By Gary Topping–
Part of the charm of Europe’s great medieval churches is that in most cases, with the primitive technology available, they took several centuries to build. During that long span of time, teams of architects, stone masons, carpenters and artists would succeed one another, each bringing to the building the style elements of their own day. As a result, those great churches in their finished form present a complexity that is simply lacking in modern churches.
Salt Lake City’s Cathedral of the Madeleine, for example, spanned a mere nine years from conception to dedication—a pace of construction with modern machinery that would have baffled medieval builders. That pace also enabled a unity of style that medieval buildings rarely attained. Also, Utah’s relatively small Catholic population required only a relatively small cathedral with a relatively simple architecture. Compared to the great Notre Dame de Paris, for example, one could not imagine a place where a Quasimodo could have sheltered an Esmeralda from her persecutors.
That is not to say, though, that the Cathedral of the Madeleine does not have the power to awe and astonish. During my over three decades as a Cathedral parishioner, the mass of its great exterior seemed as solid as the Catholic faith itself, and entering its doors was always an exotic pleasure. My eighteen years as Archivist of the Diocese gave me an emotional and intellectual intimacy with the Cathedral that few others have attained. As the Cathedral’s de facto historian, I was often called upon to give tours of the great edifice, which I conducted with great pleasure and humility. Leaving work alone in the evening, the click of my heels on the plaza flagstones seemed to put me back in the Middle Ages. One afternoon as I approached the stairs to the upper parking lot in a thunderstorm, a lightning bolt struck the Cathedral and almost knocked me off my feet. It seemed like some kind of sign from God.
Looking back over my Cathedral memories, though, it is easy to name the most unforgettable one. I had been contacted by one Ursula Li, a woman in Delaware who asked if I had any information on Felix Lieftuchter, the artist who had painted the murals during the interior renovation under Bishop Joseph S. Glass at the end of World War I. She had known Mr. Lieftuchter during the early 1970s in Mexico City, it turned out, where he was making a living as a portrait painter and she was on a field expedition as a biological researcher for Harvard University. In fact, they had become quite good friends and he had even painted her portrait as a gift. The archives had a fair amount of material on Lieftuchter, which I shared with her, and we began a correspondence that continues to this day.
Eventually Ursula and her husband Jack began making plans to visit Salt Lake City and see the Lieftuchter murals. The had a daughter, Flo, who to my astonishment was an aerospace engineer working for Elon Musk in Los Angeles. Salt Lake City seemed a good midpoint for a family rendezvous. I wasn’t about to leave my wife, Marianna, out of this event, and we made arrangements to meet the Li family on a certain date on the front steps of the Cathedral.
In an incredible coincidence, as Marianna and I made our way across the plaza to the back door of the Cathedral, we happened to run across our friend Willie Green, one of the Cathedral sextons. I quickly briefed Willie on what we were doing, and asked him if he could turn on the interior lights so Ursula could get a good view of the murals. “I’ll leave them on as long as you want,” he said.
We proceeded through the Cathedral foyer and out onto the front steps. In a few minutes we spotted the Lis walking down South Temple. Although Ursula had sent me a photograph of Lieftuchter’s portrait, she warned me that, after all those years, it wouldn’t help me recognize her. “Well Ursula,” I told her, “you can’t be young and beautiful anymore” (but you can still be beautiful, and indeed she was).
We entered the front doors of the Cathedral and crossed the foyer to the entrance of the church itself. As good as his word, Willie had turned on the lights, and in addition the late morning sun was spilling through the stained glass windows on the east. As we stepped through the door, to our utter astonishment, the organist began practicing Sunday’s music, a stunning Bach prelude pealing forth from that magnificent organ!
My feeble imagination could not have planned such a thing. Cecil De Mille could not have planned such a thing. I turned to look at Ursula’s face. As she slowly turned from side to side to take in all that lavish color and drama, she was nothing short of transfigured. Her countenance absolutely glowed with the light reflecting from the windows and the murals. It was the only time in my life I’ve ever seen a spiritual transformation take place before my very eyes.
Over its hundred years of existence, the Cathedral of course has seen many spiritual transformations, in the confessionals and the other sacraments, and the beauties of its music and liturgies.. I myself have experienced such things there. But the one that lingers most persistently in my memory is the sight of Ursula Li’s face transfixed on the murals of her old friend Felix Lieftuchter.
*Gary Topping is a writer and historian living in Salt Lake City, Utah. He is the retired archivist for the Catholic Diocese of Salt Lake City and has written many books and articles. Signature Books recently published his latest work titled “D. Michael Quinn: Mormon Historian.“
Thanks Gary!