My interest in Roman Catholic theology started during my years in a public elementary school where volunteers teach catechism classes. I attended all lectures and even took exams even though I initially informed catechists that I was not a Roman Catholic and that my dad was a Protestant pastor. They would tell me it was okay to stay at the canteen during these classes, but I would always choose to stay and hear about Bible stories, the lives of saints, and the fundamental doctrines they taught.
I would always marvel at the similarities and differences in our doctrines, especially the divisive belief in purgatory. But I was more fascinated with the limbo concept, which, as championed by my numerous catechism teachers, is the place where unbaptized infants who die are waiting for their fate in eternity.
Searching for more information, I ran across a commentary that showed two limbos: the limbus patrum or limbo of the patriarchs, where the faithful of the Old Testament waited for Christ’s redemption, and the limbus infantium, which was for those unbaptized children.
Around high school, a (secular) teacher cheerfully announced how Pope Benedict XVI “opened up” limbo and declared it as no longer existing, implying that all unbaptized babies for all time are now given salvation. I was surprised to find out later that the limbus infantium was not a doctrine of the Roman Catholic Church and that the Pope only reiterated its historic stand.
In college, limbo became a nuanced definition of what my life had become. Day in and day out, different things challenged me, making me more attached to the concept of limbo.
When I entered our campus paper, “in limbo” was a clichéd phrase to define any uncertainty attributed to a plan or a program. As per definition, limbo is “an uncertain period of awaiting a decision or resolution; an intermediate state or condition.”
These past few months, I realized some things in my life, and I discovered how I am still living like I am, or better yet, we are in limbo. Is limbo associated with depression, darkness, anxiety, and the like? I do think so, as unbaptized babies are often considered to be yearning for salvation. Does being in limbo mean that no one loves you? Not necessarily, as unbaptized babies may also have parents or relatives who care for and love them.
Every day, I wake up in limbo, not knowing if we will still have money for the rest of the week. I am unsure if our supplies will last and if I will still have some work to do for my living. This is what the pandemic made me.
Every day, I wake up in limbo, not knowing if my medicines will work, not sure if I will still enjoy the rest of the day, and not sure if I will get another shot at a healthy life. This is what my body made me.
Every day, I wake up in limbo, not knowing all the basic stuff in medical school; not sure if I can still make it when I get back or if I will still have the courage to go on. This is what my failures made me.
I thought about this sense of uncertainty that differs from limbo because I can call on others for help. I have my wife. I have my friends. I have some others to help. But this does not diminish the fact: I’m still in limbo.
Here’s to wishing for better days and heaven to replace this limbo soon.
As always, cease not.
