The Harrowing of Hell

       Down through the tomb's inward arch
       He has shouldered out into Limbo
       to gather them, dazed, from dreamless slumber:
       the merciful dead, the prophets,
       the innocents just His own age and those
       unnumbered others waiting here
       unaware, in an endless void He is ending
       now, stopping to tug at their hands,
       to pull them from their sarcophagi,
       dazzled, almost unwilling. Didmas,
       neighbor in death, Golgotha dust
       still streaked on the dried sweat of his body
       no one had washed and anointed, is here,
       for sequence is not known in Limbo;
       the promise, given from cross to cross
       at noon, arches beyond sunset and dawn.
       All these He will swiftly lead
       to the Paradise road: they are safe.
       That done, there must take place that struggle
       no human presumes to picture:
       living, dying, descending to rescue the just
       from shadow, were lesser travails
       than this: to break
       through earth and stone of the faithless world
       back to the cold sepulchre, tearstained
       stifling shroud; to break from them
       back into breath and heartbeat, and walk
       the world again, closed into days and weeks again,
       wounds of His anguish open, and Spirit
       streaming through every cell of flesh
       so that if mortal sight could bear
       to perceive it, it would be seen
       His mortal flesh was lit from within, now,
       and aching for home. He must return,
       first, in Divine patience, and know
       hunger again, and give
       to humble friends the joy
       of giving Him food -- fish and a honeycomb.

       Denise Levertov

File under Faith.

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