A Liturgy of the Veil
Guest Writer: Karen DuBert
"At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split."— Matthew 27:51
A Liturgy of the Veil
It was not a translucent, shimmering, lacy veil—
a hint of covering, inviting speculation.
It was not to hide the wearer or obscure the view.
It was weighty, ponderous, impressive
(“thick as a man’s hand” they said)
sixty feet high by thirty feet wide,
seventy-two squares woven together to last:
A massive undertaking to fabricate
to say nothing of hanging it
(it took three hundred priests, they claim)
Lord, the Veil You ordered to keep us safe
was not soft and cozy to bury our faces in—
no, it hung heavy, solid, and forbidding.
That veil was a shield
to protect us from the searing brightness of Your glory,
from the Beauty we couldn’t bear to see
from the Perfection that would have scalded us
from the Holiness that threatened to blind us:
It barred the way to the Mercy Seat
and once a year it was trespassed
(with fear and trembling, I’m sure)
by one with bells attached
and a rope to pull a body back—should things go badly.
In that veil You posted “No trespassing:
Violators will be prosecuted”
Thus we fathomed that holy was hazardous
as well as sacred.
But then “at the moment”
when the tormented Man on the cross cried out—
that Impenetrable Veil was obsolete,
Torn from top to bottom:
You tore it
and the Mercy Seat glimmered—
centuries of sprinkled bloodstains vanished.
So began the invitation into Your Presence
to bask in a welcome
we could never have borne
had death’s undoing not begun
and nothing has ever been the same.
Amen
Karen DuBert
Joanna JoannaSeibert. com