St. Joseph in the Limbo of the Fathers

'Jesus in Limbo,' Domenico di Pace Beccafumi, 1530-1535.

Holy Saturday—the liminal day after Good Friday and before Easter Sunday. It’s a day of waiting, of anticipation, joy and sorrow, and hesitatory excitement as we are torn between re-experiencing the loss of Jesus’ humanity yet possessing the knowledge that He will rise and has risen. Jesus’ body lies wrapped in the sepulchre, and His soul is in the underworld.

The two holiest creatures and the closest confidants of Jesus occupy their respective stations as ordained by God the Father. Mary the Mother of Jesus waits with the living on earth, while Joseph appointed Father of Jesus waits with the ‘dead’ in the limbo of the fathers. Both wait for the coming of their Son Jesus Christ. The hidden role of Joseph in this mystery is not often explored and so this will be the focus of our reflection.

Edward Healy Thompson succinctly relates the role Joseph played between the years of his death sometime before Jesus’ public ministry started at the age of thirty, until this day, Holy Saturday, when the soul of the crucified Lord visited Sheol:

The Blessed Trinity appointed Joseph to be their ambassador to the Fathers in Limbo, to announce to them the Incarnation and coming of the Son of God, of which he had been the ocular witness and in which he had taken so large a part. If, then, John the Baptist was the Precursor of Jesus on earth, Joseph was to be His Precursor to the souls detained in Limbo and anxiously looking out for their release. Joseph, returning to himself, said to Jesus, “Now I die happy, hoping that Thou wilt soon come to deliver us.”[1]

The Limbo of the Fathers

Just a recap—the limbus patrum, the Limbo of the Fathers or the Limbo of the Patriarchs, was the ‘waiting ground’ in the underworld where the souls of the righteous awaited the redemption of Christ. The gates of heaven were closed until Christ came and opened them with the Key of His sacrifice.

Hell is an imprecise word with broader meanings in the English. In Greek we have hades and Hebrew Sheol—both are general terms that refer to the entire underworld, including the Limbo of the Fathers and hell-proper. We recite it in the Creed, Christ “descended into hell”. Almost always by hell we mean the hell of the damned, but in the Creed it refers to the Limbo of the Fathers. Aquinas calls it a relative hell, in the sense that

the souls of the saints… before Christ's coming… had rest through being exempt from punishment, but their desire was not set at rest by their attaining their end [i.e. perfect union with God in heaven]. Consequently the state of the saints before Christ's coming may be considered both as regards the rest it afforded, and thus it is called Abraham's bosom, and as regards its lack of rest, and thus it is called the limbo of hell.[2]

The Limbo of the Fathers was thus a quasi-place and state of natural happiness which lacked the supernatural bliss of beatitude. It was a place of longing and waiting. Our own experience of Holy Saturday is a simile of the limbus patrum experience.

At tonight’s Easter Vigil Mass, in reference to the Limbo of the Fathers we will hear the Exultet and the following stanza:

This is the night
when Christ broke the prison-bars of death
and rose victorious from the underworld.

Hæc nox est,
in qua, destrúctis vínculis mortis,
Christus ab ínferis victor ascéndit

This language is typical. The Abode of the Fathers is frequently called a prison. A state of imprisonment because they cannot escape to experience the freedom of eternal life in heaven. They have to wait for their Liberator and Redeemer to unlock its gates, to break its bars, and to carry them to the Father’s Bosom Above. In the meantime, waiting and longing, it is a veritable prison sentence when one considers the freedom shut-off from them because of Adam’s sin.

Joseph the Patriarch—Prisoner of the Lord

We are all likely aware of the story of Joseph in the Old Testament. He was the favourite son of Jacob his father. His brothers were envious and resented him, sold him into slavery, and he wound up in Egypt as the servant of Potiphar. One day Potiphar’s wife attempts to seduce Joseph, he resists her advances and she falsely accuses him of attempted rape. Joseph is thrown into prison and there in prison, just as in Jacob’s household and Potiphar’s house, God’s favour is with him and all revere and respect him as an honest and just man. Eventually two servants of Pharaoh, a cup bearer and baker, are thrown into prison. There they have a dream, Joseph interprets it, and it comes to pass: the baker is hanged and the cup bearer is restored to his office.

