There’s something immediately comforting about opening a Paddington storybook. The soft watercolor drawings of his blue coat with gold buttons; the cozy tales of circuses, magic shows, and garden parties; and, of course, the button-eyed bear with a jar of marmalade tucked under his arm. Readers know his perfectly polite conversation and well-meaning antics will drive the Brown family up the wall, but endear him to them—and to us—all the more. Read aloud, the books feel akin to drinking a warm cup of tea.
Both of my children have been fans of Michael Bond’s books (and the movies based on them) since they were first learning to read. In fact, one of my dearest memories of my daughter—now nine years old—giggling uncontrollably was when she first read the classic scene from Bond’s 1958 A Bear Called Paddington, where Paddington floods the Browns’ bathroom after they take him home “for just one night” from the London train station that famously bears his name (pun intended). When we watched that same scene in the first Paddington film in 2014—especially when his fur fluffs out to twice its size—it was a foregone conclusion that we’d see every Paddington movie after.
So it was a doubly unexpected delight as a Catholic mom to find the newest installment, Paddington in Peru, infused with unmistakable Catholic themes. (Spoilers ahead.) The film opens with Paddington learning that his beloved Aunt Lucy has gone missing from the “Home for Retired Bears,” a convent joyfully run by a group of nuns. The scene feels almost lifted from The Sound of Music (another family favorite!): church bells ring out as the nuns burst into a Broadway-style tune, “Let’s Prepare for Paddington!” Olivia Colman shines as the Reverend Mother, but it’s the ensemble of singing, guitar-playing sisters who truly light up the moment—and the hearts of listeners and moviegoers alike.
How often do we see a film open with such unabashedly joyful religious imagery—centered on women religious no less? Set against the breathtaking Andes landscape, with well-loved “retired” bears tenderly cared for by the nuns, we witness evangelization at work in a way children can readily understand and respond to. It is faith embedded naturally within the culture of the story without being heavy-handed: It is exactly how the good news ought to be shared with children.
The storyline evangelizes as well. At its heart, Paddington in Peru celebrates the joys—and the inevitable challenges—of holding family relationships together amidst the push and pull of secular and social pressures. My son is ten, already counting down the days until middle school next year. My daughter is close behind him. And like Mrs. Brown, played beautifully by Emily Mortimer, I often feel the pang of realizing how quickly those early years of family closeness are beginning to stretch and shift. My family is transitioning from snuggling together reading storybooks nightly to finding it harder to carve out moments where we all simply sit still together.
It is faith embedded naturally within the culture of the story without being heavy-handed: It is exactly how the good news ought to be shared with children.
Watching the Browns’ children wrestle with their own independence—choosing projects like travelogues for college applications over family Scrabble games, like the Browns’ older highschool-aged daughter, or preferring solitude and “just chilling” over family time, like their slightly younger teenage son—I couldn’t help but notice echoes of my own family’s gradual shifts. “How are they so old?” my daughter asked at one point, commenting (rather loudly, I might add) on the children in the film. Even she recognized how much they had changed, having grown alongside them, only a few years separating her from them—a few years I suddenly felt pressing heavily upon me as I sat beside her. Glancing around as I worried at her volume, I caught only the smiling eyes of other parents in the quiet theater—parents who had clearly heard her question and understood; parents who, like me, were in the same boat, charting the same bittersweet course.
The film doesn’t shy away from this temporal tension in the least but leans into it. As the Browns journey with Paddington into the Amazon to find Aunt Lucy, they carry the weight of growing up and growing apart. Even Paddington himself faces this. Orphaned after an earthquake, adopted by Aunt Lucy and later by the Browns, Paddington’s story has always revolved around the search for home, both in the books and films. In this third movie installment, he discovers his original bear tribe and faces a choice: to stay in Peru or return to London.
