They came from different eras and different locations. Nelson Mandela fought in South Africa, Rosa Parks in Alabama, and Sister Dorothy Stang in Brazil. This month, in the article “Two New Movies That Matter: Harriet & A Hidden Life,” Sister Rose Pacatte, FSP, highlights two current films that tell the stories of Harriet Tubman and Franz Jägerstätter. Both of these individuals put their lives on the line for the greater good. Tubman helped slaves escape to the North via the Underground Railroad. Jägerstätter was a conscientious objector during World War II and was sentenced to death and executed.

During this season of giving thanks, we would do well to express our gratitude for the many people who have stepped up to help make the world a little better. Perhaps one of the best ways to do that is to emulate them. We don’t have to be saints to help change the world. We can make a difference just one act at a time.

The latest film about the worldwide clergy sexual abuse crisis is a fairly accurate narrative about recent revelations and developments in France. The film begins in 2014 when Alexandre (Melvil Poupaud), a husband and proud father of five, learns that the priest who sexually abused him when he was young, Father Bernard Preynat (Bernard Verley), is still working with children. Alexandre is from Lyon but lives in Paris with his family, who are devout Catholics. Knowing he must take action, Alexandre first contacts the Archdiocese of Lyon in efforts to meet with Cardinal Barbarin (François Marthouret). He meets a psychologist, who listens to him with kindness but whose mandate is to reconcile victims with their aggressors rather than making sure priests no longer have contact with children.

Alexandre reaches out to other survivors of Preynat’s abuse, François (Denis M énochet) and Emmanuel (Swann Arlaud). François is divorced and in a tumultuous relationship with another woman. He has a difficult time staying employed and shows signs of PTSD. His mother, who did not believe him at the time, steps up to support him and the organization. Emmanuel is married with children but no longer believes. The three men join together to begin an organization of survivors of Preynat’s abuse. They start a website and begin to put pressure on Cardinal Barbarin to stop covering up for Preynat and to remove him from ministry.

Director François Ozon, who wrote the script based on actual newspaper coverage of events, draws emotional power and depth from the performances of the three men. While there is nothing explicitly visual in the film, the pathos with which the men tell their stories is heartbreaking. It is not an easy film to watch.

The film’s title comes from Cardinal Barbarin’s own words, who said at a press conference in Lourdes in 2016, “By the grace of God, most of the facts of sexual abuse by priests against children fall outside the statute of limitations.” The courageous victims still pursued a private prosecution, allowed by French law. The cardinal’s words revealed the prevailing problem of the hierarchy protecting the institution over children. By the Grace of God is in French with English subtitles.

Not yet rated, Verbal descriptions of clergy sexual abuse.

The Peanut Butter Falcon

Zak (Zack Gottsagen) is a 22-year-old man with Down syndrome. His family has abandoned him at a retirement home in North Carolina’s low country, where he is cared for by Eleanor (Dakota Johnson). He shares a room with Carl (Bruce Dern), who is determined to help Zak escape and live his dream of becoming a professional wrestler—like the Salt Water Redneck (Thomas Haden Church), whom he watches over and over in an old video. Eleanor, however, scolds Carl for encouraging Zak, but the old man still wants to help him.

Zak escapes in his underwear and stows away on a fishing boat that Tyler (Shia LaBeouf) steals as he flees from two men who accuse him of interfering with their crabbing business. Tyler is dealing with guilt over his brother’s death and is making bad decisions. However, he is taken with Zak and, over a few days, they become a team. He digs into his backpack for clothes and boots for the young man, and teaches him to swim. Tyler promises to bring Zak to train with the Salt Water Redneck and encourages him to take a wrestler’s name—thus, the Peanut Butter Falcon.

Meanwhile, Eleanor is on a desperate search to find Zak, whom she believes cannot fend for himself. Zak and Tyler get religion from a blind preacher who gives them the means to build a raft. And they set sail. Eleanor and the two young men finally meet up and arrive at the home of the Salt Water Redneck, only to find the training camp closed.

The Peanut Butter Falcon is a charming movie, filled with humanity and heart, even if it doesn’t always make narrative sense. Writer/directors Tyler Nilson and Michael Schwartz have created a film that affirms human kindness without being sappy. Gottsagen’s performance is anchored in reality and demonstrates the dignity of every human person. LaBeouf is excellent and shows just how attractively one’s generosity of spirit can be portrayed in cinema. I loved the film for its warmth and lack of cynicism.