“Two whole years” pass (Gen 41:1) and Pharaoh dreams a dream. No one is able to interpret it. The cup bearer then remembers Joseph and mentions him to Pharaoh. We read of Joseph’s long-awaited liberation: “Then Pharaoh sent and called Joseph, and they brought him hastily out of the dungeon; and when he had shaved himself and changed his clothes, he came in before Pharaoh.” (Gen 41:14).

The Ancient Joseph as a Type of Jesus

On one level we can see the ancient Joseph as a type of Jesus. This is the dominant reading of the Early Fathers. It’s not hard to miss the parallels. Joseph was the beloved son of his father Jacob; Jesus iss the well-beloved Son of God the Father. Joseph was betrayed by his brothers and sold-off for twenty silver pieces at the suggestion of Judah; Jesus was betrayed by one of his Apostles, Judas (Judah in Hebrew), and was sold-off for thirty silver pieces. Joseph was innocent yet condemned for a crime he never did; Jesus was innocent yet condemned as a blasphemer. Joseph forgave his brothers and was filled with mercy; Jesus forgave His executioners and all who took part in His crucifixion.

Our focus is on the Limbo of the Fathers. In this regard we can see that the patriarch’s time in prison is an allegory of Jesus’ descent into the underworld. Quodvultdeus (d. ~450 AD.) paves the way for this interpretation:

Joseph was imprisoned. Our Joseph, that is, Christ, as Isaiah says, “was numbered with the transgressors.” [Is 53:12]. The innocent man is led among the guilty by the wisdom of God, who “went down with him”—as was written— “into the pit, and did not leave him in bonds.” [Wis 10:13-14]. This Joseph of ours, Christ, claims, “I became as a man without help, free among the dead.” [Ps 88:4-5]. What followed had to happen, that is, the fact that Joseph found in the commander of the prison the grace of which he was full and that all the keys and the entire surveillance were given to him. This occurred in order that to the one before whom heaven prostrated in the figure of the sun, the moon and the stars, and the earth in that of its crops, also the subterranean creatures of the prison might submit. And therefore, before our Joseph, that is Christ, “every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth.” [Phil 2:10].[3]

Quodvultdeus is not explicit as to whether “the subterranean creatures of the prison” are the demons and the damned in hell who against their will must submit in worship to Christ or are the righteous in the Limbo of the Fathers who knelt in worship before Christ when he visited them in their prison. We can take it to refer to both however, since we know that both are truths taught by Scripture and affirmed by Church teaching.

We read in Genesis that

the Lord was with Joseph and showed him steadfast love, and gave him favor in the sight of the keeper of the prison. And the keeper of the prison committed to Joseph's care all the prisoners who were in the prison (Gen 39:21-22).

The keeper of the prisons of Egypt was ultimately Pharaoh, the ruler of the land, and likewise the Keeper of the Prison of the Limbo of the Fathers was ultimately God the Father, in whose sight the slain Lamb of God found favour. The Father entrusted to the Son all the souls who abided therein, from Adam and Eve to Abraham and Sarah, all the prophets and holy ones who died in God’s mercy. “All the prisoners who were” in this prison were “committed to” Jesus’ care. On the day Pharaoh brought Joseph out of the prison, he was freed from thereon. Yet when the Father brought Jesus out of the prison of the underworld, Jesus exited its regions with a mighty host of souls whom He conducted to the courts of heaven.

