Norman Wilson

A large part of today has been taken up with the funeral of one of our elders, Norman Wilson. I've known Norman for over thirty years and have had the highest regard for the man: he's always been something of a father figure, and I feel his passing keenly.

Here's the substance of the address given at the service of thanksgiving today.

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"In one of his later letters the apostle Paul writes this –

Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners – of whom I am the worst. But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his unlimited patience as a rough sketch for those who would believe on him and receive eternal life. [1 Tim.1.15f]

I think Norman would have wished to insist that the deepest truth of all about his life is simply this – he was shown mercy by God.

We often misunderstand the full measure of that mercy of God in the gospel by thinking of it purely in terms of the forgiving love of God: whereas in reality, as Paul himself underlined, the mercy of God is seen most supremely of all in the transforming power of God in Jesus Christ.

God’s mercy to Paul, in other words, was seen at its fullest in his sculpting, with such patience and care, the very likeness of Christ in this man: and producing thereby a rough sketch, for all the world to see – a rough sketch of a transformed humanity, renewed by the Spirit and restored to all of its former pristine glory and more besides: a rough and ready picture, that is, of what true manhood is meant to be, and one day, by the mercy and grace of the Lord, shall be.

And when I say that the deepest truth about Norman’s life is that this man was shown mercy by God, it’s that which I want to affirm: that in this quiet, humble believer, Jesus Christ displayed his extraordinary ability patiently to fashion out of an ordinary man a picture for us all of what true manhood’s meant to be.

Perhaps the most striking depiction of what such manhood looks like is found in the book of Job, as that battered, godly believer rehearses the contours of his living in these terms: listen to this and see if it does not remind you of all that Norman himself has been –

"When I went to the gate of the city

and took my seat in the public square,
the young men saw me and stepped aside

and the old men rose to their feet;
the chief men refrained from speaking

and covered their mouths with their hands;
the voices of the nobles were hushed,

and their tongues stuck to the roof of their mouths.
Whoever heard me spoke well of me,

and those who saw me commended me,
because I rescued the poor who cried for help,

and the fatherless who had none to assist him.
The man who was dying blessed me;

I made the widow's heart sing.
I put on righteousness as my clothing;

justice was my robe and my turban.
I was eyes to the blind

and feet to the lame.
I was a father to the needy;

I took up the case of the stranger.
Men listened to me expectantly,

waiting in silence for my counsel.
After I had spoken, they spoke no more;

my words fell gently on their ears.
They waited for me as for showers

and drank in my words as the spring rain.
When I smiled at them, they scarcely believed it;

the light of my face was precious to them.
I chose the way for them and sat as their chief;

I dwelt as a king among his troops;

I was like one who comforts mourners.

Don’t you think that paints a vivid picture of the man that Norman was? Don’t these words evoke within your mind and heart a very ready memory of the sort of life he lived?

And don’t they stir some sense within your spirit that this is what the Lord is like, that this is what true manhood’s meant to look like, that this is what the great transforming power of God in Jesus Christ will fashion in a man whose heart, as Norman’s unambiguously was, is given to the Lord?

This is the essence of the mercy of God: his transforming love and power in Jesus Christ whereby we are not only given a new start, but made new people; not only forgiven but fashioned anew; not only cleansed, but changed from one degree of glory to another until at last transformed in to the likeness of Christ himself.

That is the essence of the mercy of God. And that is the heart of the story of Norman’s life.

Now that story, at a merely human level, can be told quite simply. His roots were in the highlands, for he was born and brought up in Mallaig, where his parents had moved with their oldest son, Stephen, a year or so prior to Norman’s being born.

His parents were a kind and gracious couple with humble origins and warm and generous hearts; his father a railwayman from the Borders who now drove the locomotives up and down the West Highland Line.

His secondary schooling took him off to Fort William, where he stayed as a boarder through the week. And it was in Fort William that he started his life as a banker. It was the National Bank back then, but that was where his notable, lengthy career with the Royal Bank had its source.

That career in the bank took him, over the years, to Edinburgh, Falkirk and Largs, before returning once more to the capital here in retirement.

It was through the bank as well, of course, that he thus first met the woman who in time would be his wife. It was while he was working in Falkirk that Norman and Moira first met.

They were married back in 1954, and blessed with three fine children; children who, as the years passed by, would bestow on their parents the gift of their six lovely grandchildren.

