My email inviting thoughts and comments about candle lighting appears at Appendix 6; it elicited a 49% return. Responses, taken together, were both wider ranging and more detailed than interview responses and served to supplement them after I began to realise the ubiquity and significance of candle lighting. They also removed the “you know” either as verbal filler or as a reference to my own participant experience, although Ronald ended his message with the observation, “I am sure you will resonate with this from your own days as a prison chaplain.”
It appeared from responses that the chapel is itself a visible liturgy and a significant area for chaplains because it is an area of quiet and stillness where prisoners seem to feel safe to recollect their own selfhood either simply by being there or by performing a symbolic action. Responses indicate that most, if not all, lighting of candles takes place in the prison chapel. This does not necessarily betoken a consciously or specifically religious act such as intercessory prayer, although this does, of course, as Iain says, occur,
“sometimes with a chaplain saying a prayer and sometimes only the physical act with silence.” Respondents perceive that prisoners attach importance to the fact that, as Angus puts it, “The chapel is quiet and peaceful. It means that there’s time away from the noise of the wing.” Similarly, Robin comments, “When a prisoner has had a bereavement or is unable to attend the funeral, men often want to sit quietly in chapel and light a candle. They don’t always want a chaplain to say a prayer.” Another observation, by Tom, seems to underline the importance of the chapel as a place of quiet set aside from an otherwise noisy environment and indicates its importance as such for prisoners who declare no faith: “Sometimes if they have no faith they may just like to sit in quiet and light a candle for themselves.” Barbara ties the practice somewhat more closely to Christian belief: “We have a small area with an altar and a couple of chairs and a ‘Tree of Life’ (a bare branch) on which we hang prayers written on cards in the shape of leaves to remember the departed at the time of or on the anniversary of their deaths.” This area
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seems to associate a specifically religious symbol, the altar, with a more neutral, free-floating symbol, the Tree of Life.
The above data suggest that the chapel, the location of candle lighting,
resonates beyond its specific faith associations, the place where more formal religious ritual is enacted. This resonance seems to arise from the perception of the chapel as a space where the most personal memories, griefs and
anxieties can be acknowledged safely with a measure of prisoner control over the level and nature of support from chaplains. It is even possible to make a case for the chapel as a kind of liminoid within the prison, a space where it is possible to perform actions which are symbolic of recollecting an earlier or remembered self. In this case the candle can be said to become a symbolic object as much as the act of lighting one is a symbolic act. This was
poignantly captured in the words of a prisoner recollected by Roger in his interview:
There was a man in the chapel one day and he was in tears at the back of the chapel and I knew him so I thought…. so I .. you always
wonder…. do I go up to him or not, I put my arm around his shoulder. I said, “John, what’s wrong?” And he said, “Chaplain, I forgot I was in prison.” And when he remembered the tears came and the whole atmosphere was so special, you know? He forgot for that time where he was; he thought he was free and then he realised he wasn’t… For this man the symbolic stepping out of prison became, albeit briefly, almost real.
Having ascribed symbolic significance to the candle, the act of lighting it and to the location, I shall now consider what meanings are attached to the act of lighting by prisoners and chaplains. The data, both from interviews and emails, suggest that candle lighting is seen as a form of memorial for a friend or family member who has died, either on the anniversary of a death or at the time of the funeral when, as in the comment above by Robin, the prisoner is unable to attend (either because the family do not want them there or for security reasons.) A number of respondents see the lighting of candles as, in Angus’s words, “something that can be done”. Jeanette is more explicit: “It’s good to be able to do something at a time when the men feel so powerless to
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help their families/friends.” Both chaplains recognise a value in action for its own sake, if only as a surrogate for more practical actions which might have been performed outside. Ben’s comment crystallises it:
They feel that they have done something to mark the occasion, and when you are powerless (as prisoners certainly feel at times of bereavement), to be able to do something to support the mourning process is all the more powerful.
Jeanette goes further in her email and attaches a brief narrative to her sensory account of candle ministry after saying that “an oft repeated phrase is ‘I should be there for them’”:
We will often just sit and watch the flame as it changes colour, dancing and leaping up then subsiding before it’s off again in a rhythm to a tune we sense but cannot hear. A rich seam of theology there! The candles have a burn time of 2 hours and it’s seldom that we are there for the whole time – though it has been known. My favourite memory is of lighting a candle in memory of a mum who had died following a long illness. The man was her son and had been her carer. He spoke of getting her ready for bed and saying ‘goodnight’. So when the moment came, we said ‘goodnight’ to her and blew the candle out. Just like getting her ready for sleep. It was moving and, I hope, helpful as part of the process of letting the deceased take her leave.
