Memorial Mass Homily

Memorial Mass for James N. Loughran, S.J.
January 17, 2007
Homily delivered by James F. Kuntz, S.J.


James N. Loughran, S.J. was 66 years old when he fell to his death while descending a staircase in the house where he worked and lived. Though he did not choose the circumstances of his death, he died as he lived: in full control of his powers, doing what he loved, and as he loved to do it, doubters: get to the side. This, in the best traditions of Brooklyn, and of Ireland. He met death, as he met life, head on, no fear, at peace with himself, authentic, flawed and redeemed by Jesus Christ.

The afternoon of the day he died, Jim hosted the Staff Christmas party, one of the social obligations he enjoyed. As the staff members walked around McIntyre, eating and drinking, shepherding their children, sharing with each other their happy plans for the Christmas vacation, Jim was at peace. "This is Saint Peter's, a good event," he told me, in the minute or two we shared, that brief a time because duty called, and Jim would want to speak with each member of the College community. Truly, this was a banquet of good food and wine.

And if we are not quite yet at the Lord's mountaintop, Jim would have been the first person to say: "No longer mourn for me. The Lord has wiped every tear from my cheek, let him do the same for you." I don't know anyone who would have desired grief from us less than Jim. Don't be troubled.

I know he loved wit, and had a wonderful sense of humor, even though the occasions I evoked it were exceedingly rare. The Gettysburg Address was a sentence too long. Jose Lopez, perhaps you had better luck than I.

And in his hierarchy of leadership values, accountability took pride of place. "Who's in charge?" was his battle cry. It came to annoy the hell out of me around the hundredth time I heard it. And that was in my first month of working with him. I miss it now, both because of the hard-earned wisdom it reveals, and simply, because he said it, and I miss him.

He was a tough man, in the best traditions of Brooklyn and Ireland, but even tough men sometimes show that deeper, better part of their nature. His work generally kept him at a distance from students, but those who came to know him somehow, who worked in the President's Office, or represented the Student Senate, or spent any time with Jim, loved him, and he loved them.

His best friends on the faculty and staff were those who came to know him, and respect him, even when they disagreed with him. His goal was to meet, and remember, every person who worked at the College. Student, maintenance worker, faculty member, dean, coach, cleaner -all were the same to Jim, beloved, though frequently at a distance.

And that was duty as well. Can't get too close; duty calls; the work is unfinished, the work is of such importance that we must sacrifice to achieve it, and that sacrifice was sometimes personal, and of great cost.

His life mirrors ours, doesn't it? Life at the College is sometimes trying, challenging us where we are weakest. We lose track of ourselves, don't we? Grades slip, disciplined study is a dream, or even a nightmare. Friendships are at risk, our hearts are troubled, our future is uncertain, we worry about violence and failure, we have lost our way. We are isolated, alone, no one cares, no one cares for us. As Yeats said, "The centre cannot hold." Jim knew, as you do, that life is difficult, and sometimes painful.

Toward you students, more than any other group, he was faithful to our slogan: Education: One Student at a Time. He cared. He wanted to follow up on every student illness, injury, suspension, accident, painful loss. "What are we doing here? What more can we do? Who is following up?" Every student inquiry he received at the President's Office was given to me: "Make sure this doesn't fall through the cracks." Every one of you mattered in Jim's mind, each one of you was loved.

He didn't slouch toward Bethlehem, as Yeats would have it, he was slouching toward Jerusalem. (Rewrite Yeats? Of course, what's the use of being a Jesuit if you can't be arrogant, at least in the search for the greater truth.)

And that was Jim's greater truth. He believed in Jesus Christ, and in the sense of community at the heart of his message. In the best traditions of Brooklyn, and of Ireland.

My most cherished memory of Jim is the recollection of his description of this fall's Glee Club Reunion. He called it the best event of his entire 11 years at Saint Peter's College. What, you might say? A man with four college presidencies, well-traveled, sophisticated, with more than his fair share of acquaintance with wealth, power, prestige, achievement, academic excellence - the Glee Club reunion?

By all means, yes. For in this was met all that Jim loved, about Saint Peter's, and about life itself. The old singers remembering the old College songs, and singing them with fervor meant for him not just nostalgia, but the active loving presence that was, and is, Saint Peter's. And then he experienced the equal depth, passion and intensity of today's Choir and today's singers, fresh, alive, rich futures ahead, joining their musical ancestors in song, with deep appreciation on both sides.

He saw and loved that: he was deeply moved. Honestly, I never saw him cry, but he choked up, there was profound emotion, there was community and love at the heart of this man.

In the fullness of time, he has reached his eternal reward; but in life, the reward lay just beyond his grasp. He quoted the author Pete Hamill fondly: "All my life, I have had a Jesuit at my shoulder, saying "Not good enough." And one of his dearest stories was to quote his father, after a major event, where Jim had given a speech: "Not one of your best, Jimmy," was his father's take. In the best traditions of Brooklyn, and of Ireland.

Now he is at peace, the strife is over, the battle won. His spirit reminds us not of himself or his considerable achievements, but of who we are, and of the community we can, we must become. He saw it as his duty never to let us get away with anything, and then he got away, shockingly, and all too soon. But we trust that he is in the Father's house, preparing a place for us, telling all who will listen about this wonderful little College in Jersey City.

In the best tradition of Brooklyn, and of Ireland, and with the love of a great heart.