What Happened on Holy Saturday? ~ The ancient sources on Christ's Harrowing of Hell

Fresco of Christ's Descent into Hell from the lower Basilica of San Clemente in Rome, 9th Century AD.
In this detail, Christ takes Adam by the hand to lead him out of the underworld.

Wednesday of Holy Week is sometimes referred to as Spy Wednesday, a reference to the betrayal of Our Lord by the traitor Judas Iscariot.

Every Christian knows that on Holy Thursday, we remember the Last Supper, and that Good Friday is the day on which the Lord was crucified and died.

Holy Saturday, however, is different. For most Christians, it is a peaceful time – a day of reflection separating the drama and sorrow of the Passion from the joy of Easter Sunday. On Holy Saturday, there is seemingly not much going on. For the modern Church, it is a quiet time of watching and waiting.

But the traditional teachings of the ancient Church tell a much different story. Something tremendous on a cosmic scale happened on Easter Saturday: Christ’s descent into Hell.

Often called the Harrowing of Hell in English, or the Anastasis in Greek, we find this mysterious event recorded without elaboration in the Apostles’ Creed:

“He descended into Hell.”

It is rumored that Mel Gibson’s follow-up to The Passion of the Christ will attempt to bring this event to the big screen as part of the larger story of the resurrection of Christ. How he will do that is anyone’s guess. But you can bet it will be epic. And probably gruesome.

The harrowing of Hell is mentioned obliquely in Sacred Scripture, most specifically in First Epistle of St. Peter, where the Apostle says:

"Because Christ also died once for our sins, the just for the unjust: that he might offer us to God, being put to death indeed in the flesh, but enlivened in the spirit, in which also coming he preached to those spirits that were in prison: Which had been some time incredulous, when they waited for the patience of God in the days of Noah, when the ark was a building: wherein a few, that is, eight souls, were saved by water." [1 Peter 3:18-20]

This mysterious passage from the Gospel of Matthew is similarly used to support the Harrowing of Hell:

"And the graves were opened: and many bodies of the saints that had slept arose,  And coming out of the tombs after his resurrection, came into the holy city, and appeared to many." [Matthew 27:52-53]

Saint Paul also mentions Christ's descent into the underworld in his Letter to the Ephesians:

"But to every one of us is given grace, according to the measure of the giving of Christ.  Wherefore He saith: Ascending on high, he led captivity captive; he gave gifts to men.  Now that he ascended, what is it, but because he also descended first into the lower parts of the earth? He that descended is the same also that ascended above all the heavens, that he might fill all things." [Ephesians 4:7-10]

Though Christ’s descent into Hell is not described in detail in Sacred Scripture, the event was most certainly an article of faith for the ancient Church. One of the earliest references may be found in an ancient homily for Holy Saturday, sometimes attributed to St. Melito of Sardis, a bishop in Asia Minor who wrote in the late 2nd century AD, within 150 years of Christ's death and resurrection. The following passage from this homily is taken from the Vatican website. The sentences in bold are included in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (635):

"What is happening? Today there is a great silence over the earth, a great silence, and stillness, a great silence because the King sleeps; the earth was in terror and was still, because God slept in the flesh and raised up those who were sleeping from the ages. God has died in the flesh, and the underworld has trembled.

Truly he goes to seek out our first parent like a lost sheep; he wishes to visit those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. He goes to free the prisoner Adam and his fellow-prisoner Eve from their pains, he who is God, and Adam's son.

The Lord goes in to them holding his victorious weapon, his cross. When Adam, the first created man, sees him, he strikes his breast in terror and calls out to all: 'My Lord be with you all.' And Christ in reply says to Adam: ‘And with your spirit.’ And grasping his hand he raises him up, saying: ‘Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give you light.

‘I am your God, who for your sake became your son, who for you and your descendants now speak and command with authority those in prison: Come forth, and those in darkness: Have light, and those who sleep: Rise.

‘I command you: Awake, sleeper, I have not made you to be held a prisoner in the underworld. Arise from the dead; I am the life of the dead. Arise, O man, work of my hands, arise, you who were fashioned in my image. Rise, let us go hence; for you in me and I in you, together we are one undivided person.’" [Ancient homily sometimes attributed to St. Melito of Sardis]

12th century mosaic of the harrowing of Hell from St. Mark's Basilica in Venice.  

