shaped with your own hands.
O Lord our God, how glorious is love!
How wonderful are the various aspects of love we’ve seen:
in the parents who brought us into this world,
in the family and friends who have cared for us;
and especially today we celebrate the love of N . . . and N . . .
the love they have for you, Loving God, and the love they have for each other.
Love is your presence.
It’s you we know, when we know love;
It’s you we see reflected in everybody who loves us.
We thank you for all N . . . and N . . . have shared together and with others;
the love that they have shared with the many friends old and new
they have journeyed with over the last twenty-five years.
Loving God, we praise you for the gift of love today!
Love that brought [children’s names may be mentioned here] into the world,
and your sustaining love that has been part of their shaping.
It’s you whose love will never let us go, it’s your love that forgives;
It’s your love that enables us to endure the hard times, sad times.
It’s your love that keeps us going, keeps us trying, when things are tough.
Lord, on this day, may life and love be renewed in us all,
and especially in N . . . and N . . . so that the love that joined their lives together twenty-five years ago may continue to be truly your spirit working through them.
May life and love pour into our lives now . . .
light up all that we are doing with a new glory,
so that we may know your presence.
May it be your love that enables them to reaffirm their vows
and to keep them for as long as they both shall live. AMEN.
Thank you
This will be a few short sentences by both husband and wife thanking each other for what he/she has given to the other. (Not to be revealed to one another before the service!)
Vows
The couple are encouraged to create their own.
Reading
Chosen by the couple and read by a younger member of the family if possible.
Short comment
From the minister about what it means to be real!
Apache Blessing
Said by wife and husband.
A Celtic Blessing by the minister
May the raindrops fall lightly upon your brow,
May the soft winds freshen your spirit,
May the sunshine brighten your heart,
May the burden of the day rest lightly upon you
And may God enfold you in the mantle of his love.
Thank you both for all your sharing, laughing and listening.
For your comforting, supporting and shielding .
Your forgiving, trusting and respecting.
Your honouring, cherishing and loving.
May God continue to bless you both as you travel on together.
Section 3
Loss and Remembrance
My Miscarriage
REV. ROSIE FREW
I do believe that honesty and vulnerability are important facets of ministry. When we open ourselves up to others, they respond, and we have the privilege and the pain of sharing their deepest hopes and fears and sharing also the love and compassion of Christ.
In my final year at university, I had to write a dissertation. One of the subjects I covered in it was miscarriage, in particular the pastoral care of those who had experienced this loss of a pregnancy. I remember being very moved as I did my research and read account after account of personal heartbreak. I hoped that my study would give me an understanding and empathy in my future ministry.
Over the years, I’ve spent time with a number of women who have miscarried. And then, sadly, at the beginning of July, when I was twelve weeks pregnant, I experienced the pain of miscarriage for myself. I can now speak from a very personal perspective.
People were very kind and thoughtful. With cards and flowers, they wanted to show that they shared our sorrow and disappointment. People, unknowingly, were also very hurtful. ‘You must have been working too hard. You must have been lifting things. You can’t have been taking care of yourself properly.’ The medical profession will tell you that miscarriage is a very common event – it is rarely anyone’s fault, there is usually no obvious reason ‘why?’ I had no cause to feel guilty, and I knew that, yet blame was being apportioned to me. Others, again unthinkingly, all too easily dismissed our loss as trivial. ‘You’re young, you can try again, the fun’s in the trying . . .’ The loss of a pregnancy is the loss of dreams and hopes and possibilities, and the loss of a child that has been very real and yet hidden.
Miscarriage has been described as the loneliest grief. There is not always, on the part of others, a full appreciation of, and respect for, the powerful feelings of loss and bereavement that are usually engendered. I’ve had to learn that the hard way, not just from books in a library.
I thank God that I have a healthy, happy, boisterous almost-two-year-old, and I pray that in the future he will have a brother 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