Nancy Savoca’s “Household Saints” (1993) is all about food, family and faith. That makes it an appropriate watch for the holidays. Based on Francine Prose’s 1981 novel, “Household Saints” is the story of three generations of women in the Santangelo-Falconetti family, spanning from the 1950s to the 1990s. 

It is also a story about how culture, and especially faith, evolve through the different generations of an immigrant family: from grandparents steeped in matter-of-fact old country mysticism to assimilated parents with a more grounded and liberal spirituality to grandchildren thirsty for meaning and seeking it out in sometimes radical ways. But through all of these changes, the constants of food, family and faith remain.

The neighborhood story goes that Joseph Santangelo (Vincent D’Onofrio) won his wife in a pinochle game. This is not entirely true: her father Lino (Victor Argo) was so drunk when he made the bet that he hardly knew what he was saying. And while he wouldn’t admit it, Joseph already carried a torch for Catherine Falconetti (Tracey Ullman), a standoffish girl who is unimpressed by his attempts at seduction from behind the counter at his butcher shop. But after they are married the two fall blissfully in love, despite the disapproval of Joseph’s mother, Carmela (Judith Malina).

Carmela is an oppressive presence, her home (which Joseph and Catherine share) crowded with icons, crucifixes and photos of dead relatives. Her Catholicism is so Old World that it is practically pagan. She has a saint for every ailment, and the relationship is baldly transactional: she is lavish with her prayers and worship, but expects something in return. Carmela uses food as both an expression of love and a weapon for expressing her disapproval. (Savoca brilliantly photographs the meals in the film, giving you an immediate visual sense of how good, or terrible, it is meant to be.) 

The first half of the film culminates with the amazing—some might say miraculous—birth of Catherine and Joseph’s daughter. Teresa (Lili Taylor) becomes our focal point for the second half of the story, in which we follow her from childhood into young adulthood and witness the growth of her passionate, all-consuming love for God. As a little girl she is obsessed with the third secret of Fatima, and as a teenager her fervor only grows when she reads The Story of a Soul, the autobiography of St. Therese of Lisieux. Forbidden from entering the Carmelites by her father, she instead dedicates herself to menial chores and other small acts: her own Little Way. As time goes on, it becomes unclear whether we are watching someone suffering from mental illness, or the birth of a modern saint.

Catherine struggles to understand her daughter but, emotionally bruised from the rigidity of her parents’ generation, she gives her the space to make her own decisions. She remains committed to Catholicism, but her faith is based more in the sacred of the everyday than the mystical. She tells Teresa: “Miracles are all around us, but life is too short to sit around and wait for them. We are the ones who must seek them out.”

For Teresa, love and faith are wild, powerful things. She has an expansive mystical sense, a constant attentiveness to God’s presence. Sitting in a cafe with her boyfriend Leonard (Michael Imperioli), she has a sudden revelation: “God is everywhere. I know, I know it sounds so obvious. But, today I feel like I really understand this in my soul. It feels like I’ve been given light. Like I can see light coming from everyone. Everywhere.” Her faith can fill her with both ecstasy and crushing feelings of inadequacy. It is, sometimes, a disturbing portrayal of devotion, similar to Kirstin Valdez Quade’s remarkable short story “Christina the Astonishing (1150-1224).” Being a saint isn’t easy; neither is living with one.

At the beginning of the film, there is an icon or statue of a saint in almost every shot. When Catherine becomes the family matriarch, she packs all of the old crucifixes and tiny saint statues away; when Teresa embraces piety, she digs them out again. What one generation values seems baffling to the next. We can see these generational tensions playing out today in the church (Teresa feels like a gentler precursor to the young “rad trads” who sprang up during Francis’ papacy), and maybe in our own families. You may see them at your Thanksgiving table, in fact.

So what do they have in common? What can connect us to each other across culture, language, and generation? At the risk, as Teresa says, of sounding obvious: love. It is the most ordinary thing and the most extraordinary thing. In “Household Saints,” characters will sometimes think a miracle has happened, only to learn that it has a more mundane explanation: someone who loves them put that love into action. But Savoca lingers on the beauty and wonder of those moments, as if to say: It may not be supernatural, but it’s still a miracle.

Miracles don’t always look the way we expect. Often they are perfectly mundane: the love we share, a moment of kindness, even a good meal. We wait for something extraordinary, a light from the heavens to crack reality open and change everything. But life is too short to wait. The miracles are happening all around us, all the time. As we celebrate family, food, and faith at this time of year, “Household Saints” reminds us how extraordinary these ordinary things can be.

“Household Saints” is streaming on the Criterion Channel and Kanopy.

John Dougherty is the director of mission and ministry at St. Joseph’s Preparatory School in Philadelphia, Pa.