Numerous other ancient Church Fathers commented on Christ’s sojourn into hell. Writing at about the same time as St. Melito, St. Clement of Alexandria speculated on the reason for the descent, saying:

“Wherefore the Lord preached the Gospel to those in Hades…. So I think it is demonstrated that the God being good, and the Lord powerful, they save with a righteousness and equality which extend to all that turn to Him, whether here or elsewhere….What then? Did not the same dispensation obtain in Hades, so that even there, all the souls, on hearing the proclamation, might either exhibit repentance, or confess that their punishment was just, because they believed not?... If, then, He preached the Gospel to those in the flesh that they might not be condemned unjustly, how is it conceivable that He did not for the same cause preach the Gospel to those who had departed this life before His advent?” [The Stromata of St. Clement of Alexandria, Book VI, Chapter 6]

Also active in the mid-to-late 2nd Century AD was Saint Irenaeus of Lyons, who wrote clearly concerning this belief on Christ's descent into Hell:

"It was for this reason, too, that the Lord descended into the regions beneath the earth, preaching His advent there also, and [declaring] the remission of sins received by those who believe in Him. Now all those believed in Him who had hope towards Him, that is, those who proclaimed His advent, and submitted to His dispensations, the righteous men, the prophets, and the patriarchs, to whom He remitted sins in the same way as He did to us, which sins we should not lay to their charge, if we would not despise the grace of God. For as these men did not impute unto us (the Gentiles) our transgressions, which we wrought before Christ was manifested among us, so also it is not right that we should lay blame upon those who sinned before Christ's coming." [St. Irenaeaus, Against All Heresies, Book IV, Chapter 27:2].

The context of this passage in Irenaeus's work, Against All Heresies, is complex and well worth reading in its entirety. 

A more descriptive and fanciful account is rendered in the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus, which is thought to have been written in the Third or Fourth century AD and appended to the equally apocryphal Acts of Pilate about the Fifth or Sixth century AD. Here is a sample:

"...The Lord of majesty appeared in the form of a man and lightened the eternal darkness and brake the bonds that could not be loosed: and the succor of his everlasting might visited us that sat in the deep darkness of our transgressions and in the shadow of death of our sins. 

When Hell and death and their wicked ministers saw that, they were stricken with fear, they and their cruel officers, at the sight of the brightness of so great light in their own realm, seeing Christ of a sudden in their abode, and they cried out, saying: 'We are overcome by thee. Who art thou that art sent by the Lord for our confusion? Who art thou that without all damage of corruption, and with the signs of thy majesty unblemished, dost in wrath condemn our power?...' 

Then did the King of glory in his majesty trample upon death, and laid hold on Satan the prince and delivered him unto the power of Hell, and drew Adam to him unto his own brightness....

And the Lord stretched forth his hand and made the sign of the cross over Adam and over all his saints, and he took the right hand of Adam and went up out of Hell, and all the saints followed him. Then did holy David cry aloud and say: 'Sing unto the Lord a new song, for he hath done marvelous things. His right hand hath wrought salvation for him and his holy arm. The Lord hath made known his saving health, before the face of all nations hath he revealed his righteousness.'

And the whole multitude of the saints answered, saying: 'Such honor have all his saints. Amen, Alleluia.' [Gospel of Nicodemus/Acts of Pilate, Part II]

Of course, the discussion of Christ's descent into Hell spawned a multitude of theological and eschatological questions, among them: Who were "the saints" who arose following the resurrection mentioned in the Gospel of Saint Matthew? Who were "the spirits that were in prison" mentioned by Saint Peter? Did our Lord actually enter the Hell of the Damned? Or did He visit that mysterious theological construct known as "The Limbo of the Fathers"?

