A brief yet profound moment of generosity in Essex Dogs reflects deep Catholic themes of grace, humility, and self-giving love, showing how even the smallest acts of kindness can carry spiritual significance amidst the brutality of war.
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Seeds of Faith in Stillness: Reflections on a Scene from Essex Dogs
Dan Jones, one of today’s most engaging modern historians, is known for his riveting non-fiction works on medieval history. So, when he turned his attention to fiction with Essex Dogs: A Novel, I was eager to see how his storytelling would translate to a new medium. As expected, the novel didn’t disappoint, combining gritty realism with compelling characters. Yet what struck me most was a particular scene in the book that, against the backdrop of medieval warfare, offers a moment of quiet reflection. It’s a scene that resonates with profound spiritual depth, showing how timeless truths can emerge in the unlikeliest of places.
In Essex Dogs, Jones employs a raw and visceral style, immersing the reader in the sights, sounds, and even the smells of medieval warfare. His unflinching descriptions of battle contrast sharply with the quiet moments of human struggle and contemplation, which often carry unexpected spiritual weight. By weaving together moments of brutal action with reflective stillness, Jones creates a narrative that not only captures the chaos of war but also the profound ways faith and perseverance emerge in its midst. His writing style, so immediate and vivid, brings to life countless ways to find seeds of faith in the ordinary and extraordinary alike.
The moment that stood out to me revolves around Loveday, a central character in the story. Amid the chaos of medieval battle, Loveday chooses to pause rather than act, embracing stillness in a moment of uncertainty. The passage describing this is deceptively simple but rich in meaning:
“So Loveday did the only thing he could do. As he always did when in doubt. He waited. He listened. He controlled his breath. And he kept his eyes open. He stayed still so long that in his crouch the muscles in his lower legs began to cramp. He wiggled his toes inside his boots to try and keep them from going numb. He gritted his teeth. And eventually his patience was rewarded. Briefly, right on the edge of his vision, he saw something move.”1
On the surface, this is a pragmatic survival tactic. Loveday pauses, gathers himself, and waits for clarity. Yet there’s much more beneath the surface. His choice to stop, breathe, and observe mirrors spiritual practices rooted in trust, patience, and attentiveness. In this moment of stillness, Loveday offers a model of faith that is as relevant now as it would have been in the medieval world.
Loveday’s stillness is a striking counterpoint to the frantic action and violence surrounding him. While others might panic or charge forward blindly, he chooses to trust the process, even at the cost of physical discomfort. This deliberate pause evokes the spiritual teaching found in Psalm 46:10: “Be still and know that I am God.”2 Stillness here is not passivity but an act of trust—an acknowledgment that clarity often arises when we surrender control and allow ourselves to wait.
In the Christian tradition, waiting in silence is a recurring theme. Whether it is the Israelites waiting on God in the wilderness3 or the Apostles in the upper room after Christ’s ascension,4 these moments of quiet anticipation are often where faith grows. Loveday’s decision to remain still, despite the uncertainty, reflects this timeless spiritual wisdom. He exemplifies the patience described in Isaiah 40:31: “But those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength.”5
One of the most striking details in the passage is Loveday’s focus on controlling his breath. This practical measure to calm himself also carries deep theological resonance. In Genesis 2:7, God breathes life into Adam, marking the intimate connection between human existence and the divine.6 Later, in John 20:22, the risen Christ breathes on His disciples, giving them the Holy Spirit.7 Breath, then, becomes a symbol of God’s sustaining power and presence.
This connection between breath and spirituality is also reflected in the ancient prayer practices of the Church. In the Eastern Christian tradition, for example, the Jesus Prayer—“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner”—is often synchronized with one’s breathing.8 This union of physical rhythm and prayer cultivates a sense of inner stillness and attentiveness to God. When Loveday centers himself by focusing on his breath, he echoes this profound link between the physical and the spiritual, between the ordinary act of breathing and the presence of the divine.
