It is natural, especially given the hierarchical structure of many religions particularly the Catholic one of which I am part, to wait to be told what to do.

Perhaps we are waiting for a call from people we imagine have greater expertise, greater skill, or greater power to “make something happen.”

But what if waiting for that call—as families are ripped apart, people die in detention centers, and more refugees are created by the moment as bombs fall across the Middle East—is a cost we cannot bear. What if the call has already come, from a poor itinerant preacher named Jesus, a long time ago?

We all need to answer the question now. What is mine to do? What is yours to do? What is ours to do?

Over the past year, we have experienced intensifying violence and dehumanizing rhetoric against our immigrant neighbors. We have seen a record number of deaths in US detention centers, a near-total ban on asylum, and the continued brutal separation of families.

The common question – what can I do? – is often tinged with despair about one’s own potential to make an impact, leading to paralysis or apathy towards any action.

The “magis” is a concept in Ignatian Spirituality, meaning “the more” in Latin. It’s not a measure of quantity, productivity, or climbing any ladder. Rather, it is a call for each of us to attend to our unique gifts and context to discern: how can I give of myself in a way that serves God and serves my neighbor “more”?

Magis is a constant reminder to ask: not what can I do, but what is mine to do? And why?

Let’s begin with our context.

First, migration is at the heart of all three Abrahamic religions – Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. From the Exodus in the Jewish tradition, to Hijrah and the Prophet Muhammad’s journey to Medina in the Quran, to the Holy Family’s flight to Egypt after Jesus’s birth in the Christian tradition, sacred texts tell us of people on the move.

The Catholic tradition calls us to welcome and advocate for strangers – the migrants, the displaced, the aliens in a foreign land.  The emphasis is on the fundamental human dignity of every person. The preferential option for the poor designates a special duty to care for migrants as a particularly vulnerable group. Catholic leaders at every level—from Bishop Mark Seitz of El Paso, who is on the frontlines, to the USCCB’s Special Message on migration, to Pope Leo and our dear late Pope Francis—have condemned US policy and rhetoric on immigration.

Second, we must refuse to allow White Christian Nationalism to claim to be an authentic voice of faith in the public square.  For too long, Christianity has been distorted and weaponized for political gain and against vulnerable communities, whether that be those of other religions, queer and trans individuals, or immigrant communities. Our Catholic Vice President has wrongly used the ‘ordo amoris (order of love)’ to justify the Trump administration’s nationalist agendas, and evangelical Christian Speaker of the House Mike Johnson has used isolated and faulty Bible interpretation to defend Trump’s immigration policy.  To provide a counternarrative that witnesses to another way of being Christian (and human) is an act of true and courageous discipleship.

Third, to Minneapolis, where we learned that voices of faith matter and so does knowing your neighbor.  Scripture teaches us: love your neighbor as yourself (Matt 22:39). But before we love our neighbor, we have to know our neighbor. Who is my neighbor (Luke 10:29)? And what could we do if we joined together as neighbors, as people from all (and no) faith traditions, to love and protect our neighbors?

Now to the question of how.  Allow me to speak personally, as a lay Catholic woman.

I found my response in the Season of Faithful Witness, a national Catholic movement calling individuals, parishes, and communities to live out the Gospel in public life through coordinated public expressions of faithful, nonviolent, and prophetic witness. In a time of profound moral consequence, the Season of Faithful Witness comes together to stand for universal human dignity, “not only through personal acts of compassion, but through just laws and institutions that respect conscience, religious liberty, and the common good. When these protections erode, it is always the vulnerable who suffer first and most.”

I said yes to the call. Now I am co-coordinating the Boston chapter of Season of Faithful Witness.

We hope to build an ecosystem of parishes, schools, and organizations to empower inter-parish relationships, wisdom sharing, and collaboration; to foster sustainable and dynamic responses to the signs of the times, rooted in our Catholic faith; to organize as a community of faith in response to this moment, particularly the assaults against our immigrant neighbors; and to stand together in solidarity to affirm the human dignity of all and stand against violence in our public policies.

One of the most profound graces I have been given as a lay Catholic woman—through my theological studies and especially through encounters with faithful, holy people in my hospital chaplaincy and prison ministry—is the knowledge of my own power. I have agency and authority as a person of faith rooted in my baptismal dignity to bear witness to my faith in the public square. This witness is best done in community, where two or three (or more) are gathered (Matt 18:20). And this is what we hope to do with Season of Faithful Witness.

Maybe your own lived experience, your passion, or an idea you want to bring to life leads you elsewhere. But I pray in this moment, when it is easy to be overwhelmed and paralyzed, that we have the courage to ask the question, to listen to where the Holy Spirit is calling us forth, and to say yes.

Sarah Hansman is a Catholic leader of the  Season of Faithful Witness Boston, part of a national Catholic movement calling individuals, parishes, and communities to live out the Gospel in public life through coordinated public expressions of faithful, nonviolent, and prophetic witness. She is a doctoral student in theological ethics at Boston College, a hospital chaplain, and prison minister.