Bathed in candlelight, Jason reached the massive carved doors and followed
Mandy into the front foyer. She dabbed holy water from a basin and made the sign
of the cross. Jason felt suddenly awkward, acutely aware that this was not his
faith. He was an interloper, a trespasser. He feared a misstep, embarrassing
himself and in turn Mandy.
"Follow me," Mandy said. "I want to get a good seat, but not too close."
Jason stepped after her. As he entered the church proper, awe quickly
overwhelmed unease. Though he had already been inside and learned much about the
history and art of the structure, he was again struck by the simple majesty of
the space. The long central nave stretched four hundred feet ahead of him,
bisected by a three-hundred-foot transept, forming a cross with the altar at the
center.
Yet, it was not the length and breadth of the cathedral that captured his
attention, but its impossible height. His eyes were drawn up and up, guided by
pointed archways, long columns, and the vaulted roof. A thousand candles trailed
thin spirals of smoke, sailing heavenward, flickering off the walls, redolent
with incense.
Mandy led him toward the altar. Ahead, the transept areas to either side of
the altar had been roped off, but there were plenty of empty seats in the
central nave.
"How about here?" she said, stopping midway up the aisle. She offered a small
smile, half thanks, half shyness.
He nodded, struck dumb by her plain beauty, a Madonna in black.
Mandy took his hand and pulled Jason down to the end of the pew, by the wall.
He settled to his seat, glad for the relative privacy.
Mandy kept her hand in his. He felt the heat of her palm.
The night certainly was brightening.
Finally, a bell sounded and a choir began to sing. The mass was beginning.
Jason took his cues from Mandy: standing, kneeling, and sitting in an elaborate
ballet of faith. He followed none of it, but found himself intrigued, becoming
lost in the pageantry: the robed priests swinging smoking globes of incense, the
processional that accompanied the arrival of the archbishop with his tall miter
hat and gold-trimmed vestments, the songs sung by both choir and parishioners,
the lighting of the Feast candles.
And everywhere the art became as much a part of the ceremony as the
participants. A wooden sculpture of Mary and baby Jesus, called the Milan
Madonna, glowed with age and grace. And across the way, a marble statue of St.
Christopher bore a small child in his arms with a beatific smile. And
overlooking all were the massive Bavarian stained glass windows, dark now, but
still resplendent with reflected candlelight, creating jewels out of ordinary
glass.
But no piece of art was more spectacular than the golden sarcophagus behind
the altar, locked inside glass and metal. While only the size of a large trunk
and constructed in the shape of a miniature church, the reliquary was the
centerpiece of the cathedral, the reason for the construction of such a massive
house of worship, the focal point of faith and art. It protected the church's
most holy relics. Constructed of solid gold, the reliquary had been forged
before the cathedral had even broken ground. Designed by Nicolas of Verdun in
the thirteenth century, the sarcophagus was considered to be the best example of
medieval goldwork in existence.
As Jason continued his study, the service wound slowly toward the end of the
mass, marked by bells and prayers. At last, it came time for communion, the
breaking of the Eucharistic bread. Parishioners slowly filed from their pews,
traveling up the aisles to accept the body and blood of Jesus Christ.
When her time came, Mandy rose along with the others in her pew, slipping her
hand from his. "I'll be right back," she whispered.
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