This account seems to open up a rich vein of symbolism in that it recalls and to some extent re-enacts actions which are central to the son’s
compassionate and affective self. It is not clear who suggested the form of this simple but imaginative ceremony but it seems to have been an act of co- operation between chaplain and prisoner, allowing him to reclaim that
affective part of himself and to some extent to re-rehearse it. In this instance, the lighting and watching of the candle, the words around it and the
significance attached to them are suggested as therapy for the prisoner (“letting the deceased take her leave.”) Both Ben and Jeannette, like Robin, recognise the powerlessness of prisoners which arises from their
incarceration and is symbolised by the reception process and its pararituals. While these rites of deprivation and mortification are no longer intended to humiliate prisoners, the effect nevertheless is to disenfranchise so that the sense of helplessness is magnified at times of personal and family stress. It could be said that the chaplain on such occasions co-operates in a temporary
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reversal of that state, subverting the normalising thrust of the prison, but being legitimately empowered to do so.
Jeannette’s story is one detached from any specific faith association and may, indeed, be thought to have more in common with the individualised actions and pararituals of movements which could be described as being part of the new spirituality. Nevertheless, both she and the prisoner are able to attach intensely symbolic significance to it. This is not always the case or, rather, a case is not always expressed; indeed the inexpressibility of an action is sometimes claimed as its power. Jeannette herself recognises this: “I think candle lighting is also a memory in itself; a religious action, like using holy water and wearing ‘rosemary’ beads, that is dimly understood to have some significance.” [Prisoners often refer to rosaries as ‘rosemaries’.] Dennis has a comparable view:
It seems to be a folk religion practice, much like hot cross buns at Easter. It is done with little or no knowledge of why. It is, however, giving a tangible focus to grief and it is something they can do (it seems important that they light the candle.) I consider that this is an expression of love, grief and memory very similar to putting flowers on a grave on certain anniversaries. This, of course, is my take on what is a very powerful and complicated human need and one that is
neither expressed nor understood by almost all who practise it. I go to a family grave regularly to put flowers on it and linger awhile in thought. I have no idea why it is right or important, it just is. It is the same quite often when a candle is lit here in chapel. It is significant that it is placed on the altar to continue to burn.
Dennis is willing to identify with prisoners in their incomprehension of the act’s potential significances, separate from any stated faith practice. He explicitly aligns his own incomprehension with the prisoners’ in referring to his own practice in relation to a recent bereavement but acknowledges the importance of a physical act, “something that they can do”, whether it is lighting the candle (“it seems important…”) or placing flowers on a family grave. Just as the flowers remain on the grave so the candle continues to burn; Dennis cannot find a rationale for the importance of either; “it just is.” Both Ben and Maurice, however, relate candle lighting to the more specific faith practice of prayer. For Ben the candle’s flame is important as a focal
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point for men to whom prayer does not come easily either as a mode of communication with God or a god, or as an expression of aspiration in the face of anxiety:
The lighting of candles is a tangible form of prayer. When words fail the lighting of a candle enables someone who perhaps does not articulate prayer easily to offer something, and to focus on the flame with all the symbolism of light and hope that it brings.
Like Dennis he acknowledges the importance of both the tangibility and the apparent continuity of the flame (tea lights last only for two hours); it seems to be the promise or suggestion of continuity which the chaplains perceive as being important to the prisoners. Angus also writes of the candle
symbolising “a glimmer of light in a dark place” and ties it more closely to scriptural reference: “We emphasise that Jesus is the ‘Light of the World’ and that ‘The Light shines in the Darkness’.”
I had assumed that candle lighting in prison was an activity almost exclusive to the Christian denominations despite having significance in other religions and in a secular context such as Amnesty International. Becky, however, writes that, “all chaplains on duty perform this irrespective of faith
background, though it mostly falls to Christian chaplains.” Iain, too, observes that “most chaplains of most faith traditions use these lights either in
corporate worship/meditation or as an expression of personal practice.” It becomes clear from the interviews and from the emails that the lighting of candles has a symbolic value for multiple reasons. It may be retrospective, for the death of friends, family members and people who have died in prison. It may be an expression of hope for better times either for self or, as
poignantly in women’s prisons, for children taken into care or for adoption as well as those aborted or miscarried. Such hope is mingled with the
realisation of failure or culpability as a parent. Tom speaks of murderers who light candles and sit in silence on the anniversary of their victim’s death, sometimes close friends or members of their own families (as seen on
Channel 4: Lifers. 25.06.2012). Robin writes of candles as a focus for hope as prisoners approach their release with its attendant anxieties and pararituals:
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“It can be a symbol of the light of Christ going with them. I have been asked (to) get the candle put in their property so they can have it on release.” We can only speculate about what the significance might be for each individual. On one hand it might symbolise hope kindled while still in prison; on the other, it possibly constitutes a link with the liminoid after release, an ironic retreat to a safe or sacred place.
