By Reverend Roger Carr-Jones Marriage & Family Life Coordinator
If you ever have the opportunity to visit Preston take a moment to visit the Jesuit Church of St Wilfred. As you enter the narthex you will encounter two carvings by the world-renowned sculptor, Fenwick Lawson. One is the image of St Wilfred and the other is that of a seven-foot seated mother, whose left breast was the shape of a baby’s head, being protected by both the mother’s hands. Both sculptures were commissioned by the then parish priest Fr Denis Blackledge SJ and it is that second remarkable sculpture called Hidden Life that forms the heart and soul of this reflection. Whilst it is a sculpture that I have yet to see in person, I have been profoundly struck by its image and meaning.
Lawson’s sculptures are very tactile and are not simply to be viewed but to be experienced and that requires touch. Touch is very much a part of the mother’s journey when carrying a child in the womb, or that immediate moment of bonding after childbirth. If I find it virtually impossible to express in words what the loss of a child might mean, I stand on holy ground in humility for those mothers and fathers where such pain has been experienced. My wife and I ourselves experienced the loss of a baby: although this was in the first trimester, so the possibility of bonding through touch was denied, over twenty years later this is still a raw point for my wife, in particular. I know that, when meeting a couple experiencing this tremendous pain of loss, we must be ready to listen to the story, to reach out in love and then to hold them in my prayers.
In my ministry as a deacon there are three occasions where the funerals conducted related to infants. Two still births and one baby born with a terminal condition passed from this life in a few weeks. I was conscious that I could not walk in the shoes of the parents. I could accompany them on this difficult stage of their journey in saying farewell yet there was a place where I could not go. This was into their hearts and memories. I still remain humbled and feeling inadequate before their pain and loss. The only gift I felt able to give was prayer.
Hidden Life is such a powerful expression of love, sorrow and solace. The sculpture is as Denis wished, a cenotaph where mothers and fathers can simply rest, weep and reflect for their babies lost in the womb, at birth or in the early weeks of life.
I would like to share with you the resources and insights at https://babylossmatters.lifecharity.org.uk/churches/, which may help to bring some comfort to those who have experienced loss, as well as guiding the wider community in ways to enter a landscape that they may not share. In this time of the pandemic, perhaps all we can do is light a candle and offer a prayer. Both will raise in our hearts and minds those who need our love and care.