Those questions are beyond the scope of this humble blog, but I will close with Dante Alighieri's view on the matter, as put into the mouth of the poet Virgil, a denizen of the Limbo of the Just, who according to Dante's metaphysical world, was a novice in that shadowy realm when Christ's harrowing occurred, Virgil having died about 20 years prior to the birth of Christ:

"Tell me, my Master, tell me, thou my Lord,"
     Began I, with desire of being certain
     Of that Faith which o'ercometh every error,
"Came any one by his own merit hence,
     Or by another's, who was blessed thereafter?"
     And he, who understood my covert speech,
Replied: "I was a novice in this state,
     When I saw hither come a Mighty One,
     With sign of victory incoronate.
Hence he drew forth the shade of the First Parent,
     And that of his son Abel, and of Noah,
     Of Moses the lawgiver, and the obedient
Abraham, patriarch, and David, king,
     Israel with his father and his children,
     And Rachel, for whose sake he did so much,
And others many, and he made them blessed;
     And thou must know, that earlier than these
     Never were any human spirits saved."
[The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri, Inferno, Canto IV]  

Don Giovanni, Lorenzo Da Ponte, and the Unforgivable Sin

Don Giovanni confronts the statue of Il Commendatore at the climax of the eponymous opera.

During Lent, I usually attempt to limit my consumption of secular entertainment and shift over to works with more overt Catholic themes. With this in mind, I noticed a video pop up on my YouTube feed of a work that had long been familiar to me, but that I had never troubled myself to watch in its entirety. 

This was a production of Mozart’s great opera, Don Giovanni. 

Full disclosure: I’m not a huge fan of opera generally, select Gilbert and Sullivan works notwithstanding. Some of the extended Prima Donna arias can really get under my skin.

In the case of Don Giovanni, however, I was willing to put those prejudices aside. 

But wait. How can an opera full of humorous scenes about a complete profligate womanizing scoundrel and his many romantic conquests be Catholic? Well, I’m glad you asked.

I decided on the 1954 production by Salzburger Festspiele, with Cesare Siepi in the lead role, Wilhelm Furtwängler conducting. When I set up the video to watch with my kids, I asked them whether they thought the opera would be a tragedy or a comedy based on Mozart’s music. Listening to the first few minutes of the overture, they thought it sounded very much like a tragedy. But then, inexplicably, the music transitions into something light-hearted. So by the time the singing began, my teens and 20-somethings weren’t really sure which direction things were going to go.

I suspect that’s what Mozart intended. As the opera progresses, we see Don Giovanni, a nobleman living in very Catholic 17th century Spain, behaving like a heathen, particularly with regard to the fair sex. He attempts rape. He murders the victim’s father. He denounces, insults, betrays and abandons his wife, Donna Elvira. He attempts to seduce a bride on her wedding day. His behavior is so awful that a posse of his victims and their protectors seeks to hunt him down and kill him—without success.

Mozart's accompanying score seems to make light of the main character's crimes. Similarly, the librettist, Lorenzo Da Ponte—an ordained Catholic priest whose eventful life sounds more like that of Don Giovanni than Don Bosco — approaches the above litany of evil deeds with a certain casual humor. Indeed, one of the most famous scenes features Don Giovanni’s lackey, the buffoonish Leporello, reciting the numbers of women his rakish padrone had seduced in various countries, finishing his recitation with a count of the Spanish ladies, declaring emphatically: “mille e tre!” — 1,003.

But even though Don Giovanni's sins against Donna Elvira are awful and grave, she is of a mind to forgive her wayward husband. She wishes that he would reform his life and come back to her. She feels genuine pity for him, but her hopes are continually disappointed. Even in the last scene, she comes to plead with him to reform himself, saying: “I want that you change your life!”  

But Don Giovanni cannot, for life to him are wine, feasting, and seduction. He mocks Elvira and she departs in tearful frustration, but not before seeing something terrifying at Don Giovanni’s door.

In a previous scene, Don Giovanni and Leporello had jokingly invited the funerary statue of one of the nobleman’s victims, the slain Commendatore, to visit them for supper. At the base of the statue had been inscribed: “Of the wicked man who bereaved me of life, I wait here for revenge.” To everyone’s shock, the statue of the Commendatore has now arrived at Don Giovanni’s door to sup. 

But strangely, the animated statue has not come to strike down Don Giovanni himself—but to give him a choice, a final chance. The statue offers an invitation to Don Giovanni: Will he sup with him? Despite Leporello’s urging against it, Don Giovanni will not succumb to fear. Indeed, it has never been said of him that he was afraid. He is too proud. He will accept the statue’s invitation. 

