In his May 14 address to participants in the Jubilee of Oriental Churches, Pope Leo XIV praised the spiritual and liturgical treasures of the Christian East: its emphasis on mystery, wonder and the “beauty of salvation”; on “the primacy of God” and mystagogy; and on “constant intercession, penance, fasting and weeping for one’s own sins and for those of all humanity (penthos).” These traditions, Leo concludes, are medicine for the Christian West. In short: “The Church needs you.”  

Though Leo spoke to Eastern Catholics, these words had a much broader valence in the charged religious atmosphere of 2025.  

May 20 marked the 1,700th anniversary of the convocation of the First Council of Nicaea in 325 — a climactic moment in a year of overtures and meetings between Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Christians, formally separated since the Great Schism of 1054. Indeed, the first person to receive the greeting of Pope Leo after his installation Mass on May 18 was Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew of Constantinople, and the following day, Leo — in the presence of Bartholomew — spoke of “re-establishing full communion among all Christians” as a key priority. Sometime soon, the brand-new Bishop of Rome may, in turn, travel to Nicaea to celebrate the council with the patriarch.  

The hope for reunion of these “two lungs” of Christian tradition is more and more palpable — especially as Leo, whose episcopal motto is St. Augustine’s “In the One we are one,” has already made unity such a central theme of his pontificate. But as we wait and hope for this outcome, Western Catholics can already begin to link arms with their Eastern brethren precisely by tapping into that spiritual medicine so lauded by Leo.  

This medicine of course comes in many forms, from attending Byzantine Catholic liturgies to delving into the treasury of Orthodox hymns to practicing the recitation of the Jesus Prayer (available in two-hour loops, in multiple languages, on one YouTube channel, to give just one example). But Catholics can also more intentionally harness those elements of their own tradition that accord with the mystical instinct of the East.  

One of these is the “profound bow”: a solemn bow of the body — from the waist, not the head — to signal reverence and humility before God. Prostrations and bows are key gestures of Orthodox worship; indeed, historian Diarmaid McCulloch argues that the Islamic practice of bowing prostrate on prayer mats was likely first picked up from neighboring Syriac Christians.  

The Roman Missal also calls for profound bows at various times. One key bow, prescribed for all the faithful, clergy and laity alike, occurs during the recitation of the Creed — the very Creed first articulated at Nicaea 1,700 years ago and later revised in 381. After the phrase “For us men and for all salvation he came down from heaven,” the Missal offers the following instruction: “At the words that follow, up to and including and became man, all bow” (Order of Mass 18; GIRM 137, 275.b).  

The only exceptions to the rule are March 25 and Dec. 25, the Solemnities of the Annunciation and the Nativity. At those times, the faithful are instructed to go beyond a bow and genuflect to the floor — a return to the weekly custom of the traditional form of the Roman Rite.  

In these words, which are the only ones of the Nicene Creed accompanied by the call to bow, we recall the staggering foundational truth of Christianity, the animating and organizing principle of the whole Gospel: The almighty eternal God, the Creator of the universe, became man — and not only man, but a helpless infant in the arms of a poor mother.  

By this humble descent of the Word into the world — God’s own profound bow — we are, as Pope Leo put it, “healed, divinized, and raised to the heights of heaven.” Or, in Athanasius of Alexandria’s elegant formula: “The Son of God became man so that we might become God.”  

Yet, at the average parish in America, it would be easy to conclude there isn’t anything particularly special about this line. Perhaps a few people here and there will make the profound bow or at least reverently lower their heads; but the majority do nothing at all.  

Many Catholics, whether because of poor catechesis or bad example or both, might not even be aware that they’re supposed to bow. But they are indeed, and those who know it should share it and lead by example. Others might have a sense that they’re supposed to bow, but don’t think it matters. But it does indeed, not only because the Incarnation matters, but because, as the seven sacraments and countless gestures attest, what we do with our bodies in prayer matters and shapes what we believe and how we believe it (Lex orandi, lex credendi). Still others agree that it matters, but worry that it would make them look like Pharisees drawing attention to their own piety. But it doesn’t at all; in fact, done prayerfully, it draws attention away from oneself and to the words we speak and the Word they signify. This type of disciplined bodily prayer may come more naturally to the East, but it’s nevertheless deep within the West’s memory, waiting to be awoken — perhaps from outside if not from within.  

Pope Leo is right: The Church needs the East — perhaps now more than ever. And the reunification of the Catholic and Orthodox Churches will require a kind of profound bow on the part of each toward the other: a willingness to let go of our own prejudices and grievances and to be docile to the Spirit of God we have all received rather than the division and accusation of the spirit of the world (1 Corinthians 2:12).  

But in the meantime, we can start small, joining our Eastern brothers and sisters in bowing profoundly before the One who so profoundly bowed to us.