Another powerful element in this scene is Loveday’s vigilance. He keeps his eyes open, alert to the slightest movement, even as discomfort sets in. This watchfulness calls to mind Jesus’s admonition to His disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane: “Watch and pray that you may not undergo the test” (Matthew 26:41).9 Spiritual vigilance is a recurring theme in the Gospels, reminding believers to remain awake and attentive to God’s presence, even in the midst of challenges.
Loveday’s patience is rewarded when he finally notices a small movement at the edge of his vision. This moment is reminiscent of Elijah’s encounter with God in 1 Kings 19.10 Elijah expects God to appear in dramatic ways—through wind, earthquake, or fire—but instead, God’s presence is revealed in a “tiny whispering sound” (1 Kings 19:12).11 Similarly, Loveday’s attentiveness allows him to perceive something small and seemingly insignificant, yet it is precisely this detail that brings clarity and direction.
The scene also highlights the discomfort that often accompanies stillness. Loveday’s legs cramp, his toes go numb, and he grits his teeth to endure it. This physical struggle reflects the spiritual challenge of remaining patient and steadfast in times of uncertainty. St. Paul speaks to this in Romans 12:12: “Rejoice in hope, endure in affliction, persevere in prayer.”12 Faith is not always easy or comfortable; it often requires perseverance through difficulties, trusting that the effort will bear fruit.
Footnotes
1. Dan Jones, Essex Dogs: A Novel (New York: Viking, 2023).
2. Psalm 46:10, New American Bible (Revised Edition).
3. Exodus 16:1–35.
4. Acts 1:12–14.
5. Isaiah 40:31, NABRE.
6. Genesis 2:7, NABRE.
7. John 20:22, NABRE.
8. “Jesus Prayer,” OrthodoxWiki.
9. Matthew 26:41, NABRE.
10. 1 Kings 19, NABRE.
11. 1 Kings 19:12, NABRE.
12. Romans 12:12, NABRE.
The Young Pope: A Bold and Transformative Vision of Faith and Leadership
Paolo Sorrentino’s The Young Pope offers one of the most unusual and provocative portrayals of a pope ever seen on screen. Pope Pius XIII, played brilliantly by Jude Law, is unlike any pontiff in history. To begin with, he smokes cigarettes, refuses to allow himself to be photographed, and deliberately cloaks himself in mystery, exuding a powerful and almost unapproachable authority. At the same time, however, beneath his authoritarian demeanor lies a deeply wounded man—an orphan abandoned by his parents, plagued by doubts about God, and yearning for love. He is fiercely traditional, yet his actions are often shockingly unorthodox.
Because of this paradoxical nature, Pius XIII challenges the Catholic Church, the world, and even himself with a radical vision of faith that seeks to meet the signs of the times while reclaiming the sacred. And while his behavior might seem baffling or even offensive at first, The Young Pope gradually reveals his humanity through a powerful theme of transformation. Ultimately, it is a series that invites viewers to reflect on leadership, vulnerability, and the divine mystery in ways that are both unsettling and inspiring.
The Paradox of Pius XIII
At the heart of The Young Pope is the enigma of Pius XIII, born Lenny Belardo. From the very beginning, his papacy is marked by a sense of mystery and contradiction. For instance, in his first address to the cardinals in Episode 2, he declares:
“You need to know I will never be close to you, because everyone is alone before God… God exists. And He isn’t interested in us until we become interested in Him—in Him exclusively.”
This stern and unrelenting focus on God’s exclusivity shocks both the fictional Church and the viewer. He rejects the accessibility and warmth of his papal predecessors, insisting on distance to restore a sense of the sacred.
And yet, looking back at the series as a whole, it becomes clear that this harsh approach stems from his own deep insecurity and woundedness. In Episode 1, for example, he makes a startling confession to Don Tommaso:
“I’m saying that I don’t believe in God, Tommaso.”
