In this month’s issue, Bodo recreates that magic. In the article “Scenes from the Life of Mary,” he tells the story of the later years of Mary’s life from her own perspective. The article is taken from his new book, Nourishing Love: A Franciscan Celebration of Mary, from Franciscan Media.

We also honor the maternal spirit in the photo story “Models of Motherly Love,” featuring the beautiful sculptures of artist Karen Schmidt.

This month, as we celebrate mothers everywhere, let us always remember to turn to our holy mother Mary, the ultimate example of motherly love.

It’s unimaginable to me how people cope with chronic anxiety, but that single experience gave me a window into mental health struggles that I’ve never forgotten. And while I haven’t experienced a panic attack or any other mental health episode since, those who do suffer—considering our country’s political unrest—face a daily uphill climb that warrants our care and respect. 

Listen without Prejudice 

Meghan Markle brought the issue of mental health to the forefront when she spoke with Oprah Winfrey in 2021 about her struggles as an active member of the British royal family. Suicidal thoughts took root during her first pregnancy and never let up, leading her to step away from royal duties. And while Markle may have the financial resources and opportunities many of us do not, she deserves credit for shedding a light on a very dark subject. Depression, after all, recognizes neither rank nor wealth. 

The Duchess of Sussex is just one brick in a large wall. According to the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), nearly one in five adults in the United States lives with some form of mental illness—51.5 million in 2019. But in that same report, the NIMH found that 23 million, less than half, sought any form of treatment. 

There’s a reason for the disparity. The American Psychiatric Association (APA) found those suffering from mental illness often avoid treatment because of public, personal, or institutional stigma.

For them, the cruel (and inaccurate) term crazy looms overhead. This frustrates mental health professionals: If allergies inhibited our breathing, we would treat them. If we broke a bone, we would cast it. But our mental health is often shortchanged. Experts warn that avoidance will only compound symptoms, leading to worsening self-esteem and a decline in personal relationships. 

The APA recognizes that stigmas surrounding mental illness are also cultural. “Discrimination against people with mental illness can lead to harm,” their August 2020 report states. “People with mental illness are marginalized and discriminated against in various ways, but understanding what that looks like and how to address and eradicate it can help.” 

For those who love somebody struggling with mental illness, our first job—possibly our only job—is to be fully present and listen without prejudice.

Broken and Worthy of Repair

Daniel Imwalle, my friend and colleague who wrote the cover story for St. Anthony Messenger‘s May issue on mental health, was brave enough to acknowledge that he wages a daily war with anxiety. But he advocated for his own wellness and took the necessary steps to address it. Dan understands what hasn’t yet crystallized for millions in this country: We are wildly imperfect creatures, yet fully made in God’s image. And God desires us to be well, to love ourselves enough to be well. 

St. Francis of Assisi knew this. As a veteran and prisoner of war who likely suffered from PTSD, Francis understood that he was broken and worthy of repair.

He was a medieval man to his core, yet his problems were not dissimilar to what we face today: a public health crisis, instability, emotional desolation, and deep anguish. But once he stripped himself of all things worldly, Francis understood that no wound was beyond God’s ability to heal. 

In a letter Francis wrote to Brother Leo, an early friar, his salutation should be on the lips of everyone who loves those suffering in mind or spirit: “May God smile on you and be merciful to you. May God turn his regard toward you and give you peace.” 

Behind the statistics, facts, and figures on our nation’s mental health crisis are human beings—all children of God. How the Church and we, as people of faith, respond can save lives and help get people who are suffering the help they need.

They’re family members, coworkers, friends, and fellow parishioners. In the United States alone, an estimated 40 million Americans suffer from an anxiety disorder, and another 16 million have clinical depression, according to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI). When the numbers of people with other mental illnesses are added in, the figure represents about 20 percent of the US population. Think of five people you know: One of them is likely dealing with a mental health condition.

The stress of the COVID-19 pandemic has only worsened the collective mental health of our society. Many who were already diagnosed with a condition saw their mental health deteriorate, despite their best efforts to keep a healthy regimen of medication and/or counseling. Many who were previously not struggling with a mental health condition now find themselves facing one, due to the social isolation, mass death, and stress of living in a pandemic.

The direct line between mental illness and suicide cannot be overlooked. One way to view suicide is as the final, fatal symptom of mental illness. For those who suffer from an invisible illness, suicide is, sadly, sometimes the only physical indication that something is wrong. The most recent numbers from the Centers for Disease Control come from 2018: 47,511 deaths by suicide in the United States. On a personal level, two classmates from the Catholic high school I attended, one friend from the Catholic university I went to, and a family friend from a Catholic family all died by suicide in the span of about five years. Each death delivered a shock wave throughout circles of friends and families.

