I remember Saint Mark’s Place, it had writing on the risers of those steps. I wonder what the writing said. Like the times we had then, it has gone, and now Mark himself is gone too. “Saint” Mark, who made his mark, in Saint Mark’s Place. 

He would be the first to say he was no saint but, you know, now he has left us all and we look back, he kind of was. Or a prophet. Or an apostle. At any rate, one of the good guys. Who shone with the light of Christ. Maybe he flew too close to the sun, but he illumined all of us lower down. Mark wore his faith utterly and demonstrably on his sleeve and it would be nigh on impossible for me to give my own small eulogy without mentioning this most important part of his life. 

Yes, it was an anarchic, punk kind of faith, but so, so authentic. A rage in the darkness, as Andy Thornton, a great friend in common, would have put it. Glad you included The Psychedelic Furs in your influences in common, Jim. Mark even took me to meet his hero, frontman Richard Butler, whose New York apartment practically overlooked the basement where we held our services. 

You and me, Jim, we were not from the Mark’s group, Ichthus London, but we were made to feel so incredibly welcome as soul brothers working the same job, day and night. Nothing in those days made my heart warmer than seeing the real life self-identified punks whom we saw hanging out at Tompkins Square in the daytime attend our services at night. Services in which we had developed original liturgy, imagery, and dance worship music: EDM-based before EDM was even a thing Stateside. Remember the old Native American senior with the white beard who used to dance his own way? That’s a bit of an understatement, by the way. A wonderful and beautiful thing to see. And who was the Ichthus girl we knew who had coffee during outreach with a man who claimed to be a vampire? 

Kingdom: 1, World: nil. 

So as your lifelong buddy and ex-horn and keyboards player I had to come here to support you too Jim, as well as Mark’s memory, just like I supported you from my side of the stage, back in the day. I felt it more appropriate my comment came straight after yours rather than stood in isolation. For we were never in isolation during those times. 

We in Auntie Rose were a band of brothers sharing everything we had, and while we temporarily joined forces with Mark and Ichthus for that one intense summer month in the 90s, others back home then were praying for us continually, from communities in both London and Glasgow. And Mark, are you listening? We’re praying for you now.