Rising Again After the Fall
By Fr. John Roderick, F.S.C.B.
May, 2026
In early May, the state of Colorado experienced a prolonged and unpredictable snowfall that blanketed everything in a white carpet of 4–10 inches of snow across the metro area. Such heavy snowfall is unusual for the month of May. People had already begun to mow their lawns, plant seeds in their gardens, play golf, and open their swimming pools for the summer months.
With the snow in the forecast, several friends and parishioners shared with me their concerns regarding the seedlings that were just beginning to sprout—delicate tomato plants, other vegetables, and flowers in various stages of growth. Since maintaining a small garden next to one’s home is a common practice here, the warning of the impending snowfall created a general sense of unease throughout the community.
In response to these unpredictable circumstances, many people moved all their plants and flowers into their garages and storage sheds, while others created protective coverings out of hay and tarps. I even saw some people covering their gardens and plants with winter clothing! I was truly amazed by the American ingenuity displayed to protect their beloved plants.
On Friday, after lunch, the snow began to fall; gradually, the snowflakes grew larger and larger. By dinnertime, everything was completely covered in snow. The following day, I rose early to hear confessions and celebrate Mass. I had to clear the snow from my car, which was completely encased by the snowfall.
During confessions, I was able to gaze out the window at the snowy spectacle and see the snow-laden branches of the trees in the parking lot. Some branches were almost completely twisted under the sheer weight of the fresh snow, while others had snapped clean off. It was remarkable.
At one point, I noticed that the morning sun was breaking through, and its warmth was beginning to melt the snow. Little by little, I saw many drops of water, and some branches weighed down by the snow began to rise once again, turning upwards toward the sky and the warmth of the sun. It occurred to me that what I was witnessing—this great work of God’s nature, this lightening of the burden of heavy snow—was a small sign of what was taking place through the miracle of the Sacrament of Confession. Penitents were entering the confessional with their lives and hearts weighed down by the burden of their sins, the difficulties of daily life, and the cares of the world, and God was melting away this weight with the warmth of His mercy.
In the homily I gave that morning, I reflected on the experience I had while observing this miracle of nature—and of God’s mercy—in light of a verse from Saint John: “Take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). John’s words shed light on the experience I had lived through during the week too, as I listened to and shared in the concerns of various friends of mine who are gardeners. I invited them all to allow Jesus’ words to touch them, and to surrender their worries, sins, and sufferings—the entire weight of the world—so that they might be embraced by the certainty that Jesus has already overcome it all. This is the secret to allowing the human heart to turn its gaze toward heaven and, like the branches made heaving by the snow, to rise again.
