Thursday of the Third Week of Easter

1. Lectio

“Get up and head south on the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza…”

“…they both went down into the water, and he baptized him.”

“This is the bread that comes down from heaven…”

“I am the living bread that came down from heaven…”

It is a Gospel thick with a single word:

Scripture today seems to have an obsession with direction—
and that direction is unmistakably down.

2. Meditatio

While harvesting grass the other day, I discovered quite literally a rabbit hole.

A small opening in the earth—unremarkable at first glance, but suggestive of depth, mystery, and the possibility of disappearing entirely if one were foolish enough to follow it.

And, being a man of reflection if not always of restraint, I did precisely that—at least in thought.

I went down.

Now, “get down” is a phrase of remarkable elasticity.

One may get down from a ladder.
One may feel down in spirit.
One may write something down.
One may even get down at a party—though my own participation in such theology has been limited.

And yet, in today’s Gospel, every meaning seems to gather itself around Christ.

He comes down.

Not as a fall, but as a gift.
Not as defeat, but as descent.

And here lies the scandal:

We spend most of our lives trying to go up—
to improve, to rise, to ascend, to achieve.

But God, apparently, prefers the opposite direction.

He comes down into flesh.
Down into bread.
Down into the ordinary.
Down into the water of baptism.

And Philip, obedient to this strange geography of grace, goes down the road, down into the desert, down into the water with a stranger.

Meanwhile, I stand at the edge of my rabbit hole, hesitating.

Because going down feels like losing control.

It feels like risk.
Like surrender.
Like not knowing what comes next.

And yet, paradoxically, it is the only direction that leads to being lifted up.

3. Oratio

4. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)

There is a holy pattern among the saints:
they go down in order to stand firm.

Saint Adalbert of Prague left comfort and rank—descending into mission among hostile lands. He went down into danger and found glory.

Saint George, that most legendary of dragon-slayers, did not ascend into safety—he descended into confrontation. He went down into the arena of fear and emerged as a witness to courage.

The world calls this foolishness.
The Gospel calls it imitation.

For Christ Himself is the great Adventurer who goes down into the dragon’s cave—
and breaks it open from within.

The rabbit hole, it seems, is not an escape from reality,
but an entrance into it.

5. Actio — In Light of Laudato Si’ and Synodality

The ecosystems of tropical forests possess an enormously complex biodiversity which is almost impossible to appreciate fully, yet when these forests are burned down or levelled for purposes of cultivation, within the space of a few years countless species are lost and the areas frequently become arid wastelands.

Laudato si’ §38

Laudato si’ reminds me that God’s presence is found not above creation, but within it—calling me into deeper relationship, not detached control.

Action:

Today, I will choose one intentional “descent”—an act of humility or service that I would normally avoid. I will go down into it willingly.

For Synodality is not climbing over others—
it is walking down with them.

6. Song Pairing 🎵

🎶 “Get Down Tonight” by KC and the Sunshine Band🎵

7. Movie Pairing 🎬

🎬Movie: “Alice in Wonderland” (1951)

8. Poetic Verse

I feared the fall, the downward road,
the loss of height and claim—
yet found the deeper path was lit
by One who downward came.

He entered earth, and bread, and flesh,
and waters dark and wide—
and there, where I had feared to go,
He waited at my side.

So let me follow, not above,
but where His steps are found—
for grace does not begin on high,
but rises from the ground.