Yet in Pharaoh’s prison there was also an appointed keeper of the prison—a keeper distinct from Joseph, even though the keeper passed his own office into Joseph’s hands. So too, God the Father the Supreme Keeper of the Prison of the Limbo of the Just appointed a keeper distinct from Jesus. This keeper was St. Joseph—to this Joseph was entrusted the entire cohort of the souls of the righteous until Christ came. All the holy ones, great and small, submitted to St. Joseph’s authority, an authority given into his hands. He instructed them in the mysteries of salvation, pointing to Jesus their Redeemer. He announced His coming and when He finally came, Joseph, Appointed Keeper of the Prison, handed over into Jesus’ care all those whom he had been taking care of and instructing.

Joseph the Patriarch as a Type of St. Joseph

There is also another way we can interpret the ancient Joseph and his imprisonment, not only as a type of Christ and His descent into the underworld, but as a type of St. Joseph and his time in the Limbo of the Fathers. This is corroborated by Tradition, because while seeing Joseph as a type of Jesus was the dominant motif of the Church Fathers, seeing the first Joseph as a type of St. Joseph was a dominant interpretation present in various Doctors of the Church and venerable theologians. Both streams of interpretation are valid.

This multiple way of reading Scripture should not concern us. There are multiple layers of meaning to the sacred text, and each within their sphere neither contradict nor undermine other valid meanings. All meaning in Scripture is Christocentric—pointing to Christ, but in Christ abides all the faithful as members of His Body. Mary and Joseph are the preeminent members of Christ’s Body, and so while all the faithful can read-themselves into the sacred text, Mary and Joseph are principal referents of Scripture and are especially foreshadowed in the events of salvation, because God the Word ordained it thus—He wanted to honour in the written word, they who were vital to bringing about the incarnation of Himself as Word.

The first Joseph didn’t deserve to go to prison and nor did St. Joseph deserve to go to the underworld. St. Joseph died in the grace of the New Covenant and was perfectly united with the Godhead in Christ Jesus more than any other human being except Mary. He thus outstripped all the saints, all the martyrs in being a vessel of God’s holiness. We know that the greatest saints go straight to heaven. Yet St. Joseph did not enjoy this luxury. God arranged things in such a way that St. Joseph was made to reside in the prison of the Limbo of the Fathers before he could rest in bliss.

Joseph at his death, dying comforted by the presence of Jesus and Mary, was thus commissioned on his death bed for a mission—the mission of bringing the light of Christ to “those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness” in the limbus patrum. When the Egyptian prisoners saw the patriarch Joseph enter their abode, they eventually saw a man of wisdom, kindness and holiness; they were consoled in their imprisonment with the advent of this brotherly man. All the more, when the multitude of the just, Adam, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, David and so on, beheld Joseph’s soul descending into their prison they were filled with tremendous consolation, a foretaste of the joy of Christ, a glimpse of the luminous rays of heaven in the presence of he, St. Joseph, whose whole being was permeated with the light of Christ.

Indeed, with St. Joseph’s coming into the prison of the just in the underworld, the Scripture applies: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shined” (Is 9:2). This is one reason why St. Joseph in his Litany is called Light of the Patriarchs. He was the aurora preceding the dawn of His Son into that darkly abode. He brought them morsels of light to feast upon as he passed on the Good News, the Gospel of Christ.

How ardent would have been Joseph’s longing for His Son’s return—to deliver him from the prison of this place! Mary suffered above on earth, longing to see Her Son risen from the dead. Joseph suffered in some way too, longing to see his Son again, ‘face to face,’ soul to soul, and to finally set His people free from their exile in Sheol, and to triumphantly set about their exodus into heaven as He rose.

We read that “Pharaoh sent and called Joseph, and they brought him hastily out of the dungeon” (Gen 41:14). This Pharaoh seems to be a decent man unlike the one in Moses’ time, and the spiritual tradition has not feared to see in this Pharaoh a type of Jesus the Divine King, since the old Joseph was appointed as his second-in-command, just as Jesus made Joseph viceregent of the Kingdom of God.

