Faith | To lose a child of any age is to know inconsolable sorrow
This article is written with respect and empathy for those who are suffering in ways great and small.
While the writing’s timing is late in the autumn of 2023, recognized by Christians around the world as the season of Advent leading to the celebration of Christmas, suffering is timeless.
During December in years past, I had the responsibility of speaking at an annual nondenominational service of mutual support offered for persons who lost to death a child at any age or tragic circumstance at any time in the past. With readings, prayers, sacred music, speaking the names of absent children, ritual candle lighting and my spoken reflections, those gathered did something that was and is rather unusual.
They did not avoid or diminish or gloss over their emotional, relational and spiritual pain. Instead, they faced and leaned into that pain as a small, temporary community of sufferers.
The most meaningful part was after the service when, over warm drinks and treats, stories were shared in safety, tears were shed in compassion, and true comfort and solace was quietly and deeply experienced—far from glittering lights, shiny wrappings and great pageantries.
Each year I recounted one short passage of scripture that spoke to the situation with power and profound truth.
In the New Testament Gospel of Matthew (2:16-18)—rooted in the promises of the Old Testament prophet Jeremiah (31:15)—the setting is after the birth of Jesus and the subsequent visit of the magi (wise ones).
Whether seen as gross irony or reality, the political-religious oppression of that time and region resulted in the Roman ruler, Herod, carrying out a massive infanticide, the monstrous killing of all male children under the age of 2.
With the vast weeping and keening of countless mothers and families echoing up and down the corridors of time, the Gospel writer embodies their overwhelming, archetypal pain in the personage of one of their religious matriarchs, Rachel.
“A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”
I am haunted by two images in this statement. One is that of Rachel, the mother of the Hebrew people, weeping for all mothers who have lost children, for whatever reason. I witnessed a similar somber scene embodied in a huge commemorative statue of Mother Russia laying a memorial garland in the massive Piskaryov Memorial Cemetery in St. Petersburg.
The other image is expressed in the phrase known by all who have suffered a great loss: “She refused to be comforted.” This is a universal, existential truth.
To know and name one’s sorrows, to give expression to sufferings, to use tears of pain and vulnerability for great transformative forces, these are also part of the greater narrative as we approach the longest nights of each year.
This year the tears come not only from our own communities, but from communities around the world who are profoundly suffering unimaginable loss of life. May their tears be not in vain.
Timothy J. Ledbetter, DMin, BCC is a retired American Baptist-endorsed professional chaplain and member of Shalom United Church of Christ in Richland. Questions and comments should be directed to editor Lucy Luginbill in care of the Tri-City Herald newsroom, 4253 W. 24th Avenue, Kennewick, WA 99338. Or email lluginbill@tricityherald.com.
