Funeral of Alastair McMillan
We gather here today in St Mary’s Church for the funeral of Alastair McMillan. We have heard the family speak with pride of one who was their father and who also became their friend. This is not just a funeral service but also a service of thanksgiving, a time to reflect on all that we have received in this quiet, understated man, as husband, as father, grandfather, friend.
He grew up in a strong Presbyterian tradition – his father’s Christian name of John Knox bears ample testimony to that. He was the first infant to be baptised in Howth Presbyterian Church. It came through in taking pleasure in simple things, a distrust of fuss, one who took great pride in his family. There was a serenity to him and a very practical down to earth approach. At the heart of it all, there was a simple, sincerely held, no-nonsense spirituality. One sensed that here was a man at peace with himself.
For the last few years, Alastair and Muriel have worshipped here in St Mary’s. In that time Alastair has made his own quiet, thoughtful contribution. He served for a while on the Select Vestry, offering his engineering skills to the Rectory project. Again, at the heart of it all a regular participation in Sunday worship – a very rare Sunday when he would not be here.
Alastair lived to a good age – well past the three score years and ten. He was blessed with remarkable health and strength. Still regular in his golf, his sailing, still undertaking projects. The suddenness of his death has caught us all off balance. That suddenness is a reminder of the tenuous hold we all have on life. But as I look back over his life, Alastair has left us with a lesson of living each day, enjoying his golf, his sailing, his family, his life long habits of worship. In that mix there is the contentment and peace of mind he so clearly found.
We pray that you may know something of the presence of the God who Alastair sought in worship throughout his life; that in his presence you may find peace and hope both for yourselves and for Alastair.
The following is a poem that sets our hope for Alastair and for ourselves in the context of the sailing traditions of this place:
A Parable of Immortality. I am standing by the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, ‘There she goes! ‘ Gone where? Gone from my sight - that is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the places of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says, ‘There she goes!’, there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout : ‘Here she comes!’