She was struck down in her prime. 

Sister Jean Dolores Schmidt, B.V.M., passed away yesterday, Oct. 9, at the ripe old age of 106. The loss is her family’s, her fellow sisters’, Loyola University Chicago’s, the sports world’s and the nation’s. But it is also mine. I lost a mentor, a spiritual guide, a friend and, with apologies to the current Roman pontiff, my favorite Chicago Catholic. 

Referred to simply as Sister Jean, she became known to most of the world as the chaplain to Loyola’s men’s basketball team during their run to the Final Four in 2018. But she was so much more than that. I have written previously about how Sister Jean’s impact on campus extended far beyond the basketball team into other parts of campus.

But, there was also the basketball. March is a time for magic, and in 2018 Loyola had it in spades. After every buzzer beater, the cameras would cut to the team’s 98-year-old chaplain, cheering with the entire arena. The theologically sophisticated would scoff at the idea that a ball going in a hoop was divine intervention, but most people trusted their gut: This team had God on their side, and it was because of this elderly nun.  

What a gift, to have her represent the school at the highest level. Loyola, and all Catholic schools, profess to be doing something different in higher education. In pointing to Sister Jean, we could say to the sports-watching world, here is our Catholic mission personified. 

Sister Jean was not some figurehead of a chaplain. She prayed with the team. When she sensed the boys needed it during the season, she would take each one of their hands and bless them. During the pregame prayer at home games, opposing fans would accuse her of praying harder for Loyola than the visitors. She pled guilty to the charge. She went beyond the duties of most chaplains: She was known to email scouting reports to the players and coaches ahead of games. 

Though she was born in California, Sister Jean worked with midwestern grit. She always held multiple jobs on campus, and several informal ones, too. Her office had the highest visibility on campus, right in the middle of the student center’s cafeteria. No one was busier than Sister Jean, but she would always take time to stop and chat if you needed someone to listen.

One day, during the summer before my senior year, I spotted someone coming up the block carrying two armfuls of groceries. Sure enough, it was Sister Jean, who was in her mid 90s at that point. She never shied away from work, and she worked until the end: It was only last month that she officially retired from campus. 

She spoke with the authority of a hard-working, well-respected nun. You did not want to disappoint her. Not that she would let you. I don’t remember being asked as much as told that I would get involved in a program where students would visit with elderly residents in a nearby retirement home. The program, which Sister Jean started and managed, was called S.M.I.L.E.: Students Moving Into the Lives of the Elderly. I laughed today, thinking about that, because “the elderly” involved were probably 20 years younger than Sister Jean at the time. 

More than anything, Sister Jean loved God and wanted to serve God. The one time I managed to wake up early enough for the campus’s 7 a.m. Mass, I was surprised to see Sister Jean in attendance. After all, she would work well into the night, keeping the schedule of the students to whom she ministered. Tuesday prayer group didn’t start until 9 p.m. But she was at that morning Mass every day before heading off to work. She had a deep spirituality and a rich prayer life. Here is how she described it when I asked her in 2019:

I make my morning meditation every day. I use the Gospel of the day for my meditation because I think it’s important that I follow a certain routine rather than just take a book and what somebody else has written. I just take what the Gospel stories have and think about it. Then I’m old fashioned in certain ways. I pray the rosary. Or I read a prayer every day that refreshes my own faith and my own trust and my own hope.

I would walk around Loyola’s campus on the shores of Lake Michigan when I was a student, fearful that Sister Jean might pass away during our four years there. I worried about the great sadness that would fall over the Rogers Park neighborhood.  

The author and Sister Jean on graduation day in 2015. (Zac Davis)

I am not on campus today, but if the texts flying around the group chats of alumni are any indication, I suspect the mood is different than what I had feared. Because there is a great joy beneath our mourning, amazement that someone could live to such an age, and awe that they could do it in total service to others. 

And I suppose there is a feeling of confidence, too. Confidence that she is being welcomed by the Lord she served for 106 years, to whom she introduced countless young people. Confidence that she is hearing “Well done, my good and faithful servant. Go Ramblers.”