‘Every Priest Must Know Human Psychology’

An invisible plague is in some ways the most terrifying, as it lurks among us as something unspoken, its reality even doubted or vilified. However, both science and faith remind us that there is hope. Now more than ever, the role of the Church to be a welcoming, safe place for those with a mental illness is increasingly important. With lives on the line, it’s crucial for awareness to be raised and educational resources on mental illness shared with Catholic schools and parishes from coast to coast. Moreover, Church leaders are in a unique position to help destigmatize mental health and treatment.

In a 2019 interview with the Argentine newspaper La Nación, Pope Francis opened up about a time in the 1970s when he sought out the help of a psychotherapist. “Being provincial of the Jesuits in the terrible days of the dictatorship, in which I had to take people in hiding to get them out of the country and thus save their lives, I had to handle situations that I did not know how to deal with,” the pope said.

“Throughout those six months, she helped me position myself in terms of a way to handle the fears of that time.” He also pointed out the role of priests in addressing mental health at the parish level. “I’m convinced that every priest must know human psychology,” Pope Francis said. “There are those who know it from the experience of the years, but the study of psychology is necessary for a priest.”

Fortunately, there is a growing trend to bring the power of religious convictions and spirituality into mental health treatment. Across the country, therapists and social workers are finding that the combined approach of faith-infused mental health care is resonating with individuals for whom spirituality is interconnected with their mental well-being. A number of experts in the field agreed to share their stories with St. Anthony Messenger.

Helping Others Carry Their Cross

The good news with regard to the mental health crisis is the rapid increase in resources and acceptance across the country, and Catholics looking for an approach to treatment that incorporates their belief system are finding more doors opening than ever before. Take the CatholicPsych& Institute (CatholicPsych.com), for example.

The institute was founded in 2012 by Dr. Greg Bottaro, a clinical psychologist who had previously discerned the vocation of becoming a priest with the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal. “Christ himself needed help carrying his cross,” Dr. Bottaro says. “That’s how we see ourselves. Our vocations are to be like Simon of Cyrene, to help bear the burden of Christ’s cross with the people who are suffering.”

At the CatholicPsych Institute, tried and true methods of counseling are couched in a Catholic understanding of the human person. They’re treating not only minds, but souls as well. “The truths that have been discovered through psychological science and research will further illuminate and flesh out other truths that we already believe by faith,” Dr. Bottaro says.

A major component of the model at the institute is mindfulness, which Dr. Bottaro defines as simply “paying attention to the present moment nonjudgmentally.” With practice, one can do anything mindfully, including prayer. “We are always in the presence of God,” Dr. Bottaro says. “And if we are mindful of that, then we are always praying.”

Married couple Dr. Bryan and Teresa Violette bring a wealth of experience and unique strengths to the team of 13 therapists at the institute. Some of their areas of expertise overlap, with marriage and family counseling, for example. Men’s issues are part of Dr. Bryan’s purview, while Teresa focuses more on parenting consultation and children’s issues.

“Men today are largely stuck between two poles,” Dr. Bryan says. “The first is one of hypermasculinity, which allows little space for relationality, empathy, and self-gift. The other is one of oversentimentality, lack of confidence, and little development in self-governance. Men today are underdeveloped and could use guidance into a more servant leadership manner of living. . . . And, of course, Jesus is the perfect model for this.”

At the beginning of her career as a counselor, Teresa’s work centered on children and adolescents. Particularly with children, the notion of “play therapy” was a major component of her treatment model. “Since the language of children is play, play therapy would be the means to helping children work through obstacles and emotional wounds,” Teresa says. “With adolescents, talk therapy would be the approach.”

Now Teresa is more focused on working with parents to apply the same techniques. “I teach parents how to do what I do in the play therapy room,” she says. “In helping parents better connect with their children, I teach them how to interpret their child’s needs based on different concerning behaviors seen and how to skillfully meet those needs once identified.”

At its core, the CatholicPsych Institute poses a very simple yet profound question to those it serves. “‘How can I help you?’ is such a powerful question, and it comes with the weight of responsibility,” Dr. Bottaro says. In that same spirit, a friar in Detroit shares his experience as a licensed social worker who has worked on the front lines of the mental health crisis.

Being There

For Father Fred Cabras, OFM Cap, his Franciscan identity is strongly linked to his work in the world of mental health. He points to Francis of Assisi as an example of how to respond to suffering, especially those on the margins of society. “Francis is all about accompaniment, about walking with people on their journey wherever they are,” Father Fred says.

Prior to obtaining master’s degrees in social work and divinity (from Loyola University and Catholic Theological Union, respectively), Father Fred had studied psychology as an undergraduate at the University of Illinois at Chicago. Being diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder himself, Father Fred can personally relate to those who struggle with a mental illness, and he points out that a good number of people who enter the field of social work either have a mental health issue or have a family member with one.