But when he grasps the statue’s hand and feels his life ebbing away, even then Don Giovanni is too proud to repent. “Repent!” the statue commands three times. Three times, Don Giovanni says “No!” But this finally, is too much. Whereas his myriad of previous grave sins would have been forgiven, Don Giovanni is now guilty of the worst sin. The ultimate sin. The unforgivable sin. 

Final impenitence. 

There can be only one path from this point forward. The statues cries: “There is no more time!” Immediately, flames appear. Ghastly creatures appear. Demonic beings appear. Don Giovanni is seized and brought to hell amidst a Mozartian blast of music in the suitably terrifying key of D minor. 

It is worth considering that both Mozart and Lorenzo Da Ponte were Catholics, though certainly imperfect ones. In Da Ponte’s case, he was a fallen priest who, at the time he wrote the libretto for Don Giovanni, had fathered several children out of wedlock. Mozart himself, though devoutly Catholic in many areas of his life, was also a Free Mason.

Both da Ponte and Mozart would have been very familiar with the teaching of the Church on final impenitence. This teaching is drawn from the early Church Fathers who considered final impenitence to be the sin against the Holy Spirit mentioned by Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew:

“Therefore I say to you: Every sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven men, but the blasphemy of the Spirit shall not be forgiven. And whosoever shall speak a word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him: but he that shall speak against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, nor in the world to come.” [Matthew 12:31-32]

Saint Augustine of Hippo summarizes the teaching as follows:

“For by the Holy Spirit, by whom the people of God are gathered together into one, is the unclean spirit who is divided against himself cast out. Against this gratuitous gift, against this grace of God, does the impenitent heart speak. This impenitence then is the blasphemy of the Spirit, which shall not be forgiven, neither in this world, neither in the world to come.….But this impenitence or impenitent heart may not be pronounced upon, as long as a man lives in the flesh.” [Augustine of Hippo, Sermon 21 on the New Testament, Chapters 19-21]

Don Giovanni, in his final act, final minutes and seconds on the stage, steadfastly refuses to repent, even when he feels his own dissolution at hand. Is it his love of pleasurable sins that drives him to this point? No, it is not. It is only his pride. For truly it is written: “Pride goeth before destruction.”  [Proverbs 16:18]

Portrait of Lorenzo Da Ponte as an elderly
man in America by Samuel Morse. From
the frontispiece of the 1929 edition
of his Memoirs. 

As a somewhat ironic point of emphasis, let’s revisit the strange meandering life of Don Giovanni’s librettist, Lorenzo da Ponte, in light of the above teaching. 

Da Ponte would eventually leave Europe and settle in America with his wife, Nancy Grahl, in 1805. He spent the remaining 30-odd years of his life on a variety of ventures, from opening a bookstore, writing poetry, and building an opera house in New York City, to serving as a professor of Italian literature at Columbia University. He wrote an extensive memoir of his life, the 1929 edition of which includes the following note at the end:

“Early in 1831, Da P. had sent some of his poems and a letter [to his one-time academic colleague, Monsignor Jacopo Monico, who was at this time, Patriarch of Venice]; and the Patriarch had replied with great deference, expressing, among other good wishes, the hope that Da P. ‘might someday settle his affairs that his last moments should not be embittered by any trace of remorse.’ Da P. now sent the Patriarch the “Sonnets to Ann” with assurances that ‘the holy counsel and Christian good wishes’ of that ‘foremost pillar of the portals of the Church of Christ,’ ‘had produced in his soul the effects desired by such a charitable heart.' That was why, seven years later, sensing the approach of death, he felt free to summon the Rev. John MacCloskey, future Bishop of Albany, to his bedside that he might make confession and receive absolution at the hands of the Church.” [Memoirs of Lorenzo da Ponte, p. 491]

So it seems that the librettist of Don Giovanni eventually proved himself a better Christian gentleman than his own rakish character. 

When presented with the command: “Pentiti!” he responded, “Sì!” 

"How terribly souls suffer there!" ~ Saint Faustina's vision of Hell

Click here to share on FaceBook.

October 5 is the feast of Saint Faustina Kowalska.

