It’s late summer, when the temperatures are high and the rain often sparse — or torrential and brief — and plants will reflect this seasonal drought; leaves of hardwoods are dull and drooping and herbaceous plants flag into the same semi-wilt. Plants naturally stretch their roots more deeply into the soil, seeking life-preserving water.
We all know what it’s like to feel parched and thirsting and will do anything to find relief.
When we dig up a plant and knock off the soil, we can see the larger and more obvious roots that emanate from the central crown, giving physical support. Attached are smaller branching roots that take up the largest share of water and nutrients; some are so tiny they look like delicate silk threads. When damaged, these smallest of roots can lead to a noticeable and, if unaddressed, a catastrophic decline.
When we look at our roots of faith, we see something analogous to those tiny filaments that reach out for nourishment; similarly, our soul seeks sustenance from the Eucharist, and our hearts, minds and spirits look to the Lord for our consolation and peace.
Our thinnest spiritual threads feed and support the larger network of faith, but they can be damaged, also. We, too, become depleted and fragile from a prolonged experience of spiritual dryness or drought — when what seemed essential to our spiritual well-being appears to be lacking or feels blocked. In the spiritual desert, we thirst deeply for what is missing.
A healthy plant is resilient to minor root injury and can — with attention and patience — be restored to its original state. Even extensive damage, with proper care, is often reversible. The crux of the matter is that the longer these less-than-optimal conditions go on, the more damage occurs and the more difficult it is to overcome the deterioration.
And here, we see that the analogy holds. If I am not attentive to the smallest needs of my spirit, then decline is imminent and, if unchecked, can lead to catastrophic loss of faith. It can begin with an addiction given into, or moving away from the Church because of scandal or ideology, or a sense of overwhelming apathy and a lack of hope.
When we are in a season of spiritual drought, we feel like we are not being given what we need to flourish in the faith — as if we are drying up. We stop our spiritual practices, let go of prayer, stay home from Mass and otherwise assist in our spiritual demise.
As with our plants, the longer the damaging behavior goes on the longer and more complex the stages to restoration.
But no matter how deep and prolonged the drought, spiritual recovery is possible through grace and a willingness to take the necessary steps to heal. It may take time, confession, sacred reading and even some one-on-one spiritual direction. Still, healing will come, and we will be all the more aware of how to manage a spiritual drought and avert woeful damage.
We can always stretch our spiritual roots more deeply into the teaming soil of the Church, seeking the waters of lasting baptism. Even during a spiritual drought, if we are strongly rooted and committed to our spiritual self-care, we are assured that our Lord’s grace will restore us to health.
Margaret Rose Realy is a Benedictine Oblate and the author of “A Garden Catechism: 100 Plants in Christian Tradition and How to Grow Them.”