During the formation process with the Capuchin Franciscan Province of St. Joseph, Father Fred also became a licensed social worker. Eventually, he interned as an inpatient psychiatric social worker at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago, followed by another year and a half in the hospital’s emergency room, where patients experiencing psychiatric clinical emergencies would be treated.

In his time spent doing social work at Northwestern Memorial, there were plenty of success stories and breakthroughs that made his job profoundly rewarding. Bonding with patients over shared faith was often a means to make important human connections. “I met with an older woman who struggled with paranoid schizophrenia,” Father Fred says. “She was a devout Christian and believed that God was with her in her illness. We sat for over an hour during her initial session, discussing her illness and God. She appreciated that I did not question her relationship with God or try to make it part of her illness.

“By the time she left, about a month later, the medication and talk therapy with me had given her the language to differentiate between her spiritual side and her struggle with mental illness. I received a letter from this patient’s daughter later on, thanking me for educating their family and helping their mother to feel better.”

Currently, Father Fred works in case management with the Capuchin Services Center in Detroit, helping clients find housing, jobs, and other essential resources. He also serves as a board member with the National Catholic Partnership on Disability (NCPD) and as a board liaison for its Council on Mental Illness. In this capacity, Father Fred hopes to raise awareness and provide education for priests and parish groups on the subject of mental health. Many priests, though gifted in guiding parishioners on their spiritual journeys, are simply not equipped to handle situations where someone is experiencing mental health problems.

Father Fred points out that priests shouldn’t feel expected to professionally treat or solve a person’s mental health struggle, but they should be able to respond pastorally and know what to do to get the person the help they need. In the end, it all comes back to St. Francis’ method of simply accompanying those who are suffering. “Presence is the most important thing,” Father Fred says. “When you’re working with persons with mental illness, presence is so important, just sitting there and listening.”

That simple action is a reminder to us all that we are truly never alone in the light of God’s presence.

Sidebar: Firsthand Knowledge

I distinctly remember the day I asked for help. It was in August 2014. It was another hot, humid summer Friday in Cincinnati. My spirits should’ve been up since the weekend was upon me, and I had just started a new job as assistant editor at St. Anthony Messenger. My wife, Belinda, had already gotten home from her job when I arrived, tears streaming down my face. I fell into her arms by our back door, and, between sobs, told her that something wasn’t right, that I didn’t feel well.

It wasn’t something I could pinpoint like a stomachache, a sore throat, or even something in particular that went wrong that day. In fact, nothing went wrong. A long-simmering sense of existential dread had been slowly increasing in temperature over the years. One of my earliest memories is that of a panic attack I had, following the funeral of my great-grandmother. Over the years, that phobic reaction to the reality of death (both my own and of my loved ones) would snowball and acquire other elements along its increasingly rapid descent.

Social interactions, especially ones where I felt I was being evaluated (real or imagined), began to become unbearable for me. Speaking to a group, even in casual settings, became a daunting experience. I felt as though I could hear my voice in my head, much like a side effect of cold medicine. I didn’t know what to call it at the time, but now I know what is meant by “feelings of unreality.”

It’s as if you’re simultaneously detached from the present but hyperaware of how you’re perceived. My voice must sound so shaky, I would think. Why can’t I think straight? I’m starting to stutter and not make sense. I wonder if people are noticing, judging.

The interior monologue would start and seemed to not stop. Or it would fade away when I got to a safe place like home. But then I’d wake up in the middle of the night, and the critical thoughts and self-judgments would go into warp speed. God, why is this happening to me? I prayed. Help me.

And God did. Well, in the typical mysterious ways. A counselor with a heart of gold and a psychiatrist with the same Jesuit education I had, who knew where I was coming from, guided me to a place of better mental health. First, we had to name the demon: anxiety, with a touch of depression, as the two tend to present together. Generalized anxiety disorder, accompanied with social anxiety disorder and depression, was the official diagnosis.

Over the course of a year, on the roller coaster that is mental health treatment, I landed on a medication that works for me. I grappled, as many do, with the fact that I needed to take a medication.

My doctor laid it out for me like this, though: “If you were diabetic, would you take insulin?” I knew he was right, but it took some time to accept the truth.

I still have bad days, sometimes a string of bad days. But I know what they are now—and that they will pass. My counselor continues to help me chisel away at fears and anxiety triggers through talk therapy. I am blessed to have a support system that extends beyond my counselor and doctor, which includes my wife, family, coworkers, and friends. And they know I’m there for them also. Upon revealing my struggle with anxiety, I’ve heard many times: “I know what you’re going through. I have it too.”

