A Reflection for Holy Saturday
Descent into Hell Early 16th century
The tomb has been closed and sealed; the Christ-light has gone out in the world and has “descended to the dead.” But why is Christ descending? What is Christ doing among the dead? Tradition suggests that Christ descends among the dead to gather up those who had “died in faith... having seen them and greeted them from afar” and takes them into paradise, now opened through his sacrifice on the cross. (The tradition has roots in the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus). The ‘Harrowing of Hell’ presents us with a Jesus already victorious, despite all earthly evidence to the contrary. While his body lies concealed in darkness and his disciples wander in confusion and sorrow, Jesus single-handedly pulls off the greatest heist in history, taking from hell what hell had no claim to hold.
The following pages include A.E. Stallings’ poem, “The Harrowing of Hell” and some observations and questions to guide your reflection of the poem.
The Harrowing of Hell by A.E. Stallings
Jesus is back— he’s harvesting the dead.
He’s pulling them up out of the dirt like leeks—
By the scruff of the neck, by the wispy hair on the head
Like bulbs in darkness sallowly starting to grow
From deep down in the earth where the lost things go—
Keys and locks, small change, old hinges, nails.
(That’s why the living beseech the dead, who know
Where missing objects lie.) Jesus has a grip
On Adam by the left wrist—he will not slip—
And Eve, by her right. They’re groggy and don’t understand,
They died so long ago. With trembling lip,
Adam surveys the crowds of new people. And Eve
Looks up the emptiness of her limp left sleeve
For the hand that was unforgiven and is no more,
Ages since withered to dust, and starts to grieve
The sinister loss, recalling the heft in that hand
Of the flesh of the fruit, and the lightness at the core.
Thoughts for Reflection
“Jesus is back— he’s harvesting the dead.” These first few words act like a kind of herald of victory: the Jesus you thought was gone is back. Back from where? Back to where? If Jesus had not previously “descended to the dead,” in what sense is he back? It seems to me that the “dead” referenced in the opening line refers not only to those who had literally died, but to those who were dead in their trespasses. Just as Jesus had been “harvesting” disciples throughout his ministry on earth, he is “back” to work, this time harvesting the dead among the literal dead.
Jesus is not gentle. Jesus is uprooting those who have laid in dirt, pulling them up by the back of the neck or hair like a gardener in a hurry. Stallings employs two similes in the opening stanza. First comparing the dead to leeks, an onion-like bulb, and second, to “bulbs in darkness sallowly starting to grow.” I am particularly intrigued by the latter half of this phrase. These long-laid dead are characterized by showing the signs of sickly growth. This detail offers further explanation for why Jesus harvests with such urgency and force. If left unharvested, the fruit will inevitably rot and decay. Jesus is just in time.
Jesus retrieves his saints “From deep down in the earth where the lost things go—/ Keys and locks, small change, old hinges, nails.” Those things lost or forgotten to us are not lost to God. Stallings adds a curious aside here: “That’s why the living beseech the dead, who know/ Where missing objects lie.” I have several questions about these lines. (If the dead dwell among those missing things, are they not also in some way forgotten? In what way do the living “beseech” the dead?) At the very least, Stallings implies that the living have several assumptions about the dead. First, that the dead, though buried “deep down in the earth,” are not lost like the detritus of discarded items which surround them. Second, that the living believe the dead, by virtue of a special knowledge, are restored to what the living are missing. Last, that the dead possess some agency or power which may be exercised in response to the entreats of the living. Stallings’ description of the dead, however, suggests these assumptions are far from the truth. The dead are inert like “leeks”; Adam and Eve are “groggy and don’t understand.” Far from being enlightened or able, they too are buried in darkness. But once in Jesus’ grip, they “will not slip.”
Adam is clearly overwhelmed with emotion. His speechless lips tremble as he looks upon “the crowds of new people,” the multitude of descendents—perhaps for the first time. What an awakening. In the image Stallings’ arranges before our eyes, Christ has our first parents by their wrists—not hands—to further underscore their powerlessness.
Stallings devotes the final stanzas of the poem to Eve who looks up—not into the face of Christ—but “up the emptiness of her limp left sleeve” and grieves “the sinister loss.” The hand that transgressed is no more; sin has permanent costs. In the grip of Christ, Eve remembers the weight of the forbidden fruit as well as “the lightness at the core.” What a curious end. Of course, “core” here takes on a double meaning. There is the literal core of the forbidden fruit leftover, which would be literally lighter on account of the fruit having been consumed. However, core also refers to an integral center of a thing, like “the core of the earth” or “core values.” What is the “lightness” at the center of the first transgression? Perhaps it is because the way to restoration is far greater than Eden. Perhaps because mankind’s temptation to become like gods inevitably brought about God becoming man. Perhaps it is because the God-man, Jesus Christ, has us in his grip that we may hope to become as he is.