But Haley discovered that the comet that would ultimately be named after him traveled in an extended ellipse. The comet swung out into the heart of space and the stuff of stars, then it circled back towards the sun, closer and closer until the comet burned so brightly that it could be seen in daylight with the naked eye.

In its travels Haley's comet encircles a huge area that includes our solar system and deep space. We can trace the boundaries with mathematics but we can read the truth of Halley's discovery not only in his notes, but on the Bayeux tapestry.

Halley saw the comet with his own eyes in 1682. But the comet's image is stitched into the lower right corner of the Bayeux tapestry. That tapestry memorializes the Battle of Hastings of 1066 at which Halley's comet terrified the troops. Scholars who were born long after Halley's death uncovered documents that indicate that the Chinese observed a moving bright light in the daytime sky that was probably Halley's comet. The Chinese documents to which I am referring date to before the birth of Christ.

Why is a funeral homily for Doug Small concerned with a light in the sky, the Battle of Hastings, ancient Chinese authors and a dead English astronomer? Sometimes we see some light but do not perceive the pattern. One more tidbit about Edmond Halley and we will begin to see that Edmond Halley and Doug Small traveled along a segment of a much larger orbit. Let me trace its outline.

Halley was not just the discover of comets. He was responsible for discovering the holy grail of sailors- a better method of computing longitude. Doug Small's ability to take his family out sailing, and get them back again, can be directly traced to Halley's work centuries before Doug was born.

As delightful as peanut butter and bacon sandwiches may be to some, the prospect of returning to dry land and more substantial fare was much enhanced because of the contribution of a man Doug's family had never met. We are all connected in a myriad of ways. Some connections are obvious, others require that we spend some time in contemplation if we would see them.

We all travel in an orbit around the sun. I do not mean the flaming orb that hangs aloft at noon. I point instead to the Son of God. We may pass through long stretches of darkness in our lifetime, times of difficulty and isolation, but we are inevitably drawn back through the power of the Son.

Illness, or sadness, or loss, or fear may propel us into darkness. But those forces are no match for the attraction of the Son. Darkness is only one part of our extended journey.

Doug experienced diminishment of his abilities and a shrinking of his range of travels, for a time, in the last few years of his life. But as Doug sailed away from this shore Monday night and in doing so he was drawn back into the warm and radiance that is found nearer to the Son.

And let us not forget all those years that Doug walked and rode and drove across hill and dale all over Monkton. Sparkling dew on green grass, new leaves whispering affirmation overhead, the crying of hounds out in front- all these were lights in the firmament in the noon of Doug's life.

We have much to celebrate as we remember and trace the outline of Doug's journey. I remember warm and gentle conversation as we walked slowly together toward the church. I would see Doug just before eight in the morning. We would greet each other with fondness. We shared a deep sense of comfort in the words of the prayerbook and in the sharing of communion.

There is one more story about navigation that I need to share. Near the end of Doug's life I went to visit him at home. I carried my communion kit. My kit is the color of night sky, but banded with light. Doug and I sat on the porch and let the familiar words wash over us. We shared the bread and the cup. Part of the power of communion is in its cycling regularity. We circle around the Son in a weekly orbit. This small circle prepares us to perceive our larger journey in a greater light. Doug and I basked in the glow of the late afternoon sun. Then we got into his car.

Doug drove on the grass of the backyard toward the fields on the far side of the farm. We went down inclines I was sure would deliver us upside down to death into the road so far below. We somehow traversed ruts that seem large enough to swallow grazing animals. Then we drove straight for the trees. The outline of my clenched fingers are probably still on the dashboard.

But just as we neared the copse of trees, the path became visible in the dim light. We drove through the rustle of old leaves and the sense of things fading away. But we emerged in the sunlight, followed by Doug's faithful dog. Like a priest on Rogation Day beating the bounds of his parish, Doug had traced his domain with his companions.

It is good to recall the range of our footsteps on this earth. And it is well to remember that they are but a segment of a larger journey. We must slip the bounds of earth to complete our travels. Doug has set sail but he is not lost.

We know from words and images more certain than any tapestry that Doug has journeyed back into the light.

Of course we will miss him. But in time we will be where he is. Nothing drawn to the Son is lost. God who created the comets and the stars, who made the sea and all that is in it, stands at the center of our coming in and our going out. So let us look up and rejoice. AMEN.