Pierre Brunette, OFM
“Enlighten the darkness of my heart.”
During his convalescence, the young Francis of Assisi would often stop to pray in front of the crucifix of San Damiano. He was struck by the beauty of the face of Christ; yet he felt the urgent need to change his life. The risen Crucified, at the centre of the painting, celebrates his victory over death, his face turned towards his “Holy Father”. He stands upright, living, and free, in glory bearing the marks of his passion. Through the gaze of the young Francis, one can find the contemplation of all humanity. The crucifix sings of life: “I have slept and risen, and my most holy Father has received me with glory.”
Deep in prayer, Francis loses himself in the heart of Christ, just as we do. We can almost hear how Christ exalts his Father. The blood of his wounds flows over the ordinary figures standing at the foot of the cross: Mary, John, the holy women, and the Centurion. The one face behind him, followed by a series of faces may stand either for the Centurion’s household that turned to Christ with him or the long line of believers following his faith: “Truly this man was God’s Son!” We, too, are meant to be considered in this icon, standing in the lineage of those under the cross and touched by the saving gesture of the Son of God. All the other characters around the cross, the Jewish and Roman soldiers and the procession of angles, joyfully participate in the salvation depicted in this holy scene.
What catches our attention are the small figures almost erased by the passing of time, barely visible at the bottom of the painting, below Christ’s feet. No matter who they are—biblical characters, such as Abraham and his family, or maybe the two patron saints of the chapel at San Damiano—they stay in the realm of the dead. They could symbolize all those who have died in anticipation of their rising on the last day. They have descended into death in the hope of rising again. It is their own descent into the realm of death. They rest with all those hoping for eternal life.
The blurring together of colors and shapes allows us to envision the universal end of all humanity as destined to die. We can also envisage here our own descent into death, the necessary earthly passage into the kingdom promised by Jesus. The realm of the dead opens a door to the legacy given by Jesus to the thief on the cross next to him: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
“Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead!”
Later in time, Orthodox iconography speaks of the mystery of the resurrection with the same dynamic. The luminous Christ, dressed in white, holds his cross in one hand, and is surrounded on one side, by the holy kings and prophets of the Jewish covenant and on the other side, by the apostles. Then there is the movement of descent and ascent— Christ’s descent into the underworld and rising from it. His feet are on the door panels broken up over the dark black hole they once covered— such is the dwelling of the dead. With the fullness of his power, he gently touches Adam and draws him out of the abyss of death. Eve, on her knees, approaches with her hands stretched out towards the one who came to free her from darkness. We can almost hear the Easter song: “Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead and let light shine on you. You who have died now be in the light.”
“You held my right hand led me with your counsel and have taken me up in glory.”
There are many signs of darkness today, many experiences in which we are confronted with the silence of God, unfulfilled expectations, unanswered prayers, and even godless actions in our own lives. Each day, we can ask ourselves if we dwell in the heart of the Risen One. Whether we are overwhelmed by a spirit of despair or motivated by the strength of faith, we know what it means to long for the Lord. We experience small moments of death long before our bodily Sister death. We must patiently learn how to hope for the encounter with Christ.
Thus, we get to know the joy of leaving darkness behind. Witnesses, saints have discovered it. And we can also learn from experience. have taught it and the eyes of our conscience can learn from experience. The realm of death is no longer a barren, empty place. Our inner struggles can open our being so that faith matures and sets us free. We must acknowledge the death experiences that separate us from the living God, all that blocks the Good News of Christ, all that keeps us from becoming a faithful link in the lineage of the believers. When our faith is weak and we feel exhausted, when we think that God is not reaching his hand to us like to Adam, we need to rediscover that Christ visits us through both our despair and longing for his presence. Christ descends into our personal realm of death. A friar wrote one day, “It is in the descent into hell that Christ is the most our shepherd.”
The risen Shepherd comes to us and takes charge of us. Neither the darkness in our lives nor the violence in the world, nor the desecration of creation can close back the doors of death to entrap us again. Despite God’s silence on Holy Saturday, we already live in God’s dwelling. We learn, little by little, that Christ never ceases to love us, to come to us, to redeem us. He lifts us up after every little death encountered. He introduces us into his kingdom that keeps growing day by day. Walking with him in faith becomes an icon for others, a true symbol of our ongoing transformation. Why the Descent into Hell during the Paschal Season? So that we celebrate Christ’s visitation into the depths of our darkness, and our luminous longing for his presence. He picks us up so that we enter his Dwelling, humbly and patiently.
