Rooted

A Pastoral Reflection on Rootedness and the Fruits of the Spirit

When I was a child, there was a weeping willow tree in my grandparents’ backyard.  It sat near the edge of the field, its long, trailing branches swaying with every breeze that blew off the pasture.  The story goes that when Hurricane Hugo tore through the Carolinas in September of 1989, it ravaged everything in its path—even in our town, 300+ miles from the coast.  On the family farm, nearly every tree came down.  Barns buckled.  Fences flattened. But that willow remained.  Bent, yes.  Beaten, wind-tossed, and missing all but three of its luscious leaves—yes.  But not broken.  That tree stood through 90-mile-per-hour winds and days of relentless rain—and when the storm passed, it was still there.  Somehow more beautiful in its isolation as one of the only plants still upright.  Somehow stronger.  It still stands there today, 35 years after that storm.

That tree became a kind of parable for my family—a reminder that there’s a difference between being fragile and being flexible.  That resilience isn’t loud. And that true strength is found in being deeply rooted.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about rootedness.  I have come to think of well-rooted trees as sturdy and resilient.  In looking at a tree, most of us notice the canopy of branches, the shape and symmetry of the trunk, and the fullness of the leaves—but none of that matters if the tree isn’t well rooted to stand against stormy seasons or droughts that require it to pull water from deep into the soil.

Psalm 1 gives us this image beautifully:
“They are like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in due season, and their leaves do not wither” (Psalm 1:3).

The psalmist contrasts the righteous and the unrighteous here, offering us an image of rootedness as opposed to the unrooted debris left over after harvest.  If we are spiritually rooted, we aren’t always put together and beautiful in the midst of storms. We aren’t always productive in every season or even always certain of the right path—but we are called to be rooted. Rooted in the love of God.  Rooted in the good news of the Gospel. Rooted in the grace and peace of Jesus Christ. Rooted in the Spirit that dwells with us through the storms of our lives.  And it is from that place of rootedness that fruit begins to come forth, even in difficult circumstances.

Because when we are rooted, the fruit will come.  Not overnight.  Not always easily.  But it will always come.

Paul reminds us of what that fruit looks like:
“Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” (Galatians 5:22–23).

You can’t fake these things.  They don’t grow in shallow soil made of ego, exhaustion, or self-righteousness.  They grow in the deeper soil that abides with God.

Jesus said it plainly ~
“Abide in me as I abide in you… I am the vine, you are the branches.  Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit” (John 15:4–5).

And let’s be honest: this is a hard season to bear good fruit.  Many of us feel wrung out, impatient, reactive, uncertain.  The line to my office on Sundays is long these days—not with complaints, but with heavy hearts.  People searching for hope. People looking for peace. People asking, not for answers, but for help staying upright when the winds are howling.

So maybe the most important thing I can say right now is simply this: If you are rooted, you will survive this season. And not just survive—you will bear fruit again.

You may lose a few leaves.  You may bend low.  But rooted in Christ, you will hold.  And when the storm passes—and it will—you’ll find that something holy has been growing in you all along.

If you’re weary, stay close to the stream.
If you’re discouraged, go deeper into the Word.
If you’re impatient, breathe. Pray. Trust that God is not done with you.

You are not called to be impressive.  You are called to be planted.
And the fruits of the Spirit will come—not because you forced them, but because you stayed close to the source.

So let us be like that willow.
Sturdy, not because we’re invincible, but because we’re held.
Rooted, not in fear, but in faith.
Bearing fruit, not because we’re trying harder—but because we’re abiding in the One who gives life to all.

Amen.

Pax et Bonum!

Fr. Ben +