This moment of vulnerability reveals the depth of Pius XIII’s inner turmoil. Behind his stern theology and rigid exterior is a man wrestling with his own faith, his childhood wounds, and the overwhelming burden of leadership. So, while he may appear authoritarian and distant, his actions are often shaped by his struggles with doubt, loneliness, and longing.
Unorthodox Leadership in a Modern Church
Not surprisingly, Pius XIII’s leadership style is as unorthodox as his personality. Unlike his recent predecessors, who embraced media and public engagement, he refuses to engage with celebrity culture. Instead, he bars photographers from taking his picture and insists that his absence will direct the faithful’s attention back to God.
At the same time, his speeches are deeply provocative, often challenging contemporary notions of freedom and morality. For example, in Episode 1 (revealed to be a dream sequence), he delivers a surreal address:
“We’ve forgotten to masturbate! To use contraceptives, to get abortions, to celebrate gay marriages, to allow priests to love each other, and even to get married. We’ve forgotten that we can decide to die if you detest living… In short, my dear, dear children, not only have we forgotten to play, we have forgotten to be happy.”
It’s kind of hard to explain how this speech fits into the overall story without watching the entire series, but it’s clear that Pius XIII uses such moments to critique modernity’s promises of liberation and happiness. His papacy is a radical critique of modernity, calling for a return to the sacred while forcing the Church to confront its compromises with the world.
The Theme of Transformation
Looking back, one of the most compelling aspects of The Young Pope is the transformation of Pius XIII. At first, he seems rigid, aloof, and authoritarian. However, over time, his encounters with others—such as Sister Mary, Cardinal Voiello, and others—begin to soften his heart and deepen his understanding of his role as a shepherd.
Take, for instance, his prayer for his childhood friend Cardinal Dussolier in Episode 8:
“Remind him, Lord Almighty, of all our endless late-night conversations… We were children then, and that’s what children do: they paint the future in colors that reality can never know… Remind him not to grieve over all our shattered dreams.”
This heartfelt moment shows a deeply human side to Pius XIII—a man who has known disappointment and heartbreak but continues to hope and pray. In hindsight, his transformation throughout the series is not immediate or perfect, but it is deeply human, revealing a leader who is learning to open himself to grace.
A Radical Critique of Modernity
Throughout the series, Pius XIII’s leadership serves as a sharp critique of modernity’s emphasis on freedom and individualism. In Episode 2, for example, he boldly declares:
“Free yourself from God,” I’ve heard people say. “Liberate yourself from God.” But the pain of liberation is unbearable, sharp enough to kill. Without God, you’re as good as dead: dead, abandoned strays wandering the streets.”
These statements, while extreme, reflect his belief that the Church must stand as a counter-cultural force, pointing humanity toward the transcendent. And so, his papacy becomes a challenge not only to secular culture but also to the Church itself, which he critiques for failing to fully embrace its sacred mission.
Faith, Vulnerability, and Redemption
Of course, Pius XIII’s critique of the modern world is inseparable from his own personal struggles with faith and love. As an orphan, he feels the absence of a first love—the love of a parent—which shapes his insecurity and awkwardness. In Episode 9, he reflects:
“What is more beautiful, my love? Love lost or love found?… An orphan lacks a first love. That’s the source of his awkwardness, his naïveté.”
Moments like this bring us back to the heart of the series: a story of a man grappling with his own wounds, seeking redemption, and learning what it truly means to love.
A Call for Peace and Holiness
By the end of the series, Pius XIII begins to embrace a vision of peace and holiness that stands in stark contrast to his earlier rigidity. In Episode 10, for example, he makes a plea for peace that is as poetic as it is profound:
“We are all guilty; we are all guilty of war and death. Always. In the same way, we can all be guilty of peace. Always. I ask this of you on bended knee: I’m ready to die for you, if only you will become guilty of peace… Give me peace, and I’ll give you God.”