A Poem In Honor of Our Lord's Descent to Limbo

When Christ died, He descended into hell, i.e. the Limbo of the Fathers, to rescue the Just of the Old Testament. He turned their prison into a Paradise by the brilliance and consolation of His Presence. Up until Our Lord’s Ascension, the doors of Heaven were closed because of Adam’s sin. While the debt for this sin was paid through the death and Resurrection of Christ, the doors remained closed until He, the Victor over death, should open them and be the first to walk through them. Ascension Thursday recalls this sublime mystery: the opening of Heaven to the souls who had waited in the Limbo of the Fathers. It was on the day of the Lord’s Ascension that humanity, in the Person of Christ, first entered Heaven. And on that day, the Limbo of the Fathers was emptied and “closed” as the souls who had waited there were finally admitted to Heaven.

The following is the poem "LIMBO" by Sister Mary Ada:

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?”