A-3, PG-13, Fighting, wrestling violence.

The Riot Act

In a small Alabama town in 1901, the wealthy owner of an opera house, Dr. Pearrow (Brett Cullen), is angry when the married lead singer (Brace Harris) wants to run away with the doctor’s daughter, Allye (Lauren Sweetser). Pearrow tells the singer that he better be on the train leaving town that night. But Pearrow later shoots and kills the singer and thinks he has killed his daughter, too, because she disappears.

This ends the opera-house culture of the town. But over the next two years, a helpful, ambitious August (Conner Price) hires a vaudeville troupe to come and entertain the town. Meanwhile, a ghost has been tormenting Dr. Pearrow, and things get even worse once the vaudevillians arrive with a young woman who resembles Allye.

This independent film is an atmo-spheric, historic drama/ghost story that deals with themes of human weakness, guilt, power, and vengeance. It is a strong first feature from writer/director Devon Parks, even if it is a little slow going and too smart for itself.

Not yet rated, PG-13, Gun violence, revenge. Available to rent or purchase on iTunes.

A team of Franciscans transformed a former parish and school in one of Chicago’s poorest neighborhoods into a thriving mission that has become a blessing to those it serves.

Wearing sandals, clad in a plain brown robe, and full of youthful zest, Sister Stephanie Baliga raises a small bullhorn. She stands near the doorway of a food pantry in Chicago, set to open in minutes. “Let’s pray,” she tells dozens of hushed volunteers, some in college and others retired. They loudly recite the Our Father. “Our Lady of the Angels—pray for us,” several sisters and volunteers conclude.

Then a conga line of people, who had been sipping coffee and eating pastries in another room, weaves through the pantry. Most push two-wheeled carts, but some have sturdy grocery-store carts while others pull large suitcases. Stationed throughout the rows of metal shelves bulging with food, volunteers hand out pantry staples such as rice and pasta. They also pass out artisanal bread, fudge walnut pie, frozen strawberries, and cans of Wolfgang Puck organic soup, courtesy of the corporate support given to the pantry from Trader Joe’s, Whole Foods, and other high-end stores.

The volunteers greet the patrons warmly. “Hi. How are you?” asks volunteer Emma Wills, a college student from Wisconsin here on spring break. “I’m blessed,” replies an elderly woman.

Most of the patrons are not Catholic. But they feel at home here. Clementine Tardy comes to the pantry “to support my family, to pay the bills.” She saves money and gains a sense of her own worthiness, not a feeling of diminishment at having to use a pantry. “I love it here,” she says. “It’s a beautiful place. It’s so friendly.”

Sister Stephanie hurries about, attending to needs, answering questions, and offering encouragement and prayers. A star runner in college, she is only 31. “I just adore her—all the sisters. She radiates such positive energy,” says volunteer Mariah Zingale, another college student from Wisconsin who is staying at the mission for four days along with nearly a dozen classmates.

Open on Tuesday mornings, the spacious pantry of the Mission of Our Lady of the Angels is located inside a shuttered Catholic school. The pantry is one of the mission’s many social services, and the former school is one part of the mission complex. The church, formerly Our Lady of the Angels Parish, is used for Mass and prayer services; its basement is used for community dinners. The mission also offers clothing, tutoring for youth, exercise sessions and computer classes for seniors, and after-school and summer camps for children.

The glitzy skyscrapers of downtown Chicago are visible three miles to the east. But this is gritty, impoverished West Humboldt Park, where the nerve-rattling pop-pop of gunshots and the wail of sirens rend the night hours. “It’s unbelievable. We’re so close to the gazillion-dollar megalopolis,” says volunteer Bob Rooney, a suburbanite in his early 60s. “People are so poor here. This is like the Third World.”

The mission is an unusual place, full of unusual stories. Catholic institutions often struggle to attract younger people, but the mission hosts throngs of young volunteers, eager to serve. Its eight Franciscan sisters are 41 or younger. The Franciscan priest who began the mission in 2005 once was on the fast track to success as a Price Waterhouse professional.

The Mission of Our Lady of the Angels is a story of transformation, even resurrection. It’s a place of solace and hope for neighbors. The religious have found a calling and a community here. And a school and parish that were the site of one of the worst tragedies in Chicago’s history have been reborn as a sign of God’s love in a neglected, blighted neighborhood.

