For the Catholics of the world, today is Holy Saturday, a day inbetween the gruesome suffering and death of Calvary’s Cross, and the eternal light of Easter Sunday. And because this day sits so quietly between those two gargantuan events, it has received rather scant attention for most. That is a pity, and the subject of this post.

We’re treated to no mention in Scripture of what occured on that first day after Jesus was buried in the tomb except that everyone was in mourning and pretty much shell-shocked. But we do have a terse phrase from the Apostles’ Creed which we recite in unison every nearly every Mass:

He descended into hell…

That’s it. No bloated commentary, no speculation, just a rather bland statement. The Church Fathers tell us that “hell”, as used in the Creed, doesn’t refer to the eternal lake of fiery damnation, but rather, Sheol in Hebrew, or Hades, in Greek, as the abode of the dead. Jesus, after His death descended to that place to raise the spirits of the Just. The Light went to enlighten and take them all to Paradise. I like what Pope Benedict XVI said about it when he wrote, “love penetrated hell.”

In a way, you could say that the One whose raising foretells our own, was very busy with the happy work of being the Pioneer to Glory; it was a rather clandestine work. Life on earth went on, just as it does today. But the work of transformation is God’s work and His joy. So, with that in mind, I offer a poem I wrote depicting what I imagine the work of transforming mortal bodies into glorified bodies would be like. There’s nothing dogmatic in the forthcoming lines, simply this man’s contemplative musings about what really happens while we pass through this “inbetween time.” I give you, Spellbound:

Ensorcelled by your hands divine,

My muscles woven in a sculptered line.

My musculature’s eloquent art,

Speaks volumes released by your singular art.

Articulate in sinew and shape,

You sculpt beyond escape.

Spellbound by beauty’s pure design,

The Imago Dei through grace enshrined.

The nomenclature of each curve,

Reveals the strength passing through the nerves.

You’re as fluent as poetry in motion,

Coherent with passionate devotion.

My inelegant and yet living frame,

Where anatomy and art proclaim,

The language of my human form,

Transcending what was once the norm.

Befriend the silence; something enormous is headed our way.