Anne's Homily

They were amazed and afraid and said to one another, ‘Who then is this, that he commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him?’ Luke 8: 25

My father was not really in charge of the ocean or the weather. But because he understood the sea and the wind so completely, because he studied them carefully and respected their power, because he devoted so much intelligence and passion to things nautical, he did seem almost to tame the elements.

But he knew better. He knew awful majesty of the sea and the caprices of the sky, and he took care to be canny, and prepared. And so he prospered on the water throughout his long and rich and happy life, cruising and racing and day tripping, exploring and adventuring, a risk-taker but never a daredevil. He introduced several generations of friends and family to the pleasures of sailing, he entertained us and instructed us and gave us innumerable gifts of delight and memory.

And we always felt safe. Sandy surrounded us with the comfort of his expertise, his even-temperedness, his good humor, his kindness and his patience, and we always felt safe. Because, unlike Jesus, Dad never fell asleep at the helm.

And what was true of yachting was true of the rest of life, as well. My father was the least fearful person I’ve ever known – not foolhardy, not at all, but, it seemed, never afraid, rarely anxious, always intrepid. And that calm, modest, steady sense of personal confidence was contagious, I think.

Contagious, and attractive. He married a woman with her own courage and passion, her own resolute adventuresome spirit, and together they raised us – five of us! – they raised us all to believe we could do anything we wanted, achieve anything we truly cared about. They encouraged us to explore, to go on our own adventures, to take risks, but not recklessly. They set high standards for us, by word and example, but they never reacted harshly when we got off course temporarily. We always felt safe.

And so it was in Sandy’s professional life as well. He was a natural leader and he inspired loyalty in his associates, confidence in his customers. Coupled with his intrepidness was his absolute integrity, his genuineness; this was a man absolutely without guile, without indirection. He was so secure in himself, he saw so clearly, that evasion and equivocation were foreign to him. He was absolutely trustworthy.
How does such character develop? It’s one of God’s mysteries, I think, even to those of us who knew Dad longest and most intimately. We all know that Sandy was not a religious man, not in the church-going sense, and at the same time we all know the strength of his spirit, a strength and a spirit that continued to grow and deepen during the trials of his long illness.

Perfect love casts out fear, St Paul tells us. And maybe that’s the key to Sandy. Dad loved life. He loved it without restraint, without reservation. He loved our mother more than anything in the world, he loved his children, he loved sailing, he loved his work, he loved all his many undertakings. He was so unequivocally enthusiastic that perhaps there wasn’t much room left in his soul for doubt or fear.

He loved life. When he heard the cancer diagnosis six years ago, almost the first thing he said was, I’ve had a wonderful life. And he did. He made it wonderful, full of wonder. And he made it wonderful for all of us who were privileged to know him and to love him.

Jesus said, I came that they might have life, and have it with abundance. Abundant life, that was God’s gift to Sandy, and Sandy’s gift to us. May he rest in peace, May he be with God.

Amen.