An Oasis for the Poor

Julie Keefe, 56, has driven more than an hour from the suburbs to work at the food pantry. She’s a 2.5-year veteran, and she plans to keep coming indefinitely. “This is a very attractive place to volunteer. The nuns are filled with the spirit of generosity, gratitude, and kindness, ” she says. “Some of the people have issues—addiction and mental illness. But there is zero judgment. They treat everyone with respect, honor, and kindness.”

In filling stomachs the mission feeds the soul too. “We provide a witness of Christ’s love for the poor. We draw people closer to him,” says Sister Stephanie. “Our goal is to bring Jesus to people, to allow Jesus to be present to them.”

The mission in some respects is a throwback to the past—when nuns were young and schools and parishes exuded pride, energy, and optimism. “The first time I was here a friend dropped me off and I was expecting 80-something nuns,” recalls Keefe. “Here comes Sister Stephanie bursting out of the building.”

Sister Stephanie’s energy is no exaggeration: She was the sixth-fastest freshman runner in the nation when she competed for the University of Illinois. The other sisters share pasts rooted in secular lifestyles and ambitions. Sister Laura Soppet, 29, was set to be a teacher before working as a maternity counselor for Catholic Charities and then discerning a call to religious life. Sister Jaime Mitchell, 41, once worked in the hospitality field. Sister Alicia Torres, 34, a whiz in the convent kitchen (her flourless chocolate cake is heavenly), was the Chopped champion on the Food Network’s reality TV cooking show in 2015. (She donated the $10,000 winnings for food for the mission.)

Ten Franciscans serve here: the founding priest, a brother, and the sisters. Father Bob Lombardo, a Franciscan Friar of the Renewal, began the mission after the late Cardinal Francis George asked him to keep a Catholic presence in the neighborhood. The first sisters who joined the mission had come here as volunteers and then sought out a religious community. They realized the mission was where they wanted to serve, and Father Bob received permission to begin the Franciscans of the Eucharist of Chicago in 2010.

Converting the former parish and school into a viable mission has been a daunting task. Our Lady of the Angels Parish had closed in 1990; the school stayed open until 1999 when declining enrollment led to its closure. When the mission started, the school and church were strewn with garbage and damaged by water that seeped in from leaky roofing.

Father Bob spearheaded a massive renovation. The church needed repairs that would have cost as much as $2.5 million. But volunteers provided labor, and donors came forward with supplies. Electricians did the wiring. Roofers donated materials and labor. The sisters and others sanded the pews and performed a slew of demanding manual chores.

Two other sites at the mission are significant in its story. A cross adorns the outside of Kelly Hall, a functioning YMCA with a basketball court and exercise equipment. Kelly Hall became a part of the mission because of a chance—some might say providential—conversation Father Bob had with the passenger next to him on an airplane. The two got to talking, resulting in an ingenious partnership between the Archdiocese of Chicago, the YMCA, and the Greater Chicago Food Depository.

“God is behind all of this,” says Father Bob. “He doesn’t come down to do it himself, but he provides the talents, the resources, and the people to get it done. This is all about unleashing the abilities God gave us.”

The second notable site is a memorial that juts up from a small, ordinary patch of grass outside the church and school. “This is hallowed ground, where the bodies were laid,” says Sister Stephanie.

On December 1, 1958, a fire, whose cause was never determined, crept up a basement stairwell, grew in strength and fury, and quickly engulfed the crowded school in flames. Ninety-two children and three nuns died. Today, amid the assemblage of buildings, there are no ghosts, only the Spirit.

Diverse Spiritual Journeys

Father Bob was a resident advisor at Notre Dame when a student was stricken with spinal meningitis. The ill student was taken to the infirmary and then to the hospital. “I was with him when he died,” he recalls. The tragedy “got me thinking. I thought it was a phase. But it stayed with me.”

The inner nudge remained with him while he worked at Price Waterhouse in the 1980s. He left the corporate world to become a Franciscan priest and did missionary work in Bolivia and helped orphaned street children in Honduras before working with the homeless and troubled youths in Manhattan and the Bronx. His love for the poor caught the attention of Cardinal George, who asked him to set up a mission outreach in Chicago.

Father Bob didn’t presume to know what people in West Humboldt Park needed and wanted. He walked in the neighborhood, met his new neighbors, and learned their concerns. Over time, he succeeded in attracting ample volunteers and donations of time, talents, and treasures. But he minimizes his own role in the growth and success of the mission. “I don’t draw anyone. God draws people here,” he insists.

