By Ryan Leblanc

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the idea of what I’ve come to call “spiritual depth”—that essential quality that influences how peacefully I move through life.

It’s a term I’m still grappling with, unsure if it fully captures the experience or if there’s a more fitting expression. What I do know is that when I am rooted in this spiritual depth, I find myself more present, more aware of the world around me, and more accepting of the world within me.

But I’m also familiar with its absence. When I lack this depth, I become easily rattled, distracted, and incoherent. I feel a sense of disconnection, as if I’m out of sync with myself and everything around me. It’s an uncomfortable state that makes it hard to stay grounded. This distinction — between having spiritual depth and losing it — has made me question what it really means and how it can be cultivated.

One of the most intriguing observations I’ve made is how spiritual depth manifests differently in people.

I’ve met individuals who don’t outwardly appear to have a strong religious practice or identify as particularly spiritual, yet they exude a profound sense of inner peace and presence. Being around them feels grounding and comforting. Their depth comes across as an unspoken strength, a calmness that can’t be easily shaken.

Conversely, I’ve also met people who seem to follow a highly disciplined spiritual or religious life. They have all the visible markers of spirituality—rituals, prayers, and community involvement—but sometimes, their presence feels more fragile. I sense an underlying anxiety or a fear that if the conversation takes an unexpected turn or if an unforeseen event occurs, things might escalate uncomfortably. It’s as if the structure of their spiritual practice is holding them together, but just barely. The smallest disruption might cause it all to unravel.

I don’t say this to judge others because I’ve been on both sides of this spectrum.

There have been times when I’ve felt deeply grounded and present, and other times when I’ve struggled to find that same stability. Reflecting on these experiences, I’ve come to believe that true spiritual depth comes when a person can fully accept what is happening in their life without the need to control it.

It’s a difficult paradox to hold.

If I’m spending all my energy trying to make things a certain way, to force my life or circumstances to fit into a specific mold, I end up losing touch with myself. My focus is entirely outward, and I become disconnected from my own inner reality. In contrast, when I’m able to release that need for control, I find a deeper sense of peace and presence. I’m able to be more fully engaged in whatever is happening, even if it’s something difficult or unexpected.

For me, observing my religious discipline has been one of the most effective ways to cultivate spiritual depth. Regular prayer, reflection on my internal spiritual life, and engagement with scripture and sacrament have all helped me remain grounded. My faith community, where I can openly share my beliefs and doubts and receive support and encouragement, is a source of immense strength.

Yet, I’ve also found that religious discipline can sometimes go sideways. There are moments when following a particular practice leaves me feeling more frustrated and upset rather than at peace. When that happens, persisting in the same practice rarely brings me back to a place of calm. Instead, I’ve learned to pause and ask myself some honest questions: “Where is this discomfort coming from? Why am I feeling disquieted even though I am searching for peace?”

This kind of self-inquiry can be unsettling, but it’s necessary. I might be sitting in a church, praying the rosary, but if my heart is still clutching onto something—anger, disappointment, fear—then I have to acknowledge that it’s not the environment or the practice that’s the issue. It’s something inside me.

At these times, I’ve learned to step back from my expectations of what my spiritual practice should look like. I pause and acknowledge what’s really going on inside me. Instead of pushing through the discomfort, I invite it into the open and bring it into my prayer life. For me, this means turning to Jesus and saying, “This is still really bothering me.” I might not get an immediate answer or relief, but by being honest, I invite Christ to be present with me in my struggle.

It’s not an easy or comfortable place to be. Often, it leads to more impatience or frustration, but by sitting with these feelings, I remind myself that spiritual depth isn’t about always being serene or in control. It’s about being honest with where I am and trusting that God is with me in it, even if it’s messy and imperfect.

So, how do we develop spiritual depth? It’s a question I’m still exploring, but I believe it starts with letting go of the need to have everything figured out. It’s about creating space for acceptance, being present with what is, and allowing ourselves to experience the full range of our emotions without trying to control or suppress them.

In a world that often values outward expressions of spirituality or success, this can be a radical act. But I think true depth comes when we’re able to show up as we are—broken, imperfect, and open. It’s when we can sit with our discomfort and invite something greater to be present with us in it. For me, that “something greater” is Christ. Christ, of course, desires to make his home in every human heart, whether they know his name or not.

Spiritual depth is not about being invulnerable or having all the answers. It’s about being willing to be in the uncertainty, to ask the hard questions, and to trust that even in the midst of struggle, there is something sacred unfolding within us.

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Ryan LeBlanc is a teacher at Bethlehem Catholic High School in Saskatoon and a parishioner at the Cathedral of the Holy Family. His writing is available on his blog at https://ryanleblanc.podia.com/