I’ve named my demon, figuratively speaking, and I will not passively stand by and allow it to possess me—as it once did. God is with me throughout the hard days and the not-so-hard days. I thank God that I live in a world where there is help available, amazing scientific developments in the fields of therapy and medicine, and good-hearted people willing to help, even if simply by listening. There is hope.

Resources and Ways to Get Help

• For both paid and free courses on a variety of topics, visit the CatholicPsych Institute’s page with digital resources: CatholicPsych.com/store. Keep an eye out for virtual town halls and new published materials at CatholicPsych.com.
• The National Catholic Partnership on Disability has a dedicated page for its Council on Mental Illness: NCPD.org/CouncilonMentalIllness. There, visitors can find educational resources and a webinar on suicide.
• The National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) is the nation’s largest grassroots mental health organization and is dedicated to building better lives for millions of Americans affected by mental illness: NAMI.org.
• The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline provides 24/7, free, and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals. Visit SuicidePreventionLifeline.org or call 1-800-273-8255.

As Mary grew older, what would she have thought about her role in the story of our faith tradition? A Franciscan writer imagines just that.

Of all the stories I’ve read in my lifetime, few opening lines move me more than this sentence from the Gospel of Luke: “The angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary” (1:26–27). I know now what’s coming, of course, but there was, once upon a time, a young boy in a New Mexico border town who opened the Douay Rheims version of the New Testament and read those words for the first time.

This is when I began to fall in love with story itself as the vehicle of grace and knowledge. We are not just our minds. We live and move and have our being in and with the world around us. We experience our lives through all of our senses, and all of that experience is conveyed in story, which is more than ideas and beliefs. Story has movement and sound, and portrays how we interact with our environment, with human and living things, from plants to animals to the landscape of our lives in time.

A story follows someone around, asking questions like, Where did he/she come from? Who are they? Where are they going? What is keeping them from getting there? What is going to happen to them? That whole gestalt is what story addresses, using those kinds of questions and then answering them through the same five senses by which we experience life, our own life. And story takes place in time, that mysterious dimension that begins, whether it is stated or not, with “Once upon a time . . .”

The pages that follow are Mary’s story as a human being who brings God to earth, Mary of Nazareth, the human mother of Jesus, who becomes the Queen of Heaven and Earth, the Mediatrix of All Graces.

The meditations come from a Franciscan way of praying that the scholar Ewert Cousins called “the mysticism of the historical event,” which consists of taking a scene from Scripture and putting yourself into the scene, imagining you are one of the characters, and letting the scene open itself up to you. It is not just an intellectual exercise. It is a dimension of prayer in which you are open to grace and to the spiritual energy that derives from that particular scene or event in Scripture.

It is akin to a pilgrimage to a geographical place where an extraordinary spiritual event took place. The pilgrims who make their way there don’t just seek an intellectual experience of the event but pray that the grace of that particular place will be given them to live it out in their lives that day and every subsequent day of their lives. St. Ignatius of Loyola later embraced this Franciscan way of praying, and it became an integral part of his Spiritual Exercises.

These meditations are focused on the last year of Mary’s life when she is living with John, the Beloved Disciple, in Ephesus. (It’s possible she may also have lived for a time with John on Patmos.) It was Jesus himself who gave them to each other as mother and son when he spoke to them from the cross thus: “When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, behold your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Behold your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his home” (Jn 19:26‚ 27).

She knew from the moment of the rush of Gabriel’s wings and his lilting “Hail, full of Grace,” that she was only the handmaid, the servant of the most high God, and Gabriel only the messenger of God’s message. But what she could not have known was that she was more than God’s servant; she, mysteriously, was to be a vessel of the living God, and she was afraid. And Gabriel knew she was afraid and said, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for he who will be born of you will be known as the son of God.”

How can this be, she thought, and immediately she knew that God had come to her because she was a woman, and she was pure potential for motherhood, and no one human would be the agent.

And knowing, Gabriel said, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God” (Lk 1:35). Then she, in turn, replied, “May it be done according to your word” (Lk 1:38). And that was it, Gabriel himself open-eyed at her response; he himself, like her, unaware of the depths of the words they were exchanging, aware though of whose words Gabriel had announced to her.

The words’ unfolding would be her pregnancy full of grace and light unimaginable: a child whom she was to name Jesus, a child of her womb, a son whose origins were in eternity, begotten of God, born of a woman who was her very self, a mere girl who was suddenly woman, mother of a boy who was pure mystery though he was somehow in her like any baby and would come from her into the world.

