Free Inconceivable! by Tegan Wren Page A

a stage with concert lighting and sound. Plus, our churches tend to be so light and airy.”
    “You’ll find none of that American fluff at St. Bavo’s,” he said with a wink. John pointed to our right. “That’s a pulpit made of white marble and oak.”
    Two curved staircases stood on each side leading to an elevated lectern behind which a priest would stand to deliver his homily. White marble statues of angels and mortals at the base of the massive structure created a striking contrast to the dark wood. Most impressive of all was the enormous marble sculpture that served as a kind of roof over the pulpit. On top of the overhang, a gold cross stuck out from among the angelic bodies at an angle that made it appear poised to fall.
    “It would be hard to disagree with someone who stood there and claimed to have God’s authority. He would appear to be speaking from heaven down to earth,” I said, lost in my thoughts as I tried to imagine an actual church service happening here in the 1500’s. I shivered. “So, is this pulpit the Ghent altarpiece? Sorry. I’m Protestant to a fault.” I gave him a shy smile.
    “No. This is an impressive work of art, but the altarpiece consists of multiple panels of paintings. It’s in a separate room.”
    He led me to an area at the back of the cathedral. We passed placards and wall hangings that, to my untrained eye, looked dark and Gothic with small skulls and words in a language I didn’t recognize. Though I’d visited many European cathedrals, including the marvelous and memorable basilica in Krakow, this place was very different in its appearance and feel―colder and darker.
    A man wearing neat khaki pants and a tie nodded when he saw us coming and opened a small wooden door. We entered a room that was more confined and intimate than a classroom, but too big for a closet. It had a floor to ceiling stained glass window that let light pour inside. There were two chairs sitting together in front of the most beautiful work of art I’d ever seen. And I’d toured the Louvre in Paris four times. Two side panels flanked the central painting. The side panels each held four individual scenes. At the top of the center section of the altarpiece, there were three paintings: a woman on the left, a man on the right, and what appeared to be a king in the center. Below that was the painting that caused my breath to catch in my throat.
    “May I?” I asked, gesturing at the panels.
    John nodded and I walked forward. Near the center of the middle painting was a raised altar with a lamb standing on top. Though it looked very much like an animal, its eyes gazed at me in a calm, knowing way as small bursts of light radiated from the back of its head. Blood poured from a single hole in its body near the heart and splashed into a golden chalice.
    “It’s called ‘Adoration of the Mystic Lamb,’” John said, almost whispering.
    Hearing him speak softly, I turned my head. He was standing beside me. “You look so beautiful in this light.”
    Without hurrying, he reached his hand around my head and brought his lips to mine. We kissed in a gentle, rhythmic way that felt natural, as though we’d kissed before. Even so, my nerves danced, my stomach flipped, and my heart fluttered, bringing my senses to life; he tasted of mint and anise.
    He slowly pulled away, opening his eyes to look at me.
    “John…” I hardly knew what to say. Echoes of a first grade chant rang in my head:
first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Hatty with the baby carriage.
    Before I had the chance to stumble around for the right words, he coughed and cleared his throat. “What do you find most interesting?”
    And just like that, we were back to looking at the painting, as though we hadn’t just crossed into new and thrilling territory. I yearned for the warm movement of his lips against mine, but forced myself to keep it together so I could focus on the altarpiece.
    “I think it blends and balances the