It’s not a neighborhood typically visited by people of means. West Humboldt Park is one of Chicago’s poorest neighborhoods, with a per capita annual income of $11,000. The unemployment rate is more than 40 percent. About 97 percent of the area children qualify for free lunches. Violent crime is a daily reality.

The sisters see beyond race and poverty, beyond the superficial barriers that normally separate people. “I love being here. God gives us the gifts we need,” says Sister Laura. “I love being with our neighbors and getting to know them. Some people here struggle with drug abuse or mental illness. I see Jesus in them.”

Diverse spiritual journeys led each of the sisters to the mission, where they have turned away from common hallmarks of success such as a good job and bountiful possessions in favor of serving the poor as Franciscans.

Sister Stephanie won 18 conference championships while in high school and continued at the University of Illinois. Then suddenly she went from training as much as 70 hours a week to hobbling around campus on crutches. She broke a bone on Valentine’s Day in 2009, which turned out to be the greatest break of her life. That event cracked open her love of God.

She started to attend Mass. She took part in a retreat that included eucharistic adoration, and it was as if a light turned on. “I was aware of the presence of Jesus in the Eucharist. That was more real than anything else in life,” she says.

A priest at the university told her about Father Bob and the mission. When she volunteered she knew she belonged there. “I was drawn to the spirituality of the Franciscans, their love for the Eucharist, their love for the poor,” she says.

Running is still part of her life, but now she runs for the mission. Last year she completed the Chicago Marathon in an impressive 3:14:51. She and other runners for the mission raised nearly half a million dollars in pledges from individuals and corporations.

The energy of the sisters draws the admiration of the mission’s regular volunteers. “They have such vigor. They attack the day. They are so gung ho,” says Rooney. The sisters’ passion for service led a volunteer to amusingly describe them to a Chicago Tribune columnist as “a bunch of young, funny, hard-charging nuns kicking ass.”

Getting and Giving

Today, as usual, the pantry line has formed early. Patrons sometimes gather as early as 5:30 a.m. There are socks, toothbrushes, and LED light bulbs in addition to the plentiful food. As always, fresh vegetables are especially prized. Evelyn Colon, a regular patron, has nine people in her household to feed, and her food stamps are nearly gone as the end of the month nears. The mission is “a blessing,” she says.

Even as it serves those in material need, the pantry serves its volunteers by feeding their spirits. Volunteer Keefe shakes her head in wonder at the effect the mission has on her. Once an older man using the pantry, obviously carrying burdens, smiled warmly at her when she asked him how he was. “Never had a bad day” was his chipper answer. “Never had a bad day? Who hasn’t?” says Keefe. “I get so much more than I give here.”

For more on the mission’s inspiring work to serve those in need, visit their website: missionola.com.

“The eyes of all future generations are upon you. And if you choose to fail us, I say: We will never forgive you.”
—Greta Thunberg

This past September 23, millions of people around the world walked out of their schools and workplaces to demand urgent action on climate change. The protests were scheduled prior to the opening of the United Nations General Assembly and the Climate Action Summit in New York City.

At the heart of the strike was a 16-year-old girl from Sweden with Asperger’s syndrome, a developmental disorder that causes individuals to view things as either black or white. At times that can be a detriment. For Greta Thunberg, it’s an asset, one from which we all benefit.

In August 2018, Thunberg began skipping school in her native Sweden to protest inaction on climate change. Before long, she was joined by other students engaged in similar protests in their own communities, and the Fridays for Future organization was born. Since then, that organization has grown, culminating in what happened on September 23.

In her speech at the United Nations, Thunberg spoke in her usual blunt manner, scolding those gathered. “I shouldn’t be up here,” she said. “I should be back at school on the other side of the ocean. Yet you all come to us young people for hope. How dare you! You have stolen my dreams and my childhood with your empty words.”

It is not the first time this young woman has taken adults in positions of power to task over the issue. She has repeatedly chastised them for their inaction, pointing out that their words on the issue ring hollow.

When during a meeting with a cross-party group of British MPs in April of this year, Thunberg, who felt she wasn’t being listened to, asked, “Did you hear me? Is my English OK? Because I’m beginning to wonder.”

When Will We Listen?

If you don’t want to listen to a 16-year-old, though, perhaps you will listen to Pope Francis. He certainly has addressed the issue of the environment. In fact, he devoted an entire encyclical, “Laudato Si‘,” to the topic in 2015.

In the encyclical, the pope cites St. Francis’ “Canticle of Creation,” which likens the earth to our sister.