Too many Catholics have bought into the lie that there is no Hell. This position is only a half-step from saying that there is no Heaven. A few particularly high-profile modern Catholics have taken the rather toothless position that there is a Hell, but we can have a reasonable hope that it's empty. This is sunshine and lollipops theology straight out of the 1960s generation. Such reasoning cheapens the Christian message of salvation and repentance to the point of insignificance and makes a mockery out of the ancient teachings of the Church all the way back to Jesus Himself who speaks about Gehenna as a real place, "where the worm dieth not and the fire is not extinguished" [Mark 9:43 -- quoting Isaiah 66:24]

But the most famous saints of the 20th century have taught otherwise. Among these saints one may not find many brilliantly educated academics or prelates with popular YouTube channels. Instead, one finds humble souls, poorly educated in the affairs of this world, but illuminated by the Holy Spirit. The shepherd children of Fatima—St. Lucia, St. Francisco and St. Jacinta—received a vision of Hell that had a tremendous impact on them. Little Jacinta would reportedly cry out: "If Our Lady allows you, tell everybody what Hell is really like so that they will never commit sin again. So many people falling into Hell, so many people."

The blessedly blunt Saint Pio, no great scholar he, when faced with an atheist who said he didn't believe in Hell, retorted: "You'll believe in Hell when you get there!"

St. Faustina Kowalska, the early 20th century Polish visionary nun who would later become known as the apostle of Divine Mercy, also experienced a vision of Hell. The words included with the image at the top of this post were written by Saint Faustina in her Diary in late October 1936, two years prior to her death. Here is the above quote in context: 

"Today, I was led by an Angel to the chasms of hell. It is a place of great torture; how awesomely large and extensive it is! The kinds of tortures I saw: 

• The first torture that constitutes hell is the loss of God; 
• the second is perpetual remorse of conscience; 
• the third is that one’s condition will never change; 
• the fourth is the fire that will penetrate the soul without destroying it, a terrible suffering, since it is a purely spiritual fire, lit by God’s anger; 
• the fifth torture is conditional darkness and a terrible suffocating smell, and despite the darkness, the devils and the souls of the damned see each other and all the evil, both of others and their own; 
• the sixth torture is the constant company of satan; 
• the seventh torture is horrible despair, hatred of God, vile words, curses and blasphemies. 

"These are the tortures suffered by all the damned together, but that is not the end of the sufferings. There are special tortures destined for particular souls. These are the torments of the senses. Each soul undergoes terrible and indescribable sufferings, related to the manner in which it has sinned. There are caverns and pits of torture where one form of agony differs from another. I would have died at the very sight of these tortures if the omnipotence of God had not supported me. Let the sinner know that he will be tortured throughout all eternity, in those senses which he made use of to sin. 

"I am writing this at the command of God, so that no soul may find an excuse by saying there is no hell, or that nobody has ever been there, and so no one can say what it is like. I, sister Faustina, by the order of God, have visited the abysses of hell so that I might tell souls about it and testify to its existence. I cannot speak about it now; but I have received a command from God to leave it in writing. The devils were full of hatred for me, but they had to obey me at the command of God. What I have written is but a pale shadow of the things I saw. But I noticed one thing: that most of the souls there are those who disbelieved that there is a hell. 

"When I came to, I could hardly recover from the fright. How terribly souls suffer there! Consequently, I pray even more fervently for the conversion of sinners. I incessantly plead God’s mercy upon them. O my Jesus, I would rather be in agony until the end of the world, amidst the greatest sufferings, then offend You by the least sin.” 

This passage may be found in St. Faustina's diary, here on page 193: The Diary of Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska. 

"I beseech you to pray unto our Lord for me" ~ Ancient Roots of the Doctrine of Purgatory, Part II

Detail from Crespi's St. Gregory Delivers a Soul from Purgatory, 1617. 

In part one of this post, I looked at the vision of Perpetua—one of the earliest authentic Christian documents to describe directly a Purgatory-like state and to highlight the efficacy of prayer petitions for the dead.

