In Flemingsberg Church, people seek stillness, community and love. There is Helena Hedlund, the priest and parish pastor who wants to create a place where everyone can exist without demands or masks. A place where you are simply allowed to be.
It is quiet in the church. Outside, the rain is falling, but daylight falls over the pews like a soft blanket. On one of the pews sits a lone man with his eyes closed. Further away, a row of lit candles stands in a circle. I light one of them. A simple gesture, but in here it feels extra special. The flames tremble softly but flicker as soon as someone enters or leaves through the door.
I continue further into the parish hall. Muffled voices can be heard. There, in the middle of a conversation with a colleague, stands the parish pastor and priest Helena Hedlund. She smiles softly, nods and listens before ending the conversation. When she turns towards me, it is with the same warmth that characterises her attitude within the church.
”I believe in closeness and calm. I want a positive feeling to arise when people hear my name.”
Helena Hedlund has worked as a priest for more than twenty years. For some time now, she has also been the parish pastor in Flemingsberg, an area that is often described as a ”vulnerable area”. For Helena, this only makes the church more alive.
”It is both multicultural and multi-religious, but still live close to one another. It is so exciting.”
This closeness has followed her since childhood. She grew up in a Christian family, with both parents active in the church as leaders and a preacher. Her father also worked as a manager at a convalescent home. It was there that Helena truly learned that all people are equal and deserve help regardless of their background.
”I was a child in an environment where everyone, regardless of background, was allowed to be included. It influenced me a lot in how I think about the church and people.”
It was never her plan to become a priest, but today it feels as though being a priest has always been the obvious choice. To be there for people and make herself available, just as her parents had taught her. For her, the words ”free from demands” are of great importance. People can come here regardless of whether they have a problem or not. Some come for help with rent, social services or simply someone to talk to. Others come just for a moment of silence and to light a candle.
”I often think: where are those places where you don’t have to be anything? Cafés and cinemas are good, but then you have to buy something. The church should be a place like that, where you can simply come and be.”
Flemingsberg continues to grow. High-rise buildings are emerging around the station, and many may struggle with loneliness or anxiety about the future. In the middle of all this, Helena wants the church to stand as a breathing space for everyone, regardless of faith. Differences in culture or age can cause friction between some members of the congregation, but Helena always tries to meet them with the same patience that characterises her leadership.
”It is about talking when it happens. We learn from each other. Everyone is welcome in the church, that is important to me.”
Leading a congregation is a great responsibility. For Helena, who now has an expanded role, it has been difficult not to be as present among people as she was before, but she is dedicated to making a positive difference within the church. She wants to help develop a church where people, both visitors and colleagues, feel that she is there, that she sees them. That is how she wants to be remembered.
During our conversation, there is one phrase she keeps returning to: being allowed to be. The words linger in the air for a moment every time she says them. As if they contain more than just a thought. She dreams of the church as a place for everyone, regardless of background, faith or situation in life.
”We as human beings should be able to exist together in peace. I want people who come here to be able to leave and say: ’I was simply allowed to be.’”
Outside the parish hall windows, the rain has stopped and dusk is settling over Flemingsberg. In the square, people hurry past, all on their way somewhere. Inside the church, the candle I lit is still burning and the silence hangs in the air. In here, the stillness does not feel empty; it feels full. Here, I can simply be.