“This sister now cries out to us because of the harm we have inflicted on her by our irresponsible use and abuse of the goods with which God has endowed her,” the pope wrote. “We have come to see ourselves as her lords and masters, entitled to plunder her at will.”

Many others in the Catholic Church have also spoken out about the crisis. Prior to Pope Francis, Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI pointed out that “young people had come to realize that something is wrong in our relationship with nature, that matter is not just raw material for us to shape at will, but that the earth has a dignity of its own and that we must follow its directives.”

In 1981—and many times since—the US bishops have addressed the issue. Before that, St. John Paul II sounded the alarm in 1979, the first year of his pontificate. And before him, St. Pope Paul VI spoke of “the urgent need for a radical change in the conduct of humanity” regarding the environment.

Time for Action

While speaking out is an important first step, Greta Thunberg reminds us that it is only the first step. Now is the time for action. The clock is ticking.

One such step is the US bishops’ Catholic Climate Covenant, which was established in 2006 to help US Catholics respond to the Church’s call to care for creation and care for the poor. The organization points out that “loving God’s creation and God’s most vulnerable is at the heart of who we are as Catholics. Catholics do care about climate change, and they’re working hard to create solutions.”

And while organizations such as this are important, if we each don’t take the next step and put the words and suggested solutions into action, they are useless.

Obviously, this is not a new issue. People have been sounding the alarm for quite some time. It is getting louder each day. Up until now, many of those across the world in positions to make structural changes haven’t been able—or perhaps willing—to find a solution or take immediate action. Perhaps, then, it’s time we started listening to the younger generation, our Catholic leaders, and people like Greta Thunberg.

As Pope Francis said in his encyclical, “All is not lost. Human beings, while capable of the worst, are also capable of rising above themselves, choosing again what is good, and making a new start.”

Each year on the Day of the Dead, the typically somber setting of a cemetery is transformed into a festive and colorful place of honor and remembrance of departed loved ones.

A tradition steeped in history that stretches deep into Mexico’s past, Día de los Muertos (the Day of the Dead) is a colorful and joyous celebration of the lives of loved ones who have died. It traditionally begins on October 31 and culminates on November 2, All Souls’ Day. With over 30 million Mexican Americans in the United States, plus another 11 million immigrants from Mexico, the custom has been kept alive by Mexican Catholic faithful across the country.

Though the largest celebrations occur in the Southwest, the Day of the Dead is becoming well known throughout the United States as Mexican Americans and immigrants put roots down in other regions.

Since 2014, the Catholic Cemeteries and Mortuaries of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles have hosted Day of the Dead celebrations that, according to an archdiocesan press release, “offer a unique opportunity for our parish families to celebrate a Catholic tradition that unites faith, prayer, and cultural heritage to commemorate All Souls’ Day.”

For the first two years, the event took place at Calvary Cemetery in East Los Angeles but has since expanded to include the Santa Clara Cemetery in Oxnard. The celebrations are free and open to the public and include a presentation on the symbolism and historical significance of the Day of the Dead. A blessing of the altars (ofrendas) honors the memories of the departed, and traditional dance, music, and arts and crafts are on full display.

Quoted in the archdiocese’s press release, Brian McMahon, director of administrative services of the Catholic Cemeteries Department, said of the celebration: “We have found that this spiritual and cultural event allows our patrons the ability to share and honor the stories of their loved ones’ earthly lives. . . . Over these past few years, we have seen how it brings families together. Rather than sadness, there is a sense of joy and happiness.”

In his homily during the 2017 event’s Mass on All Souls’ Day, Los Angeles Archbishop José Gomez reminded those in attendance that the Day of the Dead is a testament to the solidarity between the living and the dead.

“And as we remember the dead today, we are also asking them to pray for us,” the archbishop said. “And we pray for the living—that we might grow in holiness and love so that one day we will be reunited with them and rejoice forever in the banquet of the heavenly table.”

The usually somber cemeteries are temporarily transformed into places full of colorful calaveras (painted skulls crafted from either sugar or clay) and festive music, and the families of the departed mingle with each other and share stories of their loved ones. It’s a powerful reminder of the importance of family, faith, and the belief that death is a bridge to reunification with our loved ones and with God.

In his homily on the Day of the Dead in 2017, Archbishop Gomez said: “Praying in this place today, we feel close to the dead, especially to our beloved ones in our own families. We know that death can never keep us apart—that nothing can separate us from the love of God.”