Others writing during the patristic age also expounded upon this idea in more or less detail, among them St. Clement of Alexandria, Tertullian, Origen, St. Augustine of Hippo, and St. Caesarius of Arles. One of the most clear references to Purgatory appears in a late 4th century work by Saint Gregory of Nyssa, entitled: “On the Soul and the Resurrection”. St. Gregory writes:

“For [God], the one goal is this: the perfection of the universe through each man individually, the fulfillment of our nature. Some of us are purged of evil in this life, and some are cured of it through fire in the after-life, some have not had the experience of good and evil in life here….The different degrees of virtue or vice in our life will be revealed in our participating more quickly or more slowly in the blessedness we hope for. The extent of the healing with depend on the amount of evil present in each person. The healing of the soul will be purification from evil and this cannot be accomplished without suffering…”

Building upon this notion about 200 years later, another Gregory—Pope Saint Gregory the Great—was the first to set forth the notion of Purgatory as Catholics now understand it. As part of his famous Dialogues, he wrote:

“…It is plain that in such state as a man departs out of this life, in the same he is presented in judgment before God. But yet we must believe that before the day of judgment there is a Purgatory fire for certain small sins: because our Savior says, “That he which speaketh blasphemy against the Holy Ghost, that it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, nor in the world to come [Matthew 12:32].”

Here we see Gregory offering a scriptural proof for Purgatory, out of the mouth of Jesus Himself. He elaborates on this point, citing Saint Paul's first epistle to the Corinthians, chapter 3:

Click for more info.

“Out of which sentence we learn, that some sins are forgiven in this world, and some other may be pardoned in the next: for that which is denied concerning one sin, is consequently understood to be granted touching some other. But yet this, as I said, we have not to believe but only concerning little and very small sins, as, for example, daily idle talk, immoderate laughter, negligence in the care of our family (which kind of offenses scarce can they avoid, that know in what sort sin is to be shunned), ignorant errors in matters of no great weight: all which sins be punished after death, if men procured not pardon and remission for them in their lifetime: for when St. Paul said, that “Christ is the foundation:” and by and by added: “And if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble: the work of every one, of what kind it is, the fire shall try. If any man's work abide which he built thereupon, he shall receive reward; if any man’s work burn, he shall suffer detriment, but himself shall be saved, yet so as by fire.”

Gregory then goes on to explain St. Paul’s meaning, drawing a distinction between what we would later call mortal and venial sins:

“For although these words may be understood of the fire of tribulation, which men suffer in this world: yet if any will interpret them of the fire of Purgatory, which shall be in the next life: then must he carefully consider, that the Apostle said not that he may be saved by fire, that buildeth upon this foundation iron, brass, or lead, that is, the greater sort of sins, and therefore more hard, and consequently not remissible in that place: but wood, hay, stubble, that is, little and very light sins, which the fire doth easily consume. Yet we have here further to consider, that none can be there purged, no, not for the least sins that be, unless in his lifetime he deserved by virtuous works to find such favor in that place.” [Dialogues, Book 4:39]

To buttress his teaching, Gregory offers the following anecdote. This is interesting because, while confirming the efficacy of prayers for the dead, it seems to indicate that even the very holy can end up in Purgatory:

...When I was yet in my younger years, and lived a secular life, I heard from the mouth of mine elders, who knew it to be true: how that Paschasius, a Deacon of this Roman church (whose sound and eloquent books of the Holy Ghost be extant amongst us), was a man of a wonderful holy life, a marvelous giver of alms, a lover of the poor, and one that contemned himself. This man, in that contention which, through the exceeding hot emulation of the clergy, fell out betwixt Symmachus and Lawrence, made choice of Lawrence to be Bishop of Rome: and though he was afterward by common consent overcome, yet did he continue in his former opinion till his dying day: loving and preferring him, whom the Church, by the judgment of Bishops, refused for her governor. This Deacon ending his life in the time of Symmachus, Bishop of the Apostolic see, a man possessed with a devil came and touched his dalmatic as it lay upon the bier, and was forthwith delivered from that vexation. 