That is how she remembered it, here in Ephesus. She was now as she was then: a girl, a woman, waiting and watching for the angel who would announce the word of her passing into the heaven where her Son ruled at the right hand of the Father. She was not afraid. She needed no Gabriel to reassure her. She’d lived too long in the immensity of the mystery to doubt.

Nor did she wonder who she would be in eternity. She would be who she always was: Mary, the mother of God’s Son. She suspected that would be her role for all eternity: mother, woman, the completion of the love of the mysterious faces of God—Father, Son, Holy Spirit—the mystery moving through the three of them into her, visible in eternity as it is invisible on earth.

She would share these thoughts with John, who would see immediately that they are not her own aged self-absorption but her meditations on God’s mystery, her part in which was only as great or as small as God’s plan, God’s word. And the Word, as John insists, was there in the beginning and became flesh through her only because God chose to reveal the Word by becoming human, by enfleshing the Word in Jesus.

How marvelous such thoughts were! How sustaining when she remembered how Jesus suffered and died—and she was helpless to do anything to save him who was saving her and the whole of the Father’s creation by hiding his divinity in suffering and dying like a mere man. How much was still hidden from her. How much was revealed when Jesus came for her and led her into the mystery of who he and she really are, when the mystery was opened and revealed, when the human Jesus became the eternal word he always was, even as a child in her womb and as a dead man in a tomb.

She smiled at how much she still remembered, the girl who thought and prayed and played in Nazareth. The Little Thinker, her mother called her. Who we are we were, she thought. And when I die, will I just die into my thoughts that will bring me into heaven on the arm of my son?

She did not recognize him at first, though she knew it was he. His eyes were the same, the color of the sea, blue to green depending on the light and season of the year. “Little pools,” she called them when he was a baby. Yet how changed his countenance and body now. What marvels of transformation between dying and rising!

She could only imagine what had transpired between his death on the cross and this extraordinary man standing in the room, the doors locked and they all gathered in prayer, and she wondering how and when he would reappear among them, and would he still be her son? But of course he was, and he called her “our mother.” It was the “our” that was new and sounded prophetic, sounded almost eternal. A given, something that was there from eternity.

The other disciples only looked on, wondering. He had no discernible clothes, though he was covered in an opaque aura, a sort of raiment that allowed his glorified wounds to reveal that skin was still there. His hands hung out from the tunic-like raiment, and his feet, though bare, touched the floor the way they did when he would come in from playing and would remove his sandals, as though the earthen floor were sacred, and he needed to feel it as he walked over to embrace her.

_{John Quigley, OFM, explains how the Church came to believe that Mary gave birth to both the human and divine natures of Christ.}

How she had waited for that embrace! Her whole life from the time Gabriel, God’s messenger, appeared to her, she had lived her life in waiting. She waited in Egypt for God to reveal that she and Joseph and Jesus would be safe to return to their homeland. Even now she waited, doing what she always did in her daily life, a lesson she had learned when she was told of her cousin Elizabeth’s pregnancy. She had made the extraordinary journey to Elizabeth, who was in her sixth month of waiting as she held John the Baptizer within her womb, both she and Elizabeth waiting then to be acted upon by God, both of them wondering what mystery would be revealed in the child they bore as other women did, the very baby within them.

Waiting. Waiting for the mystery to be revealed to them. Waiting and doing what all women did in the waiting: namely, living as they always did, only now for two, the baby and themselves, whose lives would be revealed to them when the child was born. In her and Elizabeth, they already knew, was a boy, whose tiny feet would one day walk upon the earthen floor that their extraordinary lives would transcend when, as men, they would begin the redemption of Israel.

All life, it seemed to her, was shown us in the waiting of a woman’s pregnancy. You lived from day to day, as before, but ever aware that there was a miracle within waiting to reveal itself. The difference for Elizabeth and Mary herself was that they both already knew that their child would be extraordinary in the history of their people. It had nothing to do with them but with God’s working quietly within them.

And yet, it had everything to do with them, for their child would be blood of their blood, flesh of their flesh, so they themselves would be bearing the child in the reverence of prayer, the awareness like unto their own deep prayer. And it was that prayer that made the waiting itself a prayer that their very way of being and doing would be one part of their contribution to the forming of the child within them.

They could not force the time to be shortened; they could not act in some grand way with the gestures reserved for their sons. But both—in their own ways—had prepared their sons by the love with which they surrounded this child-to-be in their waiting for him to be revealed. They waited to see how their love had made a very baby in whose eyes they would see their own love given prayerfully for nine months.

And now in this new rebirth of Jesus, Mary could still see her own love in the eyes that looked back at her as he walked upon the earthen floor, much as he had walked the first time he waddled and stumbled into her arms, a little baby boy becoming.

