Few things are as satisfying as unwrapping a gift or the curtain
opening on a staged production. We humans have always had a fascination with
uncovering that which is obscured. A covering denotes mystery and secrecy, and
it often enlivens in us an overwhelming anticipation. Part of our nature is having an
insatiable desire to know as much as possible. The very concept of mystery is
one that eludes us because we fear the unknown—even when we know that which is
being obscured.
A particular item of interest that has come up in conversation
recently concerns the subject of veils.
A veil in any form is simply something which covers something else. In fact, when we speak of the concept
of Divine Revelation, God manifesting himself to humanity, the word
“revelation” literally means to pull back the veil, to show that which was
hidden. This topic is especially
apropos of the Feast of the Epiphany, in which God manifests His Salvation to
the world in the Child Jesus.
Since ancient times, veils have been used as a means of covering
that which is sacred. Whether it was originally intended as protection, a
barrier, a warning, or a decoration, the effect has largely been the same: a
degree of awe and reverence for that which is covered up. It creates a desire
to see, a yearning to know that which is behind the veil. A veil creates a
certain poetic mystery that is also a contradiction, for we both know and do
not know what is on the other side of it—like Schrodinger’s cat!
But modern man has seen fit to unveil all things, in the hope of
proving them through reason. The poetry of much of our devotion is gone, and it
is largely through the efforts of modernists to seek to demystify the mysteries
of our Faith, one presumes that we might somehow be even more convinced of
them.
Throughout the Old Testament, reference is made to the Veil of the
Temple, the barrier which separated the rest of the Temple from the Holy of
Holies, the inner sanctum in which resided the Ark of the Covenant and the True
Presence of God. The sanctity of
that space, filled with incense and lit by seven lampstands, was so imposing
that even the hardest of hearts trembled and melted in its presence. If there
had been no veil, the Ark most likely would have become merely a showpiece—a
casual furnishing of no substance.
When one considers the appointment of the Catholic sanctuary, it is
of paramount importance to note that it, too, is the Holy of Holies, the place
where the Most High God truly resides in the Blessed Sacrament. Kept in the
tabernacle is the Savior and Creator of the world. I cannot help but speculate
if perhaps we, too, have lost a certain reverence for that most sacred of
spaces because of a certain demystifying that comes with making all things
visible and present. Much ink
has been spilt on this very subject, as more and more are becoming convinced
that the poetry and mystery of our Faith has begun to take a back seat to
reason, incuriosity, and nonchalance.
And so, the question must be posed: how do we behave in the House of God?
Seeing before us the Holy of Holies, unveiled but nonetheless permeated with
the True Presence of the Living and True God, are we more struck with awe or
apathy, with wonder or weariness? And can we, as a Church, rekindle the poetic
romance of mystery contained in that which is known but not seen, perceived but
not felt?
Over the coming weeks, we will explore the various types of veils
that have come down to us through the liturgical traditions of the Church in
the hopes of gaining a better understanding of how this ancient practice can
help and hinder a fuller understanding of the Church and the mysteries of Our
Faith.
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