When we look at the above verse in a Christic and Josephine light, we can read it as follows, “Jesus sent and called Joseph, and they brought him hastily out of the dungeon.” We see in this an allusion to Jesus’ summoning of Joseph to come forth and leave the Limbo of the Fathers, announcing that his deliverance has finally come. “They brought him hastily out of the dungeon”—because we can believe that Joseph, foremost among that mighty host, was brought out hastily, first among the flock, first to taste beatitude among men, once Christ had at last opened heaven to His People that longed for His visitation beneath.

The Easter Joy of Joseph

What a glorious mystery to consider—the Easter joy of Joseph, ransomed from the captivity of the dead and carried into heaven, by whom...? “They brought him”—angels we might say, and directed by the Lord of Lords.

Let us share in the Easter joy of Joseph. A joy in seeing the Son of God victorious, accomplishing His task. A joy that knows that we too have been delivered from the prison sentence of an eternal limbo of sorts, or worse, even hell, and have also been delivered from the prison of our own sinfulness by the power of He who has come to set us free. This Mighty King, Christ the Risen Lord summons us to come to Him and taste beatitude. “Taste and see that the Lord is good.” It’s not yet Easter yet as I write this, but that word starting with “A” is very appropriate here.

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[1] The Life and Glories of Saint Joseph, originally published in 1888 by Burns & Oates, Ltd. (Charlotte, NC: TAN Books, 2013), Ch. XLV., 384.

[2] Summa Theologica, Supp. Q.69., 4, co.

[3] SC 101:238-40 as found in Old Testament II: Genesis 12-50, Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, Mark Sheridan and Thomas C. Oden, eds. (Downers Grove, IL: Inter Varsity Press, 2002), p.257.

Are You the Good Thief or the Bad Thief?

 

'Stories of life and passion of Christ,' Gaudenzio Ferrari, 1513,
from a fresco in Church of Santa Maria delle Grazie, Varallo Sesia, Italy.

Who can escape the experience of the cross in their life? The richest man to the poorest, the celebrity to the average-Joe, the old to the young. Pains in mind and body, aches and heartbreak, let-downs and cutting words, stubbed toes and severe illnesses, grief and sorrow. Some get dealt harder sufferings in life, others less, but no one can escape the cross.

In this fallen world, life then is a pilgrimage from Jerusalem to Calvary. A process of moving away from comfortable ideals and preferred experiences, to some other state far from romantically rosy. It’s the way marked out for us from the beginning—from cosy womb to cold tomb. From idealised plans to reality. A reality that is sometimes severely harsh. The words of Jesus to Peter are applicable to us all in some way or other, whether read literally or figuratively:

“Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were young, you girded yourself and walked where you would; but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will gird you and carry you where you do not wish to go.” (Jn 21:18)

It is easy to forget that this is basically what life is—a trek along the way of the cross to Calvary. We distract ourselves with little oases along the way, brief pauses and day-breaks, trying our hardest to pretend the cross isn’t there in our lives. We cover its splintery beams over with satin cloths. All under the impression that a meaningful and happy life is one which glosses over suffering, represses the rough jagged cross and calls it a sweet tangerine tree.

We also tend to refuse to look up at the eternal horizon that waits us past Calvary’s daunting peak where our death rests certain, preferring to pretend that day will never come as we look only to where our feet are planted in the present. A fine thing, but not when we forget the destination, nor ready ourselves for when we get there.

Thus when the weight of the cross seems to crash down upon us—and it invariably will, and more than once—forcing us to accept its reality and to trudge through life weighed down by its testing immensity, how do we cope? How will we cope? It’s not a matter to judge others on, but a considerations for ourselves. Will we cope alone? Will we cope with the help of others? What if others aren't enough? Maybe we will not cope, but Jesus will somehow get us through, as softer, kinder people at the other end who can help others in the future.

The way of the cross is inevitable, every human being must walk it. As born sinners, fallible from the get go, there are two ways we can walk through life, either as a bad thief apart from Christ, or a good thief in Christ. Thief is an appropriate symbol of our sinfulness—we steal glory from God and steal love that belongs to our neighbours and keep it to ourselves. Yet are we bad thieves, hardened sinners bent on living life on our own terms, or good thieves, redeemed sinners, trying our best to follow our God-given conscience?

