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Upon his death ...
a poem for Father Mac MacMillan
by Mother Gwendolyn-Jane Romeril

A giant entered
Heaven’s gates
walking without
a limp.  He wore
the Kilt of his Clan,
a Balmoral, and was
preceded by Pipes.

His gentle smile
and kind ways
invited us into
Colum Cille for
conversations of
some depth. Mac
served hot tea and
scones. Surrounded
by books and icons
we were at home.

At Eucharist in his
room last week he
was quiet, radiant,
and peaceful all the
while actively detaching
from this world,
moving into the next.

His giant heart and brain
served the Church for many
years – social justice,
champion of blacks, women
and gays, liturgical scholar,
eminent theologian, historian,
teacher of the faith.  How many
begged him to write a book to
capture his wisdom and wit?

His deep faith of our Lord
was woven into his life so
meticulously that to be with
him was to be with Jesus.  A
man of prayer disciplined to
kneeling, he knelt with his soul
when his body refused to bend
to the  posture he loved.

A profile in courage as he dealt
with personal grief, pain and
physical diminishment, we marveled
that his heart and brain stayed
the course.  In his 80th year he
wrote an icon, his brush dancing
with the Holy Spirit.  He chose
life, and a wife, to live life
again to the full.  The Celtic
connection was strong.  It passes
now to the generations in his train. 

Priest, colleague, Father Confessor,
friend, husband, father, grandfather,
witness to the faith, you bless us
still.  Your presence remains strong
even as we release you to the Banquet.
The Holy One awaits.  Thanks be to God.

                Gwendolyn-Jane Romeril
                10 September 2008


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