Tom writes about prisoners’ wish to commemorate deaths amongst their number. It was only towards the end of coding the emails that I realised that they and the interview data frame chapel and its activities as essentially prisoner space. Ben, however, writes of candle lighting as being also a staff activity: “When a former officer died of cancer recently, about thirty staff came up to light candles as a mark of respect….staff also call in during Patrol State if they have an anniversary of a death they wish to mark.” Within my data set this is the sole exception to the norm that candle lighting is a feature of the underlife of the prison; as Esther put it, “It’s part of their culture….one of their rituals.” (6.6.2)
The lighting of candles seems to be a pliable pararitual, largely detached from specific faith or ecclesial associations, with multiple contexts and
significances, facilitated frequently – though not exclusively – by the Anglican chaplain. The practice is comparable with religious and vernacular practice (Graham 2009, 233) in the world outside the prison, seen in cathedrals and roadside shrines to the victims of road accidents. Tom suggests that Anglican churches on the outside fulfil this function but that it has limited take-up: “You might want to go and light a candle in a church….. but most people don’t identify themselves as being religious.” Esther, too, observes that: “It’s not as if they’d go into a church necessarily to do it because they wouldn’t
necessarily go into a church in the first place.” It appears, then, that candle- lighting as an activity has a higher profile among prisoners than in the population at large. Several possible explanations can be advanced for this, not all of them exclusive of others. All prisoners will have - or should have - met a chaplain at least once and will be at least aware of their active presence in the establishment. For some, perhaps for most, it may be the first time
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they have spoken with a faith representative of any kind, just as for many it is their first encounter with NHS staff. They may be aware of the existence of a space called chapel or world faith centre or mosque and will have been given a chaplaincy welcome leaflet. They will be more or less aware that there exists a range of activities open to all from formal services to the study of sacred writings. These are the formal means by which their awareness of chapel activities is formed. However, it seems to be clear that informally there is a more generalised view amongst prisoners of what chaplains do and what they can enable. It seems that they reflect Ben’s assertion that “candle lighting is an important part of our ministry here.” “Important” because it connects with the self of emotion and memory through the most personal and, frequently, the most painful areas of their lives; because it marks the giving of value to places, people and occasions to which they themselves ascribe value. It seems to signify a kind of passive determination to survive the mortification and deprivation processes of reception and subsequent prisonization. Goffman (1961, 31) remarks,
On the outside, the individual can hold objects of self-feeling – such as his body, his immediate actions, his thoughts, and some of his
possessions – clear of contact with alien and contaminating things. But in total institutions these territories of the self are violated; the boundary that the individual places between his being and the environment is invaded and the embodiments of self profaned. The lighting of a candle and its link with the correlative place, person or occasion can be seen as a re-embodiment of that self and being which have been invaded.
The universality of the pararitual suggests that Anglican chaplains, to a
greater extent than their colleagues of other faiths and denominations, fulfil a role analogous to the COE parish priest in terms of availability but also one which is at least comparable with that of the therapist. The distinction is to be seen, perhaps, in the openness and availability of the candle pararitual as against the relatively enclosed celebrations of the Eucharist in most prisons; whilst not actually closed, it is clearly more of a focus for a gathering of those who incline towards a tighter ritual with more explicit and specific religious
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associations. This too, though, tends towards reclamation and affirmation of individual selfhood since the liturgy crescendos from collective confession and absolution towards individual reception of the consecrated elements. In organisational terms this can be seen to have a number of apparently antithetical functions simultaneously. All the respondents who supplied these data are paid employees of the Prison Service or, in two instances, private contractors, and are therefore inescapably part of the institution and the wider system; for some commentators, such as Forrester (2000, 86), this may represent am inevitable level of compromise. On the other hand their terms of employment require that they undertake liturgical and pastoral activities which accentuate the individual rather than the collective and hence reclaim a small part, albeit a part which is important to the prisoner, of the self symbolically stripped down in the process of reception. The lighting of candles is frequent and almost universal in English and Welsh prisons, and is acknowledged as “an important part of our ministry.” We should not overstress the significance of one simple act but, while chaplains speak of the centrality of the Eucharist in their ministry, it appears that what is more central in terms of praxis is an imported pararitual which sits not only across multiple faiths but within secular therapeutic practice which ranges from the professional to the cosmetic. The ubiquity of candle lighting helps to frame the chaplain as offering a ministry where any distinctions between the religious and the secular are blurred or impermanent.
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