I will forever be proud to call myself a student of Martin Marty
Dr.
Martin Marty, a theologian, writer and longtime professor at the
University of Chicago Divinity School, died on Feb. 25, 2025. (Wikimedia
Commons)I was deeply saddened to receive the news of the death of Martin Marty, my mentor at the University of Chicago, who died on Feb. 25 at the age of 97. I would be less than candid, however, if I did not admit that my sense of sorrow has been balanced by an even greater sense of gratitude: gratitude for his presence in my life, gratitude for the gift of his friendship and gratitude for all that he did for me both in my days in graduate school and in my life and ministry after my graduation.
When I was preparing to apply to graduate schools with strong programs in church history, I spoke with a number of the senior American Jesuit scholars in the field. Without exception, they told me both that I should go to Chicago and that I should move heaven and earth to become one of Marty’s students. (Their arguments for recommending Marty were both simple and persuasive. That is to say, they told me that he was very nearly the ideal mentor, that he was a scholar of uncommon—and perhaps unparalleled—range and depth, and that he was the recognized dean of American church historians.) I took their advice to heart. That, of course, meant that (as I later told him) Marty was the reason that I chose to go to Chicago.
When I arrived on the Chicago campus in September of 1978, he sought me out (as he sought out all of his incoming students/mentees) and invited me in for what turned out to be the first of many conversations about my studies, my dreams and my identity as a Jesuit scholar. In the course of that meeting, he promised to do all that he could both to direct me and to get me through the program as quickly as possible so that I could fulfill the dreams that I had told him about at the beginning of our time together. And so began one of the defining intellectual/academic relationships of my life.
In the weeks, months and years that followed, I learned a few important things about Marty. First, I found out that my Jesuit sources had seriously undersold him. They were right about the depth and range of his interests and about his standing in the world of American religious historians. They, however, failed to tell me just how prolific and groundbreaking his work was and how well-regarded he was both in the field of religious history and in the wider world of American culture.
With regard to his prolific output, I merely point out that he wrote over 60 books, hundreds of articles and thousands of reviews and professional papers, and that he served as an editor of The Christian Century for decades. With regard to worldly recognition, he received over 80 honorary degrees, the National Book Award, the Medal of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences and the National Medal for the Humanities. With regard to the range of his interests, he was blessed with a restless mind and a firm belief that American religious history was full of surprises, surprises that arose at every moment and that you could see and study—if you had an open mind.
Therefore, he was (not surprisingly) the first scholar to study the phenomenon of religious fundamentalism in a serious way. (His study led to the creation of the Fundamentalism Project—which he co-led with Scott Appleby, one of his most talented and hard-working students; that five-volume work was and is the most illuminating study of the subject.)
Among the many demands that his scholarly work placed on him, the work that gave him the greatest joy was the work he did with and for his students. Not to put too fine a point on it, Marty was that rarest of academics: He was a pastoral mentor who took a lively and highly personal interest in the lives and dreams of his students. Don’t get me wrong: He never coddled his students. God forbid. He coaxed us. He never insulted us with low expectations. Rather, he called us to be our own best selves both in the academy and in life. Therefore, it should come as no surprise if I tell you that all of Marty’s students felt blessed to have him as their guide, role model and advocate.
He served as the advisor/director of 115 doctoral dissertations, an achievement that is nothing short of astounding. Although he was not an overly competitive person, Marty did take a great deal of pride in pointing out that he directed more dissertations on American Catholic subjects than did Msgr. John Tracy Ellis at The Catholic University of America. Long after we graduated, he kept track of all of us. His pastoral care for us did not end when we walked out of the Divinity School.
I hope that readers will not mind if I end my reflection on Marty with a very personal story about his pastoral care of his students. In late September of 1981, during the week that I was to have my dissertation defense, his beloved wife, Elsa, died. On the morning after her death, Marty called me. When I heard his voice on the other end of the line, I was stunned. I stammered, “Oh Mr. Marty, I don’t know what to say.”
He gently interrupted me and said, “Joe, say what you have to say.” I then told him that I was very sorry for his loss and that I was praying for Elsa and for him and for his whole family. He thanked me for my prayers. Then he said, “Joe, Elsa and I have been talking about you quite a bit of late.” “Huh,” I said.
“Elsa told me that she knew that your defense was scheduled for later this week. She made me promise that I would make sure that the defense went forward on schedule so that your life would not be turned upside down. Therefore, Joe, please be ready for your encounter with your board on the day and at the time that we all agreed to. Is that all right with you?”
I found myself reduced to stammering once again. He interrupted me again and said calmly, “And so we are agreed on that, right?” “Absolutely,” I said. I cried when I hung up the phone. I cried for Marty’s loss. I cried for his great kindness. I cried because of the unearned grace that God had sent into my life through Elsa and Marty’s goodness and pastoral care.
I was and will forever be proud to call myself a Martin Marty student. I continue to pray that I will be worthy of that designation.
May he rest in peace and rise to glory.
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