She had held Jesus in her arms once he’d walked so determined but hesitantly toward her open arms; she had held him lifeless in her lap when he was taken down from the cross; she would now wait for him to embrace her with the love with which she had embraced him all the days of his life.

Even when he left home to embrace the Father’s will that he preach and teach, suffer and die for the people of Israel, she embraced him lovingly in her heart every day as she waited for the next mystery to be revealed. When God works upon us, she thought, then the real working of our lives is in the waiting, waiting to receive what is given us when we wait upon the Lord in all we are and all we have.

What new waiting will now follow upon this new embrace of him who approaches her Godlike in his bearing and in his walk but still walking like an ordinary man upon the earthen floor upon which he was born.

Integrating our spiritual and physical selves can lead to a richer prayer experience.

Prayer can be a joyous thing. It connects us to our life source, consoles us, reorders our priorities, and gives us a sense of meaning. For anyone serious about pursuing spiritual growth, there is no getting around the prerequisite of a regular prayer life. But if you’ve committed to the discipline for any length of time, the odds are good that you’ve experienced the valleys as well as the mountaintops. And when prayer feels uninspired, sometimes the solution is as simple as a change of approach.

When we think of prayer, many of us think of sitting still in a quiet room with our eyes closed. Perhaps we picture a Bible open, rosary in hand, or list of intentions nearby—and those are wonderful ways to pray. But our ideas about what constitutes prayer tend to be narrow, limited to the formal approaches we have traditionally learned. When we find ourselves stuck in a rut and feeling bored, sleepy, or distracted in prayer, sometimes the answer lies in reaching beyond the small box we’ve stuffed prayer in. And nothing does that better than our very own bodies.

In the Western world, we tend to relate to our bodies primarily through what they do. Athletic achievements, caregiving for the young or old, birthing babies, engaging in sexual intimacy, gaining or losing weight: These are just a few of the ways we pay attention to our physical bodies. Very few of us spend much time thinking about how these bodies impact our spiritual lives. We sometimes seem to have a list of areas that use our bodies—and spirituality is not one of them.

And yet it is.

Jesus, after all, had a human body. What’s more, he gives it to us to eat and drink. Jesuit priest and playwright Bill Cain, SJ, explains that before Jesus offered himself to the world as our food, he first demonstrated embodiment. This is my body. Only then can he say, given for you. Our response to this, Father Cain says, is to locate Christ in our body; knowing our own body in wholeness before we can offer it to others out of that wholeness. If our spiritual selves are separate from our physical selves, the lack of integration will hold us back from fully living as Christ in the world.

Here are five ideas to get started.

1. Stretching Physically and Spiritually

Our hearts tend to follow our bodies, which is why our Catholic faith incorporates so many physical acts into our celebration of the Mass. When we kneel, sit, stand, genuflect, extend peace to one another, make the sign of the cross, or sign our head, lips, and heart before the Gospel reading, we are signaling to our brains to integrate these rituals into our entire being.

Likewise, stretching while we pray can serve the same purpose. As we stretch our bodies, we can pray to be spiritually stretched as well. We can start with thanksgiving for our bodies, no matter what shape they’re in, for serving us and working hard on our behalf. We can take just a moment to honor the fact that our bodies are sacred, holy, home to the Spirit of God, and deeply worthy of our kindness and care.

We can prayerfully listen to what our bodies are telling us about our needs and capacity. Perhaps there are changes that we should make to our everyday lifestyle. Perhaps there is an injury we need to tend.

Stretching is also a good way to invite God to teach us about holding tension in our lives. Just as we must stay in uncomfortable physical positions when we stretch, following Jesus often requires us to linger in uncomfortable nonphysical positions too. Engaging with our bodies can propel us into prayer as we invite God to teach us not to flee from discomfort but to patiently and generously hold space for new or opposing ideas, people who annoy us, and difficult situations. As we train our bodies to welcome discomfort for our own growth, we can train our brains to do the same in our spiritual, relational, and personal lives.

2. Gardening with Faith

Jesus regularly used metaphors of farming and plant life to teach about the kingdom of God, and there is a reason why. The earth is ripe with spiritual correlations, and, by engaging with creation in a hands-on way, we can open our eyes to truths we haven’t otherwise seen.

As lifelong gardeners can attest, clearing brush and pulling weeds can draw us into prayer. As we engage in the physical act of removing what is old and deadened to make space for healthier new growth, we might realize that the same must be done in our inner lives. As we coax stubborn roots and clear the dried remains of last year’s fruit, we may find ourselves praying that the same would take place in our hearts, that God would clear out the brush from our souls so new seeds may be planted.