Long time after, Germanus, Bishop of Capua, by the counsel of physicians for the recovery of his health went to the baths, into which after he was entered, he found there standing in those hot waters the [ghost of the] foresaid Paschasius, ready to do him service. At which sight being much afraid, [Germanus] demanded what so worthy a man as he was did in that place, to whom Paschasius returned this answer: "For no other cause," quoth he, "am I appointed to this place of punishment, but for that I took part with Lawrence against Symmachus. And therefore I beseech you to pray unto our Lord for me, and by this token shall you know that your prayers be heard, if at your coming again, you find me not here." 

Upon this, the holy man Germanus betook himself to his devotions, and after a few days he went again to the same baths, but found not Paschasius there: for seeing his fault proceeded not of malice, but of ignorance, he might after death be purged from that sin. And yet we must withal think that the plentiful alms which he bestowed in this life, obtained favor at God's hands, that he might then deserve pardon, when he could work nothing at all for himself. [Dialogues, Book 4:40]

So it can be said that Paschasius's sin was a venial one as it proceeded from ignorance rather than from an actual wicked intention. Also, interestingly, Gregory speculates that God favored Paschasius because of his multitude of charitable works and thus gave him an opportunity for the remission of his sins after his death.

Detail from Crespi's St. Gregory Delivers a Soul from Purgatory, 1617.

Finally, Gregory relates another episode that he experienced himself, regarding a monk at his own monastery three years before. This anecdote is the inspiration behind the beautiful paintings by Giovanni Battista Crespi which I have used to accompany this post:

If the sins after death be pardonable, then the sacred oblation of the holy Host is used to help men's souls: for which cause the souls sometime, of them that be dead, do desire the same...

A certain monk there was called Justus, one very cunning in medicine, and while I remained in the Abbey, served me very diligently, attending upon me in my often infirmities and sickness. This man himself at length fell sore sick, so that in very deed he was brought to the last cast. A brother he had, called Copiosus, that had care of him, who yet lives. Justus perceiving himself past all hope of life, told this brother of his where he had secretly laid up three crowns of gold...

Which thing so soon as I understood, very much grieved I was, and could not quietly digest so great a sin at his hands, that lived with us in community, because the rule of my Monastery was that all the monks thereof should so live in common, that none in particular might possess anything proper to himself....

At length I sent for Pretiosus, Prior of the Monastery, and gave him this charge: "See," quoth I, "that none of our monks do so much as visit Justus in this his extremity, neither let any give him any comfort at all: and when his last hour draws nigh, and he doth desire the presence of his spiritual brethren, let his carnal brother tell him that they do all detest him for the three crowns which he had hidden: that, at least before his death, sorrow may wound his heart, and purge it from the sin committed And when he is dead, let not his body be buried amongst the rest of the monks, but make a grave for him in some one dunghill or other, and there cast it in, together with the three crowns which he left behind him, crying out all with joint voice: 'Thy money be with thee unto perdition;' and so put earth upon him."

In either of which things my mind and desire was, both to help him that was leaving the world, and also to edify the monks yet remaining behind...both which, by God's goodness, fell out accordingly....His brother Copiosus told him for what cause they had all given him over: at which words he straightways sighed for his sin, and in that sorrow gave up the ghost....

Thirty days after his departure, I began to take compassion upon him, and with great grief to think of his punishment, and what means there was to help him: whereupon I called again for Pretiosus, Prior of my Monastery, and with an heavy heart spake thus unto him: "It is now a good while since that our brother which is departed remains in the torments of fire, and therefore we must show him some charity, and labor what we may to procure his delivery: wherefore go your way, and see that for thirty days following sacrifice be offered for him, so that no one day pass in which, for his absolution and discharge, the healthful sacrifice be not offered:" who forthwith departed, and put my commandment in execution.

In the mean time, my mind being busied about other affairs, so that I took no heed to the days how they passed: upon a certain night the same monk that was dead, appeared to his brother Copiosus, who seeing him, enquired of his state in this manner: "What is the matter, brother? And how is it with you?"

To whom he answered thus: "Hitherto have I been in bad case, but now I am well. For this day have I received the communion:" with which news Copiosus straightways coming to the Monastery, told the monks, and they diligently counting the days, found it to be that in which the thirtieth sacrifice was offered for his soul...and so the sacrifice and vision agreeing together, apparent it was that the dead monk was by the holy sacrifice delivered from his pains. [Dialogues, Book 4:55]

Thus we see that Gregory's love for his brother monk, Justus, was exceedingly tough, but ultimately effective in winning his salvation.

