I pulled into the parking lot of the cathedral last Friday evening with barely five minutes to spare. It was my first time in the Cathedral of the Madeleine in Salt Lake City. Dedicated in 1901, the cathedral’s breathtaking, richly colored mosaics adorn the walls and ceilings, replete with gilded angels and saints. I had worried I wouldn’t be able to get in because of the limited seating due to COVID, but the midweek service was being broadcast all over the world, and so there was room for all of us who made the trip. So many had come — from Chicago and New Orleans, from North Carolina and Florida. Many, many from the Rwandan community, including the two who worked in the hospital where Father spent the last weeks of his life, and had ministered to him when no one else was allowed inside his hospital room.
At the end of the service, Father’s coffin was opened so we could each spend a few moments saying goodbye. I touched my rosary to my friend’s hands, and reminded him to pray with me for a special family intention. The last time I’d asked him to pray, God wound up healing my knees instead of my actual prayer request … so I decided to try again, and see if maybe he could send the miracle our way now that he had God’s ear up close and personal. Time will tell.
The next day we gathered at the cathedral again for the funeral — the Deseret News did a spectacular job of covering it. The Rwandan choir sported t-shirts with his smiling image, as a youth choir chanted beautiful Latin and English tributes. Already people were hinting broadly that God had worked so many miracles through him during his lifetime, that his cause for canonization should be opened quickly … but for now, those of us who loved him, needed a little time just to get used to the idea that his earthly work was done.
A few of us gathered for lunch at a nearby bbq place, and it was great to catch up with old friends. “Now we have to take up the message and bring it to those who didn’t know him.” it was an idea that came up more than once in the two days I was there. And of course, this is only right. I used to teach my kids that God sends every baby into the world with a gift to share, a burden to carry, and a job to do — and that when that job is done, he takes us home to be with him forever. Fr. Ubald had finished his task so faithfully. So … what work still remains for me?
Fr. Ubald’s death has shaken me, both personally and professionally. Working on his book was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to bring a message that the world needs to hear into book form. Now that he is gone, I can’t help but feel that I need to be doing more of this. Jesus, I trust you to show me how.
Fr. Ubald, pray for us.