Dia De Los Muertos: A Brief History

Like many traditions in Latin America, the roots of the Day of the Dead can be traced back to indigenous customs that predate the arrival of the Spanish in Mexico in the 1500s. In fact, some historians estimate that the honoring of ancestors through ritual and celebration goes as far back as 3,000 years. By the time the Aztecs rose to power in the 1300s, a monthlong festival took place that honored a goddess known as the “Lady of the Dead.” This goddess would later be depicted as one of the most famous icons of the Day of the Dead, La Calavera Catrina, a female skeleton wearing an ornate hat.

After the Spanish conquest of the Aztecs and the spread of Christianity throughout the land, the indigenous festival devoted to celebrating ancestors eventually became linked to the triduum known as Allhallowtide—which starts on All Saints’ Eve (Halloween) and ends on November 2, All Souls’ Day—and the Day of the Dead was born. Originally observed in central and southern Mexico, the tradition later expanded across the whole country and is now a national holiday. In 2008, UNESCO added the tradition to its List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

With many Mexican Americans invested in keeping their cultural identity alive, combined with the large population of Mexican immigrants, the Day of the Dead is fast becoming a popular tradition in the United States. Celebrations in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and California are among the largest, but Day of the Dead festivities are popping up from coast to coast as the population of those with Mexican heritage continues to grow. A testament to the growing popularity of the tradition, the hit Disney Pixar film Coco (2017), which tells the story of a little boy’s adventure to meet his ancestors during Day of the Dead festivities, drew critical acclaim and won the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature.

At first glance they couldn’t be more different. But the subjects of these two new films are united by their heroic devotion to faith and justice.

Harriet Tubman and Franz Jägerstätter share seemingly insignificant, humble backgrounds. They were people who in the course of ordinary events would have lived and died without notice. But they responded to that divine spark of conscience that led them to resist powerful social and political oppression and the dearth of authentic Christian teaching of their times to make a difference.

American abolitionist Harriet Tubman (ca.1820-1913) and Austrian conscientious objector Franz Jägerstätter (1907-1943) were born in different centuries and lived on two different continents, yet their lives actually overlapped by six years. These two people were from countries with shameful pasts: Tubman lived in the Civil War-era United States during slavery; Jägerstätter lived in Austria when it was willingly annexed by Nazi Germany before World War II. Both were connected to the land, one by enforced labor and the other as a simple farmer. Both of these heroic people lived by their consciences, with courage and faith, for family and country. Both ask and were asked: Can one person make a difference by the choices she or he makes?

Moses in the 19th Century

Harriett Tubman was born Araminta Ross in Dorchester County, Maryland. Her father, Ben, was a skilled woodsman who managed timber work on a plantation; her mother, Rit, was a slave of the Brodess family. Her eight siblings and other slaves called Harriett “Minty.” One day, as a young teenager working in the fields, she was struck in the head by either a piece of iron or a rock thrown by an overseer aiming at someone else. She suffered a concussion that caused her to develop epilepsy. She bore scars from this attack and other beatings for the rest of her life.

It is said that Tubman learned resistance from her mother. After losing three daughters when the master sold them south, Rit hid her youngest son, Moses, for a month to prevent his being sold away from the family. When Brodess and a buyer from Georgia approached Rit looking for the boy, she swore she would split open the head of any man who took her child. Brodess backed off.

Tubman never learned to read or write, but her mother taught her stories from the Bible. She was a Christian but rejected interpretations of New Testament teaching that urged slaves to obey their masters. She was inspired by tales of deliverance from the Old Testament, especially that of Moses leading his people out of bondage in Egypt. Tubman led a strong prayer life and enjoyed a close relationship with God. Later, when she escaped bondage and returned to lead others to freedom, she would fall into a prayerful state in which she heard the word of God. In the film she says, “God spoke to me, but it was my feet that did the walking.” Did epilepsy have anything to do with her visions or mystical encounters with God? We will never know for sure. But it is a fact that Tubman was inspired and lived by the convictions of her faith in God.

In 1844, Harriet married John Tubman, a free black man. It was not unusual to have such mixed marriages at the time. When her owner died, it seemed Harriet would be sold to pay his debts. In late 1849, Harriet escaped using an orga-nized route that would become known as the Underground Railroad.

With Philadelphia as her base, she returned to Maryland’s eastern shore several times and brought at least 77 slaves to freedom. After leading the first seven slaves to freedom, Harriet was made a conductor on the Underground Railroad. She sang spirituals as a secret code to let slaves know she was in the area.

