Lilting notes from a chamber ensemble filled the Sipprelle Field House on Sunday, May 24 as parents and loved ones of the Class of 2026 filtered in, toting damp umbrellas, or, in the case of the family of Redda Brigety ’26, giant cardboard cutouts of their Saint’s head, which would prove to be a wonderful surprise for the graduate later in the ceremony.

Chilling winds and a steady rain forced the 93^rd Commencement Ceremony indoors, which was perhaps a fitting circumstance for the Class of 2026, whose hallmark, according to co-presidents Abraham Perry ’26 and Lila Lunsford ’26, was the ability to embrace the unexpected. “We learned early on that things don’t always go according to plan,” the duo wrote in the preface to the Story of Us, a book of senior reflections. “But our grade’s defining characteristic is that we go all in, regardless of the outcome.”

Much to their delight—and in a lovely nostalgic echo of their first St. Andrew’s Frosty Run—the 74 members of the Class of 2026 packed into busses at Founders Hall one last time and were driven to the Old Gym to protect them from the rain.

St. Andrew's Board of Trustees Chair Richard B. Vaughan, Sr. ’88 P’24,’27 opened the program, and spoke of the traditions that bind.

“Traditions at St. Andrew’s foster identity and belonging, link generations of students, and reinforce the values on which the school is built,” he said. “And by all accounts, the Class of 2026 has done a spectacular job of honoring the traditions entrusted to them, and have done so with passion and perseverance.”

Vaughan welcomed the class to the alumni community, and charged them to take seriously their role of stewards of the school's future. “We ask you to stay connected, give back any way you can, and always help your fellow St. Andreans when asked—and in your future lives, find ways to create new traditions that reinforce and share your St. Andrew’s values with the communities that you build.”

Next, Head of School Joy McGrath ’92 (notably absent was her trademark Commencement hat, a casualty of the indoor ceremony) turned first to the parents in the room—many of whom had watched their children leave home at 14—and thanked them for their trust. “You made this moment possible: the learning and growth, the community, the friendships,” she said. “Your generosity has made us all better, stronger, and wiser, and our world will be better for it.”

She then reflected on a moment from a Chapel Talk delivered by Enid Appiah ’26 during Senior Week.

“She shared that one thing she had learned at St. Andrew's is that faith can coexist with profound uncertainty,” McGrath said. “This comment stopped my heart—that you have learned this here, that you can live with conviction even as you do not know what lies ahead. 'Faith and learning,' our school motto, means that you can believe and still question.

"I hope you feel how much confidence we have in you: in your integrity, your curiosity, your decency, and imagination,” McGrath continued. “You will need this confidence in an uncertain world. But you have practiced it here, and you know how to get up again when you fall, how to ask for help, and how to connect with and inspire those you may find beside you."

John M. Seabrook ’76—distinguished longform journalist with The New Yorker and author of many books of nonfiction—unwittingly composed the perfect address to a class already known for its penchant to embrace the pivot. He advised them to acknowledge something he wished he had when he was sitting in their position five decades ago: that their intellectual journey might not serendipitously align with the opportunities the world would offer them. Their careers may lie behind a door they’ve yet to even learn exists.

“All those hours I spent closely observing and reporting on a colony of pine beetles in a dead log in the woods near Noxontown Pond, would end up being put to use not in a laboratory as a researcher, or even in the practice of science,” Seabrook said of his own path of self-discovery. “Instead—spoiler alert!—the hours will lead to a long career of writing nonfiction for The New Yorker, where I would study and report on colonies not of beetles, but of people."

Seabrook was wistful remembering his Commencement, yet adamant that there is no true end to the journey of a St. Andrean. The friendships, mentorship, the joy of learning, the faith—they come along for the ride. “Your SAS experience is a moveable feast,” he said. “And your real diploma, your credential, is not the document you're getting today—your credential is your prepared mind. A prepared mind possesses critical thinking skills, and it has the ability to adapt, to learn, unlearn, and relearn—to live with uncertainty and keep moving."

Co-presidents Perry and Lunsford offered their final reflections of their time on the pond, each leaning into the sensory experience of St. Andrew’s.

Perry told the story of what St. Andrew’s felt like to him—pencil in hand, sketching out the frames of what would eventually be a graphic novel in Chinese about an environmental justice super hero. Pond water slicking his arms  as he churned harder and faster in a crew shell. The warmth of an Engelhard spotlight on his face as he delivered lines (in a British accent, no less) in the fall play. Not a single one of these choices—Chinese, crew, theater—would have been made, Perry noted, if not for his St. Andrew’s self.

“The person I am now only exists because I kept choosing to opt in, even when it felt weird or uncomfortable,” he said. “I said ‘yes.’ Here's to all the things we said yes to, and to whomever we said yes to them with.”

For Lunsford, it’s the sound of St. Andrew’s that she’ll never quite shake. Sneakers on hardwood and enthusiastic screaming as the girls basketball team rushed the court—smack in the middle of the quarter—to celebrate a teammate’s first three-pointer. The splash of the water after the intentional flip of a canoe. The chatter of late-night conversations drifting through dorm. Voices echoing through the woods. A soaring high note sung by a senior in the Andrean Choir.

“We are a class of undeniable voices. As we leave here, we may forget schedules, assignments, and tables, but we’ll never forget the sound of the Class of 2026,” she said. “Years from now, something in the sound of footsteps echoing down a hallway or laughter carrying across a room, we will hear of the sound of St. Andrew’s again.”

A sound to be added to the St. Andrew’s canon: the raucous applause from the III Form section that punctuated the ceremony—the continuous, staccato sound of gratitude as the youngest Saints showed love to their senior Big Siblings.

Before the awarding of diplomas, the following Commencement Awards, as voted on by faculty, were presented:

• Robert T. Jordan Award: Jonathan Josue Castellanos
• Christopher Wilson Award and Scholarship: Eden Appiah
• The Cristin C. Duprey Diversity and Inclusivity Award: Kayden Murrell and Janie Sarang Kim
• Jonathan B. O'Brien Head of School Award: Margaret Mead Gilheany
• John McGiff Fine Arts Award: JiaHe Zhu and Margaux Guillissen Firmenich
• The Henry Prize: William Dormer Robinson and Miriam Claire Hulsey
• The King Prize: JiaHe Zhu
• The Founder’s Medal: JiaHe Zhu
• William H. Cameron Award: Joseph Leonard Teti III and William Dormer Robinson
• St. Andrew’s Cross: Abraham Debessay Perry

As every St. Andrean knows, all paths lead to the Front Lawn. It's where the Class of 2026 first met the peers and adults who would become their closest friends and mentors. It's where the whole school gathers on Opening Weekend to do a dance that no one truly knows, but that's the point: we figure it out together. So despite the lingering drizzle, as the day drew to a close, with diplomas clutched in hands, the Class of 2026 hoisted white dresses above ankles and squelched dress shoes through the mud to gather again where it all began.

Laughter rose across the Front Lawn as they took photos, embraced, took one last moment on the T-Dock, and lingered in the place that had held them for years. Soon they would pass through the front gate as alumni. But the Front Lawn would remain, and the pond beyond it, and the mist rising slowly off the water—carrying, as it always has, the voices of every class that ever gathered here.

Watch Commencement 2026  and see all the moments. (Senior parents, we suggest having a tissue ready!)