Planting seeds is an act of faith, whether we recognize it or not: faith in a mysterious Creator, faith in the earthen elements, faith in the will of life to continue on, and even faith in ourselves to commit to something we begin. The practice of planting, when done with a spiritual mind, can be a radically prophetic act. In depositing seeds in the dirt, we are acting out a prayer that goodness and life will find a way, and a path to pray for our personal lives opens up as well. When we feel despair, when we feel depressed, hopeless, and forlorn, there may be no greater act of faith-filled prayer than going outside and planting seeds.

Weeding, watering, and nurturing fledgling plants requires a practice of tenderness and care, qualities we are not always good at extending to ourselves. In the weeks it takes for our garden to burst to life, we can pray with our bodies for God to enliven us to nurture ourselves with the same patience that we offer our plants. We are reminded of the gentleness with which our Heavenly Gardener tends to us, and we might ask ourselves how we can better imitate that gentleness in relationship with ourselves and others.

When our fruits and vegetables are finally ready to be harvested and eaten, manual labor reminds us of all the good gifts we are reaping. No matter how hard our circumstances are, there is always bounty to be had when we are aware of the vibrant divine presence in all things. When we harvest our garden, our physical movements can become prayers of thanksgiving for the goodness in our lives.

3. Prayer Walking: Uniting with Others

Some people thrive on praying alone in silence in a darkened room, but for many of us that idealized picture of prayer leads only to an unplanned nap. For these people, prayer walking may be a life-giving alternative. This is a particularly powerful exercise for intercessory prayer, or engaging in prayer on behalf of other people, world events, or social issues rather than our personal lives.

We might take a prayer walk on the sidewalks of our neighborhood, praying for neighbors by name and for the struggles we know to be in their lives. We might walk through the streets of our city’s downtown, around our schools, or in other public areas as we pray about the pain and injustices in our communities.

Physically putting our bodies within the parameters of the places and people we are praying for can unite our hearts in a deeper way to our intentions—and that feeling of unity always indicates the presence and movement of God. When we engage in intentional prayer walking, our bodies are in the gracious position of bringing us into a firsthand encounter with the things for which we are praying. Physical proximity can and does produce proximity of the heart.

4. Seeing the Divine

One of the loveliest ways we can engage our senses in the act of prayer is through Visio Divina, which is Latin for “Divine Seeing.” To enter into this prayer practice, we select a piece of visual art such as a photograph, icon, sculpture, mosaic, or painting—the possibilities are endless, really. Before beginning, we pray for a receptive heart that may be attuned to the movement of the Holy Spirit.

We begin with noticing our first impression, focusing on what we were immediately drawn to about the visual. Spending a few minutes on this, always gently bringing our attention back whenever it strays, we ask questions to ourselves and to God about the feelings we experience. As we sit with the details of our first impression, we might feel the Holy Spirit begin to move within us.

Next we zoom out, so to speak, to observe the piece as a whole. What feelings are aroused by what we behold? What memories or experiences come to mind? We can listen for the still, small voice of God speaking to us through the art by the use of our eyes and our sacred imaginations. In response to the movement of God, we determine one impression that we’d like to bring with us into our day. It might be an action to take, a written reminder to ourselves, or some creative expression we feel inspired to make. The point is to have something to carry out of the prayer session and into the rest of our day so that we continue to be transformed.

5. Praying a Mantra Mindfully

While it might initially feel foreign in our Western expression of Christianity, praying with mantras—short, simple, repetitive phrases—is actually a rich part of our tradition. The Jesus Prayer, for example, probably dates to the fifth-century desert fathers and mothers. In this prayer we say, ‘Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, repeating it slowly and mindfully for an extended period.

Our physical selves are engaged in prayer through our lips, tongue, and ears; meanwhile, our minds and hearts are directed inward as we inhale and exhale.

Often when we pray aloud, we do so with a longer prayer that is only read or spoken once. But repetition can have immense spiritual benefits. The more we hear an idea spoken—especially by our own mouths—the more inclined we are to believe it and integrate it into our subconscious.

Additionally, verbal repetition frees our minds to stop overthinking about conjuring grandiose words and instead dive deeper into the openness of true meditation. This is why the rosary continues to be such a popular form of prayer.

Aside from the Jesus Prayer, other mantras might be Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, the Hail Mary, the Glory Be, a short phrase from Scripture, or even a one-word intention such as trust. Some people prefer to pray mantras while sitting in silence, while others employ them as they go about their day-to-day lives. Both methods incorporate the physical body and senses.

Integrating Body and Soul

Although our culture separates body and spirit, the very incarnation of Jesus speaks to a higher reality. Just as Jesus embodied both divinity and humanity, so, too, do our bodies hold our humanity and the Holy Spirit. To live out the maximum spiritual health we were made for, we are called to the work of integration; and engaging our bodies in the act of prayer is the fast track to get there.