Tubman believed that God spoke to her, and she knew her calling was to make a difference. She bore the mantle of an Old Testament prophet. To the slaves she was a deliverer, and to slave owners and hunters she was a phantom. They called her Moses.

Harriet: The Movie

In Harriet, the cinematic team of writer-producer Gregory Allen Howard (Remember the Titans) and director Kasi Lemmons (Eve’s Bayou) takes us back almost 200 years to a plantation in Maryland. The film focuses on Tubman’s escape from slavery in 1849 and the journeys she made to bring others to freedom. Her journeys were incredibly physical and dangerous, taking her back and forth from Maryland to Philadelphia, New York, and Canada.

The movie enfleshes the basic framework of the events of Tubman’s life, dramatized in a way that makes her come alive as a small but mighty woman of love, passion, faith, and courage.

The cast, led by Cynthia Erivo as Harriet, includes Vondie Curtis-Hall as the Reverend Green, who preaches obedience to slaves, but this is a clever ruse. Janelle Monáe plays a free black woman, Marie, who gives Harriet a home and finds her paid employment for the first time; and Leslie Odom Jr. is William Still, who runs the Pennsylvania Anti-Slavery Society and the clandestine Underground Railroad.

According to writer-producer Howard, a Catholic, Tubman’s faith in God was intense. He says: “She was a radical because she rejected the oppressive preaching she heard growing up. She believed in God as a higher power. That she became known as Moses is no accident. She delivered her people to freedom.

“With Harriet I wanted to write a story about a woman of faith, a kind of superhero of her times who is still relevant today,” Howard continues. “To do this authentically, you have to treat her faith in an organic way. This isn’t a film with a message, because I don’t like movies that do that. This is a historic drama about a woman, a mythic character whose very being was imbued with faith.”

Two of the film’s other producers are Catholic as well: Debra Martin Chase (The Princess Diaries) and Daniela Taplin Lundberg (Beasts of No Nation). For Chase, this film became possible because Hollywood began to change with the #MeToo movement. Studios wanted to tell stories about women who made a difference.

Lundberg, who went to St. Martin of Tours School and Marymount High School in Los Angeles, says the six-week film shoot in Virginia was very challenging, “but miracles kept happening.” One of these miracles occurred when they were shooting the scene where Tubman crosses over the line to freedom.

“It was cloudy and rainy, and the crew had carried in all this equipment,” Lundberg recounts. “We had just about given up catching the sunrise for the clouds, but just in time, the clouds parted and we got the amazing shot you will see in the film. Everyone was very moved because God seemed to be watching over us.”

Erivo, who plays Harriet, told the online magazine Deadline of the emotions and faith she drew on for the role: “The loss that she [Tubman] felt, she could have used to completely back off and go the other direction, but she used it as a force. She used it to help more people. Because she was so deeply connected to God, it didn’t make sense that God would bring her to this place and then she leaves with nothing. She knew it had to be for a reason.”

Following His Conscience

Franz Jägerstätter, too, knew that doing the right thing was the only choice he could make. As a Catholic and member of the Secular Franciscan Order, he chose nonviolence. Like St. Thomas More centuries before him, Jägerstätter quietly chose to follow Jesus’ teachings and his own conscience even if no one else ever knew.

Jägerstätter was born in Sankt Radegund, Austria, to a single mother, Rosalia Huber, on May 20, 1907. He was initially raised by his maternal grandmother. His father was killed in the First World War. Meanwhile, Rosalia married a well-off farmer, Heinrich Jägerstätter, who adopted young Franz.

Jägerstätter’s early education at a one-room schoolhouse ended at about the age of 12. As a youth, he lived a bit on the wild side. In 1933, he fathered a daughter out of wedlock, whom he supported until his death. That same year he inherited his adoptive father’s farm and began to work the land in earnest.

In 1936, he met and married Franziska (“Fani”) Schwaninger. She was deeply religious and certainly had an influence on Jägerstätter. He began to study the Bible and read the lives of the saints, and he volunteered as a sexton at his parish church. Instead of a wedding banquet, the newly married couple went on pilgrimage to Rome, solidifying their faith as the mainstay of their marriage and family. By 1943, the couple had three daughters, all under the age of 6.

