or sister. However, the 2nd of February will always be remembered as the day when the baby we lost was due to have been born.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be. (Psalm 139, NIV)
Following this article, a number of women wrote to me to share their stories of loss and to offer me comfort in my loss – some heartbreaking stories of repeated miscarriage and feelings of failure and desperation. As I went about my parish, several women spoke to me of their own experiences and thanked me for ‘speaking out’ on their behalf.
My story has a happy ending. My daughter, Rebecca, was born in June 1998. Following my announcement of my pregnancy to my congregation, an elderly lady asked me to visit her. With tears pouring down her cheeks, she told me that she too had had a miscarriage when her only daughter was two but, despite her husband being desperate for a second child, she had felt unable to face the possibility of another heartbreak. Their loss and her decision remained a tension between them throughout their married life. She ended by saying: ‘I so wish I had had your courage’, by which time my tears were flowing too.
A Funeral for a Baby Girl
REV. LIZ CRUMLISH
This contribution was used at the funeral of a baby girl when I was a hospital chaplain. This service celebrated a life, albeit a brief life. I think the words come from a mother’s heart.
Emma was a beautiful baby girl born with Edwards’ syndrome. She lived for fourteen months and brought lots of joy to those who had the privilege of meeting her. As hospital chaplain, I encountered Emma and her parents a lot and helped them plan her funeral service:
‘I will never forget you, . . . I have written your name on the palms of my hands.’ (Isaiah 49:15–16, GNB)
We are here today to share with Emma’s mum and dad in their great loss. We’re here, not to tell them that everything will be OK. For how can it ever be?
But we are here just to be with them and with their families at this time when nothing makes any sense, when there are no explanations, no answers. Let us pray.
God of love, love is your gift to us; love to give, to receive, to share.
Love can bring the deepest joy but also the keenest suffering.
We suffer today because we loved so much, because of the joy brought to us by Emma’s brief presence. We can’t even pretend to understand
But we pray that you understand us, you, who knew and felt the pain of others, surround us with yet more of that love you give.
And help us, even in our darkness, to give thanks for the love which Emma awakened in us.
May we know that, as she brought so much to our lives, she remains your child forever.
Today, may we feel her presence and yours and be assured that that love can never be taken from us.
Be with us now as we pay these last offices of love in this place, through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Reading
We read an excerpt from Winnie the Pooh by A. A. Milne – a time when the friends were struggling to say goodbye.
Committal
God gives life, and God takes it away.
And the taking away is so terribly painful, because what he gives is so very good.
Emma, you are one of God’s children, held forever in love.
May the Lord bless you and keep you.
May the Lord be kind and gracious to you.
May the Lord smile upon you and give you peace.
Sleep in the sleep of all calm. Sleep in the sleep of all loves.
Sleep, beloved Emma, in the God of life.
Let us pray.
God of life, we thank you that we do not belong only to ourselves but to one another.
Our lives are woven together in care, in tenderness, in hope to a pattern we do not yet understand.
Sorrow and sadness can bind us closer still as we discover a shared strength,
a deeper, more mysterious love.
In and through their shared and bitter grief, may Emma’s parents come to feel this to be true.
May they be sure that Emma’s life continues to be woven into theirs
and that all is held together by love.
May they know what good and loving parents they are and how much they have given to Emma.
Help them to comfort one another, not to withdraw into themselves,
but to talk often and to care for one another.
We pray too for their families.
Give them comfort, your courage and your strength through all that lies ahead.
Thank you for all the support they have known already,
from each other, from neighbours, from friends.
Help all of us here to support one another and to come to know, in time,
the depth of your support, the breadth of your loving arms around us.
We ask this in the name of Christ who died for us. Amen.
Jesus said: Peace I give to you, peace such as the world cannot give.
Set your troubled hearts at rest and banish your fears.
Christ’s peace be with us as we go on our way this day and forever. Amen.
Resting Place
REV. GILLEAN MACLEAN
This poem was written after the scattering of ashes on Iona of a member of my congregation who had come to faith on that island. I use poetry often in worship – my own and others’. I think that, as we try to express what is essentially mystery, often it is only in poetry that we can come close to an understanding. Some of the best poetry I have read is by women. The mistress of the love poem, after all, is surely Christina Rossetti. She wrote about love, human love, but also about divine love and how the two are inextricably