If our prayer lives are feeling dull, we must remember there are actionable steps we can take to enliven them. Integrating our bodies into our spiritualities through various means of prayer can help us embody a gospel that looks a little more vibrant, integrated, and whole—a gospel that looks a little more like the one Jesus gave us.

Most Catholics know the story about the apparitions of Our Lady of Guadalupe in 1531 to St. Juan Diego (Guillermo Iván) in what is now Mexico City. This film begins in the present day. John (also played by Iván) is a journalist who meets Mary (Kimberley Aria Peterson) when he is researching in the library, and they soon marry. But he resists when his editor, Mr. Dominguez (Rudy Miera), assigns him a story about Mexican identity and beliefs. He suggests that John attend a class with Father Xavier Escalada (Glenn Craley), who is speaking about Our Lady of Guadalupe. John’s wife drops him off on the way to her baby shower. Then something happens that changes everything.

The film goes back 500 years to the village where Juan Diego lives with his wife and uncle before they are baptized and receive Christian names. The people struggle against the oppression of the conquistadors, but when the Franciscan missionaries arrive and teach people about Jesus and the Gospels, they are baptized.

When Juan Diego’s uncle becomes ill, he goes for medicine by way of the hill of Tepeyac. There, a beautiful lady (Paola Baldion) appears to him. She asks him to go to the bishop and request that a chapel be built there in her honor so that she may help the people in their time of need. Juan Diego, believing himself unworthy, doesn’t go to the bishop right away. He takes a different route, but the lady is there. When he finally sees the bishop, he asks for a sign. The lady is the mother of Jesus, and she gives Juan Diego a sign that is still with us today.

It is always challenging for filmmakers to present the Blessed Mother in a movie—and even more difficult for an actress to play her. But the portrayal here is convincing without being sentimental. Choosing to go back and forth with parallel story lines separated by centuries to frame the narrative is not new, but here it is given fresh expression by director Pedro Brenner and cowriter Seann Dougherty.

Lady of Guadalupe is a beautiful tribute to the mother of God, the faith of the Mexican people, and all who honor Our Lady of Guadalupe as a patroness of life.

Not yet rated, Some fighting and mistreatment of people.

A Week Away

The film opens with teen Will Hawkins (Kevin Quinn) running from the cops—again. When he goes to family court, a social worker, Kristin (Sherri Shepherd), suggests that a week away at camp with her and her son, George (Jahbril Cook), might be just the thing. Will resists but decides it’s better than a group home.

On the bus to camp, Will is genuinely shocked to find out from George that they are going to a church camp. He feels out of place, but his fears are assuaged when he meets Avery (Bailee Madison), the prettiest girl at camp. But Will soon learns she is also the camp owner’s daughter.

The premise of this teen Christian musical will appeal to young viewers and their parents. There are numerous songs and energetic dance numbers with contributions from Amy Grant (who plays a camp counselor) and Michael W. Smith, among others. Christian musician Steven Curtis Chapman plays a lifeguard and contributes to the soundtrack too.

Most of the key actors got their start on Disney Channel and will be familiar to younger audiences. A plus for parents is that the kids, even when romping in the lake, dress modestly, and the romance is very PG. At first, I thought A Week Away was corny. But as the story unfolds and Will is forced to grow up and tell the truth, it becomes more complex—though it takes more than a week to change a life.

The cast is racially diverse, talented, and engaging. The film is directed by Roman White and written and produced by Alan Powell. It is the first faith-based family film produced by Netflix.

A-2, Not yet rated, References to car theft.

Roe V. Wade

This film is based on the true story of how Roe v. Wade, the 1973 Supreme Court decision that legalized abortion, came to be. Dr. Bernard Nathanson (Nick Loeb) opens the story of how he came to favor abortion and eventually become the nation’s leading abortion provider. He teams up with writer and political activist Lawrence Lader (Jamie Kennedy), who becomes a champion of abortion rights.

After thousands of abortions and becoming very wealthy from his clinics, Dr. Nathanson realizes what he has done when sonograms become available. But the real moment is when he reassembles the parts of a baby he has aborted, as doctors are required to do. He is baptized a Catholic and writes the book The Silent Scream. Documentary footage of a very graphic abortion is included at the end of Roe v. Wade.

Stacey Dash plays Dr. Mildred Jefferson, the first Black woman to graduate from Harvard Medical School. She is portrayed as the pro-life counterpart to the abortion doctors, but I thought the film might have been more engaging from her perspective. Roe v. Wade has a low-budget quality to it, and the acting is not very polished. A limited series may have been a better medium to tell this story fully. The film’s assertions are fact-checked on its website, but the statistics at the end of the film are dated.

Not yet rated, PG-13, Contains graphic images of aborted fetuses.