Imagine, if you will, me as a twelve-year-old boy. Hardly the dashingly handsome young man that stands before you, I was the same weight I am now, but a good foot shorter, with crisply parted hair and glasses that covered the vast majority of my chipmunk-cheeked face. I had arrived in town just in time for a Wednesday afternoon rehearsal, where I was greeted warmly-- for the most part. Will, the current head boy, led me over to a spot next to him so he could show me how they did things at St. Luke’s, so I settled in and started looking over the music I’d been handed. Right about then I received a sudden blow to my side, and heard someone say “Hey! Out of my spot!” I was already nervous, being the new guy, and this assault by an invisible chorister was almost more than I could handle, until I looked down and saw a boy who came up to about my elbow. I made a mental note to avoid him from then on out. His name, I later learned, was Mark Shuldiner. Most of you know how well THAT resolution turned out.

There really is a point to that story, aside from an attempt at humor. I was extremely insecure at that point in my life. I had just uprooted and moved not only to a different time zone, but miles and miles away from the East Coast, which had been my lifelong home, into the strange and unknown lands called the Midwest. Yet in the midst of all this uncertainty, I was dropped off in front of that beautiful neo-gothic sanctuary we know so well, and I was immediately embraced into a community of people united in Christ through a common passion. St. Luke’s made Evanston my home that day, and the choir and parish became a very real family for me, even those among you who I didn’t start off on the right foot with.

We’ve shared many amazing experiences over the years, most of which are hard to name. Whether we were at Six Flags or St. Paul’s Cathedral, playing hacky sack and dying our hair or singing Parry or Howells or Bairstow or whomever, the joy came not from the location or activity, but from the company. Playing Frisbee in the hail wouldn’t have been the same if the boys hadn’t roughed it through and kept on going. It wouldn’t have been as fun to ram someone else with a go-kart instead of Friedland. There’s a song I've listened to and enjoyed since I was a child whose chorus goes: “It’s not the pot that grows the flower/It’s not the clock that slows the hour/The definition’s plain for anyone to see/Love is all it takes to make a family.” Many from my St. Lukes family are here tonight. Many others are not, having graduated themselves or moved away or joined other parishes. But present or not, they and you will always be remembered as my family, and I can’t think of a higher compliment I can give.