me to them, enlivened my empathy and prompted my tears.

Solidarity, dawning on my consciousness, stung the eyes of my heart as I recognized that we are “one human family, whatever our national, racial, ethnic, economic, and ideological differences.” (USCCB, Forming Consciences for Faithful Citizenship, nos. 52-54)

And my Catholic faith reinforced this understanding: Our common humanity connects us, binds us, calls us to be Good Samaritans to one another, to be my brother’s and sister’s keeper. My tears were evidence of this truth moving from my head into my heart. This happened over 20 years ago; I was changed forever.

Since then, I no longer look past, through, or beyond the ragged outcast on the street corner, but stop to affirm their personhood with a kind word, a prayer, a bottle of water, a donation. I heed Pope Francis’ call to recognize the “obligation to ensure that every person lives with dignity and has sufficient opportunities for his or her integral development.” (Fratelli Tutti, 118)

And so I form my conscience by studying Catholic social teaching. I vote for politicians whose policies promote solidarity in their lawmaking in all the ways it impacts our society: promoting just wages, affordable housing and quality education to break the poverty cycle; helping pregnant women choose life and mothers care for their children; caring for the physically and mentally ill and those who are addicted; advocating for peace and arms reduction; and so much more.

The concept of “us and them” comes to mind, followed by Father Richard Rohr’s recalibration: it’s all us. We are brothers, sisters, all. Solidarity is less a political slogan than it is a spiritual truth. As Pope Benedict XVI wrote: “as baptized members of the community of the Church, we are part of one body in Christ” (Deus Caritas Est, 25). And so we are called by faith to live in solidarity with — in communion with — one another in our home, our community, our workplace, our church and our world. And in how we form our consciences for faithful citizenship.