Recall that Jesus was crucified with a condemned criminal on either side of him. The traditionally labelled ‘bad thief’ mocked Jesus and refused to repent, while the ‘good thief’ rebuked his fellow, exclaiming,

“Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed justly; for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong.” And he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” (Lk 23:40-42)

What was it that marked out the good thief from the bad, that led to such a difference in attitude and perspective? Externally the experience of both men was the same. They were shoved along the way of the cross, jostled out of Jerusalem, slammed onto the crucifix, nailed and left hanging in agony.

If we look at the bad thief and examine his words, “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!” (Lk 23:39) we see that he resented and hated his cross. He did not accept nor embrace the reality to which he was pinned to. As a result, the bad thief is angry at life, disturbed and restless, unable to come to gracious terms with his death and so he curses God and mocks Jesus, He who said, “I am… the Life.” The bad thief cannot see any redeeming light to his cross, convicted of his own rights he cannot and will not accept his powerlessness in the situation and so he refuses to let Jesus into his heart. The bad thief thus condemns himself to suffer the cross and eventual death apart from Jesus. He agonises and dies without the benefit of divine love and grace to transform his pain into meaning ripe for eternal life.

This is how we can act in life—as bad thieves. Refusing to accept on some level, any level, the reality of suffering in our life and our creaturely powerlessness to ‘save ourselves’. When the suffering is great we do not have the luxury of being able to hide from the hard reality of our pain. Some people know this terribly so. In either case, in pride, and understandably so on a human level given the profundity of certain crosses, we refuse to let God into our heart, cursing the situation and cursing the God who didn’t spare us from it. Yet Jesus didn’t crucify the bad thief, and nor does God cause us to suffer. Suffering is a part of post-Eden life. Who can adequately explain why so many bad and terrible things happen? We cannot. We only know that God is Love, and God only permits so many terrible things because He foreknows in His all-seeingness, beholding every possibility, and the interconnection between every choice and human existence and act, that in a world where the cross of everyone was obliterated except Christ's, hardly anyone, at least far fewer would come to be saved, and that in the chain of events, by the power of Christ, one person's cross can become another person's salvation.

It took being nailed to the cross for the 'good' thief to finally repent and thus be saved.

This is where we marvel at the power of grace, the gift of faith, and the unique spirit of strength and courage which is imparted by Jesus to the good thief. Here is a man who has suffered in the same way as the bad thief. He too is about to die. Yet instead of cursing life, the world, and joining in with the mighty throng who look at the cross as an emblem of shame and aversion, something to be thrown away, this criminal looks at Jesus nailed to the cross, and sees an innocent man suffering, a man filled with a love he’d never witnessed. On the cross of Jesus, from the perspective of his own cross, he beholds a love eager to forgive enemies, gentle and strong, silent and radiant—so powerful that he recognises the man crucified beside him as no mere man, but the Almighty God.

The good thief rebukes the mocking thief, accepts the suffering he is undergoing as a reality that has befallen him because of sin, and opens his heart to Jesus, desperate and confident in His forgiveness. At that point Jesus while remaining on the cross, enters the heart of the good thief, and the good thief no longer suffers on his own, but with Jesus, in Jesus, through Jesus. It is only fitting that the good thief, after letting Jesus into his sinful home, made pure by grace, asks in turn for Jesus to let him into His eternal home in heaven. Jesus is in incredible pain but is thrilled at this victory of love over a soul. The good thief let Him into his heart, and so Jesus replies, “Of course I will let you enter into my abode with me, for you let me enter yours, truly, ‘today you will be with me in paradise.’” (Lk 23:43).

