On September 12th I celebrated a Mass of healing in Castlebar in remembrance of babies who died in the womb or shortly after birth. The suggestion had come from individuals and groups within our diocese. They had highlighted the need to address this subject in the context of a liturgy and many people contributed to making the celebration a very moving occasion.

There is excitement and enthusiasm as parents and family eagerly look forward to the birth of a new baby. There is the waiting and the wondering, counting weeks and days; all the focus is on the future, what will this child turn out to be?

There is the quiet sense of pride at continuity of the family tree, linking the past with the many generations to come.

All of that is abruptly shattered by the death of the baby, whether in the womb or shortly after birth. The hope which was so buoyant, the joy which was so exhilarating, the excitement which was so eager all seem to die with the infant.

While it is unhelpful to judge the actions or behaviour of an earlier age by the more enlightened approach of a later day, there was sometimes something cruel or harsh about the way parents were expected to cope with the death of an unbaptised infant.

I recall my late father telling of laying to rest two of my own sisters who had died, one shortly before her birth, the other shortly after. Those were the days before bereavement counselling or support groups. Pa rents of that time suffered in silence.

They had to absorb the grief; no wake, very little tangible sympathy from the church; it all added up to an enormous burden.

Fathers steeled themselves to go quietly to the area beyond consecrated ground, dig a small grave and lay down their own flesh and blood in the cold earth. There was no public prayer and no ritual blessings with holy water. There would be no headstone for there had been no name chosen or given.

The Mass we celebrated in Castlebar was an attempt to acknowledge all of that and in a sense to help bring it to a closure. Speaking on that occasion, I felt it important to face an issue which caused upset to many people then and still leaves people disillusioned, namely the question of limbo.

The word "limbo" is not used by the fathers of the church, nor does it appear in scripture. An official endorsement of limbo's existence by the church is not to be found. It is a concept used by theologians who were attempting to underline the need of baptism for salvation.

It is important to distinguish between theological propositions and the doctrine of the church. Sadly, however, the practice at the time failed to make that distinction and as a result so many experienced hurt.

The whole discussion of limbo has been transcended by two factors. Firstly, there is the rediscovered emphasis on the universality of the saving Will of God: "God our saviour wants everyone to be saved" (1 Tim 2:4). The second factor is what has become known as baptism of desire. Parents have a life wish for their children.

In the Gospel of John, there are important insights on how life here on earth dovetails with eternal life.

It would be an utter contradiction to contemplate parents having a life wish for their children which would not embrace eternal life with God. These two are great life-giving forces: God's will to save all and the parents' will that their child should have that salvation. They are seen clearly in Jesus's tenderness towards the little children when he blessed them, saying: "It is to such as these that the Kingdom of Heaven belongs."

I believe the only conclusion worthy of God to which we can come is that the children who died before baptism are with Him and enjoy the fullness of life with Christ in the glory of Heaven. It is very significant that the new catechism of the Catholic Church never mentions limbo. In other words, it recognises that there is salvation and the fullness of life with God for children who die before baptism.

ANOTHER idea I touched on briefly at the ceremony was the importance of naming such children. In the ancient world and in our world today the act of naming is very important.

It enables us to enter into relationship with the person named. The name helps us to single people out from the anonymous crowds. There is a sense in which the name enables us to see the other person as a full hu man person with a dignity created by God in His likeness and redeemed by Jesus Christ.

Because naming and the sacrament of Baptism are closely related in our minds it is possible - indeed, very probable - that many of the children we remembered at the Mass in Castlebar had not been given names. In a certain sense the Mass provided us with an opportunity to repair that omission. A beautiful and poignant part of the ceremony was the blessing of a book recording the names of many children who died in the womb or shortly after birth.

Now God can say of them as he said at a turbulent time in the history of his own people: "Do not be afraid, I have redeemed you, I have called you by name. You are mine [Isaiah 43:1]", that they are fully human persons and the fact they now enjoy a personal relationship with God in the fullness of life in Heaven.

All the time, His love reached out to these forgotten little ones. God knew exactly where their infant bones lay and he always knows their names. Although we did not always realise it in the past, these names were always written in the palm of his hand.

In our Mass we acknowledged, formally and liturgically, a hitherto silent world of sadness. We acknowledged the untold grief of mothers, whose dead children were taken from their arms. We acknowledged the anguish of fathers who, with the help, perhaps, of a silent neighbour, laid a child to rest in the unwelcoming margins of the graveyard. We acknowledged the sadness of brothers and sisters who never had a name by which to remember them.

But we celebrated, too, because these children were that day named and remembered. We greeted them, in the context of the sacred liturgy, as our brothers and sisters, as our children or grandchildren. We greeted them as citizens whom we have welcomed back from exile and God is happy that we have brought these little ones, his children, "in from the cold".

My sincere prayer is that the ceremony in Castlebar will help to heal the memories we have and the hurts which we experienced in this most sensitive area when parents and families were at their most vulnerable through the death of a baby in the womb or shortly after birth.

Dr Michael Neary is the Archbishop of Tuam