Layered into the film is another family struggle, too—that of Hunter Cabot (played by Antonio Banderas) and his daughter, Gina (played by Carla Tous). Hunter is burdened by a family curse: “Gold Madness.” Although he claims to help Paddington search for his Aunt Lucy in the rainforest for altruistic reasons, his real quest is for El Dorado’s treasure. Now, it bears mention that at one point, I confess I worried how the film’s religious imagery would ultimately unfold. The Reverend Mother’s secret identity is revealed as a Cabot, too: She, like Hunter, is driven by greed, possesses the same “Gold Madness” curse, and turns against our beloved bear. I feared the all-too-familiar trope of turning Catholic characters into villains.
But here’s where Paddington in Peru surprises in ways faith-filled audiences will appreciate.
The Browns’ housekeeper who traveled with them discerns the truth about the “fake” Reverend Mother and declares bluntly to the audience: “You’re no nun!” Hence, she clearly delineates for even the youngest of moviegoers the Reverend Mother’s deception from the genuine goodness of the other nuns the Browns have met. And remarkably, the film offers a reformation story at the end: The former “Reverend Mother” abandons her pursuit of gold and chooses to become an actual nun, joining a convent in the Arctic! She opts for religious vocation, community, and family over greed. The nuns in the Andes seem to have succeeded in their mission, this time by saving the soul of their erstwhile leader.
Home is not where we originate—with all our flaws, with all our original sin—but where love anchors us and grace transforms us.
Gina, too, the youngest of the Cabots, resists the lure of worldly riches entirely. While her father chases treasure, she risks everything to save Paddington and the Browns, recognizing the shallowness of her ancestors’ pursuits. In a pivotal moment—when she decides to save the Browns and warn them of her father’s dishonesty—she makes the sign of the cross in front of them, a confident gesture of faith that is a significant act of evangelization. In fact, it’s an act that speaks louder than any other moment in the film. It is no wonder that her father chooses her over the promise of riches in the end, too—she becomes his El Dorado, his “golden one.”
In his apostolic exhortation Amoris Laetitia, Pope Francis reminds us, “The family is the first school of human values, where we learn the wise use of freedom” (274). Freedom is love rightly ordered and relationships rightly prioritized. Paddington in Peru superbly reflects this teaching: Each character is invited to choose love over self-interest, community over isolation, and family over fleeting treasure.
It is perhaps no surprise at all, then, that in the end Paddington chooses to stay with the Browns, his adopted family who have always shown him love—a love that reflects the Holy Family’s own. That doesn’t mean he won’t visit Peru; he still sees his bear family, and they even come to visit him at the film’s close. Paddington puts it this way when speaking to the Browns, “This is where I’m from, but with you is where I belong.” The message couldn’t be clearer: Home is not where we originate—with all our flaws, with all our original sin—but where love anchors us and grace transforms us. In the Catholic tradition, we are reminded that through baptism we are adopted into God’s family, not because of anything we’ve done but because God loves us first. Often, that kind of belonging requires us to accept the love freely offered, to receive the family God places in our lives—those who reflect his love—and to change and grow right along with them, even when it takes some adjusting.
There’s one more scene that is comic relief in the film but felt almost like actual relief to me as a parent. At the climax of the rescue mission that concludes the movie, the Browns find themselves tossed around in a chaotic helicopter ride. Suddenly, they all land together in one small seat. Mrs. Brown glances around at her family and smiles, realizing that, for just that moment, they’re all together. Their vacation on this trip across the world has finally begun—not because of the location but because they’re finally all in one space cuddled up together, simply enjoying each other’s company.
In a world that tugs families in countless directions, Paddington in Peru offers a joyful reminder that evangelization doesn’t always happen through grand pronouncements. More often, I would argue, it begins simply—by gathering together, choosing one another, and making room for love to take hold. Sometimes, it looks like sitting side by side—on a couch, around a Scrabble board, or, yes, even squished together in a helicopter or a car on a long summer road trip, as is often the case with my own family—and recognizing that this, too, is where we belong and share God’s love with one another. Maybe we say grace together. Sing in front of some mountains. Make the sign of the cross before being brave. Attend Mass together. Or simply make time for each other. It is in these small, shared moments that love anchors us, forming us quietly in the ways of communion.
As St. John Chrysostom reminds us, “The home is a little church.” It’s within this “little church” of family life—ordinary, imperfect, yet anchored in love—that the Gospel is more often than not most powerfully lived and shared.