What an example to follow. What a testimony to the strange and terrible beauty of suffering—which comes no matter what we do—when united with Jesus, given to Jesus, transformed in Jesus. The bad thief curses from his pain, the good thief blesses. The bad thief from the angle of his cross looks down on Jesus and resents Him for not delivering him from this suffering. The good thief looks up at Jesus from his own cross and falls in love with the One who suffers in love for him. The bad thief suffers the same physical pains as the good thief, but look at the difference between them based on their relationship with Jesus.

No matter what the nature of our cross or crosses are in life, whether a direct result of sins we have committed, or the loss of a loved one, or simply the hand that mother nature dealt us, or another tragic, even horrific event beyond our control—we walk the path of Calvary in this life, either as a bad thief or a good thief, without Jesus or with Jesus.

It is true, even non-believers can live and die as good thieves—suffering, but not bitter on the world or their situation, but tender and loving, and having the possibility of eternal salvation. It is a harder, less sure, inferior way and rarer occurrence, because nothing can compare to the explicit aid of Jesus accessed through faith, but there are examples. Such persons have implicitly accepted Jesus and the mystery of the cross in their lives through humble acceptance of their creaturely finitude and surrender to the goodness that hangs within their conscience—it’s a silhouette of the Good Lord.

Yet happy are we who truly believe in Jesus. In ourselves, we're no better than those who don't believe, in fact, often we're worse! But we have it better, we have the explicit help of grace that can help us transcend our natural default.

It doesn’t matter who, what or why we suffer, even if it’s the most heinous evil—once such suffering has come, it has come, nothing can take it away. It's a trite and condescending thing to speak otherwise. No, not even time will heal many wounds. Some wounds we will carry throughout life. We can only decide to keep it to ourselves, spitting at it and resenting our situation, becoming envious, resentful of others around us, letting our ‘nailed hands’ suffer on their own apart from divine aid; or we can decide to share our sufferings with Jesus, seeing His crucified form present within our situation and letting our ‘nailed hands’ join and meet with His. This will make us good thieves who live life like everyone else—with sufferings, but not suffering in vain and without meaning and hope, but suffering in love with purpose and the consolation of eternal bliss on our minds, where we shall meet God, and all those in heaven, face to face.

In our daily trials and the agonies of life, we can either curse or bless, be cursed or be blessed. Cursing God for not helping us—pushing Him away when it is He who suffers in us, with us, beside us; and condemning ourselves to a hell of pointless pain. Or blessing God by confessing His goodness and asking Him to remember us, to be with us, to help us in our pains. We will be delivered from writhing on the cross of life that promises no resurrection, and shall be admitted to suffer with and in Christ on His Cross that guarantees resurrection unto bliss.

We may waver between the two roles, sometimes playing the bad thief, other times the good, that's understandable given our human weakness and the weight of so many crosses, but in continual repentance and a heart that earnestly seeks to embrace the outstretched wounded hand of God’s Will in the trials of our life, we shall be walking the path of the good thief, even if in the meantime we struggle to stop grumbles escaping our lips. Once the jagged cross of Christ is kissed, venerated with the lips of the soul—a will that says, “Yes, I will pick up my daily cross and follow you”— it says in return to the soul of every good thief: “Today you will be with me in paradise.”

If such a soul is us, and by God’s grace may it be, then we shall have to wait for heaven when we die, following our final agonies. Then and only then will the veil to bliss be torn. However, “today” is today—through faith, by grace, we can somehow live out paradise here below even as the crucified Lord, by virtue of His divine nature, beheld the beatific vision while He was dying on the cross.

To live out our paradise in advance is to drag the joy of the Father’s love for us in His Son, poured out as Holy Spirit, into the wounds of our pains below. Such wounds, touched by the Cross—bridge to the Trinitarian mystery—are touched with divine love and will seem hardly any different while we trudge through life down here, but when we enter heaven—praised be God, let it be—such wounds, kissed by the likeness of Christ’s, shall form the ecstasies of the angels and shall be an accidental cause of greater joy on our part forevermore.

So yes, in faith, is not our Lord saying, “Tomorrow you will be with me in paradise, because today you already are.”