Our Lady of the Holy Rosary Parish

Holy Saturday is the day we remember not only Jesus’ death in the tomb but also his descent into Hell.

As we say in the Creed, “He descended into Hell, on the third day he rose from the dead.” But what did he do in Hell?

Since the fall of Adam and Eve, heaven was closed off to us. All the Holy souls that died since then were sent to limbo to await the ultimate sacrifice of God’s perfect Lamb so that they may finally access heaven. So when Jesus died on the Cross, he descended into hell to free those Holy Souls and lead them to heaven before his Resurrection on the third day.

We invite you to read the below poem, “Limbo” by Sister Mary Ada, a beautiful reflection on Christ’s victory over death and his the freedom those souls were finally granted, some after waiting for thousands of years.

“Limbo” (by Sister Mary Ada, OSJ)

The ancient greyness shifted
Suddenly and thinned
Like mist upon the moors
Before a wind.
An old, old prophet lifted
A shining face and said :
“He will be coming soon.
The Son of God is dead;
He died this afternoon.”

A murmurous excitement stirred
All souls.
They wondered if they dreamed —
Save one old man who seemed
Not even to have heard.

And Moses standing,
Hushed them all to ask
If any had a welcome song prepared.
If not, would David take the task?
And if they cared
Could not the three young children sing
The Benedicite, the canticle of praise
They made when God kept them from perishing
In the fiery blaze?

A breath of spring surprised them,
Stilling Moses’ words.
No one could speak, remembering
The first fresh flowers,
The little singing birds.
Still others thought of fields new ploughed
Or apple trees
All blossom-boughed.
Or some, the way a dried bed fills
With water
Laughing down green hills.
The fisherfolk dreamed of the foam
On bright blue seas.
The one old man who had not stirred
Remembered home.

And there He was
Splendid as the morning sun and fair
As only God is fair.
And they, confused with joy,
Knelt to adore
Seeing that he wore
Five crimson stars
He never had before.

No canticle at all was sung.
None toned a psalm, or raised a greeting song.
A silent man alone
Of all that throng
Found tongue —-
Not any other.
Close to His heart
When the embrace was done,
Old Joseph said,
“How is Your Mother,
How is Your Mother, Son?”