Last week, I waited on the infamous Skid Row in Los Angeles for my wife, Suzie, to return from a short visit to one of her research sites that focuses on health equity for injection drug users.

Sitting in a rented minivan (#dadlife), my eyes were drawn to a woman on the sidewalk, pulling herself with whatever upper body strength she had left. Although she looked much older, she was probably only in her 50s, aged by a great suffering that likely went beyond the physical. She was frail, with both legs appearing severely infected- both swollen and discolored.

There was something about her that drew me into her woundedness like a moth to a light. I thought of her as a young child, as my fortunate kids rested behind me playing games and innocently unaware of their surroundings. I thought of her loved ones, past and present, who carry the heavy weight that so many do as their friend or family member struggle beyond their ability to assist.

When describing this distant encounter to a friend, she said, “your heart was pierced,” as I shared a sorrow that thankfully refuses to subside. She was referencing Luke’s Gospel, when Simeon predicted to Mary, Jesus’ mother, that her soul would be pierced (2:35) by the sacrificial death of her then baby son.

As a point of reference, for over two decades, I was blessed to serve and invite countless college students into a transformative discovery of God found in those living in poverty, with the hope and prayer that they would use their faith and education to create a more just society. In my recent work at the United Nations, I am undergoing my own spiritual and intellectual transformation as I come to better understand the systemic injustice that contributes and often creates structures of haves and have nots.

I am coming to realize that those in power prefer it this way, spending more time dividing and conquering than uniting. There is more than enough food and water, shelter and time, to help those most in need…yet most in power only see their wealth grow as does their influence. Follow the money, I was advised, when I started this work at the UN. It is rare for it to lead to those who are unhoused and unfed.

I am inspired by many in the Vincentian family (those who trace their spiritual roots to 17th century priest, St. Vincent de Paul, and his companion, St. Louise de Marrilac) who dedicate their lives to this work of ending homelessness- modern day saints who link the brain and the heart. Their own pierced hearts and souls allows them to see God in those most in need, challenging their faith to move words into action. I marvel at their courage, strength, and belief that in the most difficult of circumstances we can provide a safe home for all-or at least die trying.

All of this was on my heart as I watched this stranger in Skid Row struggle to move a short distance. I thought of those 2,000 years ago who also crawled toward Jesus, hoping for healing by simply touching the bottom of his robe. I wonder how God is calling me to heal both in charity and justice and to turn to God for continued direction.

In the Jewish Scriptures, Solomon asked God for an “understanding heart (1Kings 3:9-11).” This granted request reminds me, not to only understand those who are living in poverty, but also those who are indifferent as well as those who have damning opinions rooted in judgement, ignorance, and hate- and very likely, their own buried and invisible wounds.

I find myself, when fully engulfed in this reflection, trying to seek God’s healing touch as well. I know I can be fully engaged in this work, and at other times, indifferent and even, judgmental and fearful. I bring all of my complexities into an already puzzling situation.

It can be overwhelming as there is so much to do around so many issues of injustice, as our brothers and sisters seek a helping hand and a loving heart. Can we, can I, wounded meeting wounded, stranger becoming friend, respond with the love that is demanded of us.

As a father, I also recognize that my kids are watching. Modeling (or not modeling) love, they will learn to either do the same or to be added to the numbers who are removed from the pain of others.

When we discuss these matters, we pray for those we see suffering, for others and for us to respond with love. In time, as they grow older, they will be invited into the spirit of charity and then, in advocating for systemic change and justice. I hope they can look to me as I look to my colleagues with admiration and inspiration.

When St. Vincent de Paul was troubled with a pierced heart after an encounter with a dying man of both physical and spiritual poverty, his friend posed to him this simple, yet transformative question, “what must be done?”

This question becomes ours to answer, helping the person in front of us and working to change the structures and cultures that allow for so many to have so little.

Sure, we have our wounds, and our own individual and communal challenges that gains our daily attention. If we shift our perspective, we can recognize that this only prepares us to meet our suffering neighbors where they are and to better respond with action rooted in faith and love. It is what must be done.