In 1938, the Austrian people voted to allow Germany to annex their country, and Franz was the only one in his village to vote against it. Fearing reprisals, the village authorities changed his vote so that there would be no opposition from the village. When he was called to military duty in early 1943, Jägerstätter had already asked his parish priest and bishop for counsel. The priest encouraged him to serve his country; the bishop told him that “the Church tells us we have a duty to the fatherland.” Indeed, not one bishop of Germany or Austria ever renounced Hitler’s wars or proclaimed them unjust.

He and Fani prayed about his decision not to take the oath of allegiance to Hitler, knowing that this would most certainly mean his death. Jägerstätter could not see any other way to live his faith and commitment to nonviolence. He reported for training in March but refused to take the oath to Hitler. He was arrested, sent to Berlin, and imprisoned in solitary confinement. While in prison he was known to share his food and was often seen praying the rosary. Not long after his imprisonment, on August 9, 1943, Franz Jägerstätter was beheaded.

In June 2007, Pope Benedict XVI proclaimed him a martyr, and that October he was beatified at the New Cathedral in Linz in the presence of his wife, daughters, and descendants.

A Hidden Life Revealed

Filmmaker Terrence Malick’s A Hidden Life premiered at the Cannes International Film Festival in May to a seven-minute standing ovation. With this film, Malick not only takes a deep dive into the short life of this Austrian martyr, but also asks us to accompany the young man on his inner journey as he contemplates and discerns his fateful decision to resist Hitler in 1943.

A Hidden Life does not tell the story of a saint, but that of a faithful man of principle and courage, an authentic Christian. Malick, the grandson of Christian emigrants from Syria, attended an Episcopal boarding school in Austin, Texas, and now makes films that are marked by a deeply Christian vision and that ask probing and personal questions about the meaning of life.

Film reviewers have often criticized Malick’s contemplative style and the length of his films. Others take issue with his freewheeling editorial style that can seem unfocused. But with A Hidden Life, Malick not only has kept his poetic, pastoral style, but also offers a rather straightforward biopic about a man whose legacy and relevance endure more than 75 years after his death. The filmmaker highlights the couple’s marriage, family, spirituality, and desire to do God’s will despite the growing dread of what is to come.

The film also contains shots of the interior of the Jägerstätter farmhouse, with the same clock on the wall that marks the time of Franz’s martyrdom. The bedroom looks as it did during Franz’s lifetime, with Fani’s embroidery still hanging on the walls.

The lighting proved a challenge to the filmmakers, but Malick wanted the natural light to blend organically with Jägerstätter’s inner journey.

In a heartbreaking scene in the film, Franz Jägerstätter (August Diehl) is visited by his wife (Valerie Pachner) and the parish priest. Franz insists, “I can’t do what I believe is wrong; I have to stand up to evil.” When his lawyer and military officers encourage him to recant and take the oath of allegiance so he can be free from prison, he answers, “But I am already free.”

The title of the film comes from a quote from George Eliot (author Mary Ann Evans’ pen name) in her novel Middlemarch: “For the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”

Messages for Today

Although they are historical dramas, both Harriet and A Hidden Life are films for our times, when political division and lack of moral clarity cloud pastoral life and public discourse. Tubman and Jägerstätter lived the courage of their convictions and show us how we, too, even if we believe ourselves to be insignificant, can be the change we want to see in the world. Harriet demonstrates how, throughout her life, Tubman was a witness to the great evil of slavery and a model to every person to work to change the world for the better.

Films such as A Hidden Life help Catholics and people of goodwill have a clearer understanding about the morality of war, weapons, violence, and the inviolability of conscience.

Their inspiring stories, viewed through the power and grace of cinema, show us how to make a difference, make sacrifices, and do the right thing, even when we think no one is looking.

Sidebar: Sister Rose Goes to Cannes

Last May, I had the honor to serve on the Ecumenical Jury at the Cannes International Film Festival. We were three Catholics and three Protestants from France, Germany, Greece, Italy, and the United States, who watched 22 films and took part in three ecumenical events sponsored by the Catholic and Protestant communities in Cannes. Ecumenism and dialogue have been part of the festival since 1974.

This is the sixth time I have had the privilege of serving on ecumenical or Catholic juries. I dress in regular clothes for the festival so as not to attract attention to myself, but rather to let the films speak for themselves. Festivals are a way to let filmmakers’ efforts shine even if they do not receive awards. Indeed, while most did not meet our criteria, we had several that did.

Our criteria…

• high artistic quality,

• religious perspective,

• how the film deals with our responsibility as Christians in the modern world,

• the film’s universal appeal and influence,

• and how well the film lends itself to dialogue on the local level, through film clubs and retreats, for example.