Meet the funeral celebrant: Susy McPhee

Meet Susy, one of our new humanist funeral celebrants. Susy McPhee is now a registered Humanist Society Scotland funeral celebrant and joins our dedicated team providing humanist funeral and memorial ceremonies for her community in Argyll.

We caught up with Susy to get to know her a bit more and find out what humanism and being a humanist funeral celebrant means to her.

Hello and welcome Susy! Can you tell us a bit about yourself and your background?

Absolutely! I’ve spent most of my professional life as a writer, everything from technical documentation to novels (five and counting). I studied French and Russian at university and harboured vague notions of becoming a spy. That ambition never came to fruition, though I did once find myself training rocket scientists in the former Soviet Union. I hold a black belt in Shotokan Karate (please don’t pick a fight with me though, as it’s been a while), and I know how to milk a goat…you never know when a skill like that might come in handy! I have three grown-up daughters, a husband I’m still crazy about after 43 years of marriage, and two Golden Retrievers (a bad choice when your job often requires you to dress in black). After travelling the globe for my work in a former life, I now live and work in the wilds of Argyll.

What does being a humanist funeral celebrant mean to you?

Being a humanist funeral celebrant is an enormous privilege. To me, it’s about capturing the essence of a life – who someone was, what made them laugh, what they loved – and weaving that into a ceremony that feels honest, heartfelt, and meaningful. It’s about telling someone’s story in a way that brings comfort, warmth, and even the occasional chuckle through the tears.

Why did you make the decision to become a funeral celebrant?

I blame fellow Humanist Society Scotland funeral celebrant Vivienne Hyndman entirely for it! She made the leap some years ago and I remember her telling me it was the best job she’d ever had. It lit her up when she talked about it. I remember thinking back then, I want some of that! But it wasn’t until my husband Iain and I moved to Argyll that I felt I had the space in my life to take that step. It just made sense to me. I love people’s stories, and I’ve always believed that the way we say goodbye should reflect the person we’ve lost. Funerals don’t have to be dreary or formulaic – they can be as unique as the person we’re remembering. Being able to help families create a send-off that truly feels right is something I find deeply rewarding.

Humanism, to me, is about celebrating life in all its messy, beautiful, ridiculous glory. And when it comes to saying goodbye, it’s about making sure we do it in a way that truly honours the life lived.

What do you hope to achieve in your role as a funeral celebrant?

If I can help even one person feel a little lighter in the midst of their grief, then I’ve done my job. I want families to walk away from a ceremony feeling that their loved one was truly seen and celebrated. And if, somewhere in the service, I can bring a moment of warmth or even a small smile through the sadness, that’s a gift.

How were you first introduced to humanism, and what does it mean to you?

I think I’ve always been a humanist – it just took me a while to realise there was a name for it! I found that out about thirty years ago at the funeral of a dear family friend called Charlie, and it honestly blew me away to realise there was a different way to say goodbye to someone. The celebrant said that Charlie didn’t believe in an afterlife – he believed in people. And I thought, wait – that’s what I believe too! It changed my life. I felt like someone had given me permission to believe what was in my own heart instead of what I’d learned through family and school. I believe in kindness, in looking out for each other, and in making meaning in the here and now.

Humanism, to me, is about celebrating life in all its messy, beautiful, ridiculous glory. And when it comes to saying goodbye, it’s about making sure we do it in a way that truly honours the life lived.

Are there any poems or readings which bring you comfort?

One that really resonates with me is ‘The Peace of Wild Things’ by Wendell Berry. A friend of mine wrote this in a card to me after my dad died. It’s incredibly moving and I still draw comfort from it.

I recently wrote a piece of poetry for a ceremony I conducted with my mentor, Belinda. I read it at the graveside of the deceased, whose name was Murray. He ran the local shop in Dunbeg and had been born and raised in Oban. Over 300 people came to his funeral. He loved being outdoors, building camp fires for his nephews and niece, and kayaking on Loch Eck. I had ‘Bilbo’s Last Song’ in my head when I was writing it. The last few lines just move me so much:

Ship! My ship! I seek the West
And fields and mountains ever blest.
Farewell to middle-earth at last.
I see the stars above my mast.

That spirit of adventure seemed to encapsulate what I learned about Murray, so I tried to channel Tolkein when I wrote his poem, which I called Endless Skies:

Day is done, the river calls,
Its waters glint where twilight falls.
The paddle rests, the fire dies
Beneath the stars of endless skies.

No trail remains, no map to guide,
Yet onward flows the gentle tide.
The forest whispers, soft and low,
‘Come now, where quiet currents flow.’

And though I leave the paths I’ve known,
I’ll camp beneath the great unknown.
The mountains fade, the shore draws near:
My highland world, so vast, so clear.

So light a fire, and let it blaze,
I’ll be there in its dancing flames.
Sing life’s sweet song, let spirits soar:
These hills are mine forevermore.

The family loved it and said it really captured their loved one, which was what I was hoping for.