Read more of Pope St. Gregory the Great's teachings on eschatology (death, judgment, Heaven and Hell), in the Dialogues.

For a much more thorough and erudite explanation of Purgatory from a very holy man, see Fr. Hardon’s essay entitled, The Doctrine of Purgatory.

"I knew my brother was suffering." ~ Ancient Roots of the Doctrine of Purgatory, Part I

Detail from The Deliverance of
Souls from Purgatory by Rubens, 1635.

The idea of Purgatory as an intermediary state between Heaven and Hell is one of the most misunderstood and occasionally ridiculed aspects of Catholic doctrine. Though it is common for Protestants and even some Catholics to assume that Purgatory has no foundation in Sacred Scripture, that claim is actually false. The need for Purgatory developed from a close reading of Scripture by the Fathers of the Church, and the concept has a provenance stretching back to the earliest days of the Church. Furthermore, it has come to my attention recently that the Orthodox have a similar understanding of the need for purification before entering Heaven, even if their understanding of that purgation is not the same as that of the Catholic Church.

See Part II of this post here.

One of the earliest accounts of a Purgatory-like place comes from an unexpected source, indeed one of the Mothers of the Church, rather than one of the Fathers. Dating from about AD 203, the authentic account of the Passion of Saint Perpetua details a poignant vision which Perpetua experienced immediately prior to her martyrdom. The words of this early Christian martyr, as written in Latin in her prison diary, speak for themselves: 

After a few days, while we were all praying, on a sudden, in the middle of our prayer, there came to me a word, and I named Dinocrates. And I was amazed that that name had never come into my mind until then, and I was grieved as I remembered his misfortune. And I felt myself immediately to be worthy, and to be called on to ask on his behalf. And for him I began earnestly to make supplication, and to cry with groaning to the Lord. Without delay, on that very night, this was shown to me in a vision. I saw Dinocrates going out from a gloomy place, where also there were several others, and he was parched and very thirsty, with a filthy countenance and pallid color, and the wound on his face which he had when he died. This Dinocrates had been my brother after the flesh, seven years of age who died miserably with disease—his face being so eaten out with cancer, that his death caused repugnance to all men. 

For him I had made my prayer, and between him and me there was a large interval, so that neither of us could approach to the other. And moreover, in the same place where Dinocrates was, there was a pool full of water, having its brink higher than was the stature of the boy, and Dinocrates raised himself up as if to drink. And I was grieved that, although that pool held water, still, on account of the height to its brink, he could not drink. And I was aroused, and knew that my brother was in suffering. But I trusted that my prayers would bring help to his suffering; and I prayed for him every day until we passed over into the prison of the camp, for we were to fight in the camp-show. Then was the birthday of Geta Cæsar, and I made my prayer for my brother day and night, groaning and weeping that he might be granted to me.

Then, on the day on which we remained in fetters, this was shown to me. I saw that that place which I had formerly observed to be in gloom was now bright, and Dinocrates, with a clean body well clad, was finding refreshment. And where there had been a wound, I saw a scar, and that pool which I had before seen, I saw now with its margin lowered even to the boy's navel. And one drew water from the pool incessantly, and upon its brink was a goblet filled with water. And Dinocrates drew near and began to drink from it, and the goblet did not fail. And when he was satisfied, he went away from the water to play joyously, after the manner of children, and I awoke. Then I understood that he was translated from the place of punishment.

While mysterious and certainly not covering all of the Catholic Church's criteria for Purgatory, Perpetua's vision seems to confirm the belief that the souls of the dead benefit from the prayers of the living, particularly those about to endure martyrdom for the sake of Christ.

Click for more info.

Update: September 4, 2018:

The Passion of Saints Perpetua and Felicitas is related in full in I Am a Christian: Authentic Accounts of Christian Martyrdom and Persecution from the Ancient Sources. This book is a collection of the best ancient sources on the persecution of early Christians and well worth having if you are interested in this topic.

Some additional sources on the origin of Purgatory, including a large excerpt from Pope Saint Gregory the Great who formalized much of what we believe about Purgatory today, will be included in a subsequent post. Stay tuned!