And then, with his growing infirmity, these last few years have been spent in the care of the staff at The Tor, where he peacefully passed from this life last week.

A son and a brother: a husband and father: a father-in-law and a grandpa: a colleague, a

neighbour, a friend: a treasurer, gardener, guide: a manager, elder and patient.

His story can surely be told in all sorts of ways, through all sorts of eyes, from all sorts of different perspectives.

But the really significant story of Norman’s long life is the story of God’s remarkable grace, whereby there was chiselled out in this man’s life a three-dimensional masterpiece, portraying, for us all to see, the beauty and the dignity, the moral strength and stature of a godly man intent on following Christ.

Let me try and highlight what I mean by that in these brief ways.

He was first a gentle-man. Courteous, kind, considerate. Soft-spoken, warm-hearted, gentle in his manner and approach to one and all.

I have known him for over thirty years, and not once in all those years have I known him to be anything other than that. He has been a support and a strength, an encourager, counsellor, friend.

Never once has there been a harsh word. Never once has there been any hint of impatience or scorn. Never once has there been any attitude other than a wholesome respect and a genuine, welcoming heart.

I think it quite extraordinary that even in the Nursing Home, his world, just like his mind, so much confused – I find it quite extraordinary that even there his gentlemanly courtesy remained, a welcome and a gratitude as real and warm and genuine as ever it had been.

No clearer mark of the grace of God upon a mortal man is maybe found than that: that even in infirmity, the traits of Jesus Christ remain.

He was, moreover, an altogether righteous man. A man of principle; a man of deep, unfailing loyalty; a man of real integrity.

He leads me in paths of righteousness, the psalmist wrote, for his own name’s sake.

The King of Love was indeed his shepherd through all the spheres of life: and it was the path of righteousness which Norman sought to walk.

He was meticulous in the detail of his working life. His staff would not be allowed to leave until the balances were made – down to the smallest detail. He led the way in ensuring that integrity was matched by industry, and understood full well (in ways that seem the absolute antithesis of modern life) that work is not the place for self-advancement but a sphere for selfless service.

I put on righteousness as my clothing;

justice was my robe and my turban.
I was eyes to the blind

and feet to the lame.
I was a father to the needy;

I took up the case of the stranger.

I read that and I think of Norman in his banking life: I read that and I think of Norman as a pastor of the people in his care: I read that and I think of Norman as a neighbour, as a friend.

And as I think on that and how it all was illustrated well in Norman’s life, it makes me all the more resolved myself to put on righteousness as my clothing – to live like that, to be eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame, and father to the needy and to take up the case of the stanger.

A father to the needy.

Yes, he was as well a family man. From long, long years ago, I saw the way he loved and honoured Moira. From long, long years ago, I saw the way his sons admired and loved their Dad, I saw the way his daughter thought the world of him and maybe as a daughter only can adored this godly man.

I know what he’s been as a father-in-law. I know what he’s been as a grandpa. I know what his grand-daughter meant when she wrote in her own child-like way, I love having you as my Grandpa.

And I know that those words said it all for all of the clan.

"the light of my face was precious to them," said Job so long ago.

And that’s how it was, I believe, for Norman and his family as well. The light of his face was precious indeed to them all.

And indeed to us all, too. For he was a truly lovely man. There was a glint in his eyes, a boyish sort of mischief and a playful sort of sparkle in his warm, effusive smile.

There was a kindly sort of humour and an ease about the way he got alongside all the children, and gave each of them such fun.

There was a measured sort of wisdom and a quiet, clear encouragement in all the varied counsel that he gave. He always seemed to understand, he always gave the sense that somehow he was there for you and always on your side. He always made you feel that you could make it, and that things would be all right.

Whoever heard me spoke well of me, and those who saw me commended me, because I rescued the poor who cried for help, and the fatherless who had none to assist him. The man who was dying blessed me; I made the widow's heart sing.

I think he made all our hearts sing.

I think he stirred in our hearts the song of the saints on high, as they revel in that mercy of almighty God in Jesus Christ whereby we are so wonderfully transformed. I think he stirred deep down in our hearts the sense that this is what we long for, that this is what we’re summoned to, that this is what’s made possible through Jesus Christ.

And therefore Norman would wish me to end, as the apostle himself ends the passage with which I began, by ascribing all praise and honour to God himself.

Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory for ever and ever."