Life's Loves: In Memory of Christopher J. Kauffman

Trained in the best of Catholic schools, fingers never touching the keys of even a Royal Typewriter, and never a fan of the Palmer Method, my friend Chris's handwriting was a wonder to behold, moving from the upper left hand corner of the page containing one word, down through the center, edge to edge in a sharp diagonal, each line expanding or contracting as the diagonal slowly made it way past the middle, getting smaller and smaller and finally ending at the bottom right hand corner in one word. His scattered notes befuddled even the best of interpreters. We all thank numerous editors and Denise McCord for her assiduous translations.¹ He was an accomplished writer of influential books that occupied the highest echelons of his historical profession. Yet in several prefaces to these tomes he refers consistently to the one book that really mattered to him: "my book of life," he says. The reference is biblical. The Book of Revelation uses the phrase numerous times, most especially when it describes the just man standing before the throne of God. "The book of life" is opened for each person and the citizens of the city of God are announced: "Only those will enter whose names are written in the Lamb's book of life."² Chris' life was written from the beginning in the Lamb's book of life.

In one way, I feel sorry for the announcing angel, for as Chris stands now before the throne, the angel will discover that the "book of life" for Chris is not one Gospel sentence of "well done, good and faithful servant," nor one paragraph detailing his many accomplishments, nor even one full page extolling his faithful service to the poor, but instead the accounting angel will find Chris surrounded, as he was at the end by his beloved family, by a host of witnesses, each bearing a book of over a thousand pages. These books will be neatly bound, filled with impeccable spelling and correct grammar, each line carefully typed so as to be read in public by all the saints—and all the witnesses will sing the same melody in resounding voices: "Chris is my friend and he is now a complete friend of God." At this point, Chris will be surprised beyond belief.

It is "friendship" that for me threads together the various chapters of my friend's life and work. He was after all classically trained, deeply read in literature, a practitioner of Benedictine ora et labora et amicitia [prayer, work, friendship/brotherhood], a Christian humanist in the tradition of Erasmus, Thomas More, Francis de Sales, and Jane Frances de Chantal. "Faithful friends are a sturdy shelter, whoever finds one finds a treasure; faithful friends are beyond price, no amount can balance their worth," the book of Sirach reads (6:14–15). Did you know that in the prefaces to his books Chris uses the term "friend" or "friends" for his teachers, his colleagues, his students, and his family. The word "friend" for me jumped out from the page and moved in all directions. In this short reflection, let me mention four of these poles. They represent the north and south, the east and west, and the centering gravitational pull of my friend's universitas.

First, Justus George Lawler, whom Chris identifies as "friend, mentor, and an encyclopedic resource person." He stands for Chris's education. A truly great light in twentieth-century Catholic literary circles, George, as Chris called him, entered into the Kauffman home and shared a mutuality with the family that contains a treasure chest of memories. You can ask them. This wondrous intellectual fired Chris' imagination for literature, poetry, and history, served as his mentor in the publishing business, edited his manuscripts, and reconciled his ironies.³ Yet, he, in turn, received as much from his quick minded younger friend. Justus George tells a story this way: "I recall running by [Chris] Edith Sitwell's neat characterization of J.S. Bach as 'the divine sewing machine.' Without missing a beat Chris responded, "that's...