The Tearing of the Veil: What It Means for Us Today

Last week after RCIA, I had an interesting conversation with my priest about some traditional Catholics who were upset that our church didn’t have an altar rail. They believed the altar should be railed off because it is holy ground. This sparked a deeper reflection on the significance of sacred spaces, particularly the veil that once separated the Holy of Holies in the temple from the people.

In the time of the Old Testament, the temple was designed to reflect God's holiness, and the veil was a powerful symbol of that separation. Solomon’s temple, as described in *1 Kings 6:2*, stood at 30 cubits high, but historical records from Josephus, a first-century Jewish historian, suggest that Herod later increased the temple's height to 40 cubits. This means the veil was likely around 60 feet high. Although early Jewish tradition claims the veil was four inches thick, the Bible doesn't confirm this detail. *Exodus* tells us that the veil was made from blue, purple, and scarlet material, intricately woven with fine linen, symbolizing the grandeur and holiness of God’s presence.

This veil was not just a piece of cloth; it was a barrier separating the Holy of Holies—the place where God’s presence dwelt on earth—from the rest of the temple, where men lived and worshiped. According to *Hebrews 9:1-9*, the veil represented the separation between God and humanity due to sin. Only the high priest could pass beyond this veil once a year, on the Day of Atonement, to make atonement for the sins of the people (*Exodus 30:10*; *Hebrews 9:7*). The veil symbolized our sins (Isaiah 59:2), but also pointed forward to Christ, whose flesh would be "torn" for us to grant access to God.

Then, something extraordinary happened during the crucifixion of Jesus. As He died, the veil in the temple was torn in two from top to bottom (*Matthew 27:50-51*). This was no small event; it carried immense theological weight.

So, what does the tearing of the veil mean for us today?

First, it symbolized the end of the old religious system. When Jesus died, He became the ultimate sacrifice for our sins, rendering the continual animal sacrifices of the temple obsolete. His shed blood was sufficient to atone for all sins once and for all. With the veil torn, the way to the Holy of Holies—the place where God's presence dwelled—was opened to all people, both Jew and Gentile.

No longer would God dwell in temples made by human hands (*Acts 17:24*). With the coming of Christ, the old temple was left desolate and destroyed in A.D. 70, as Jesus had prophesied (*Luke 13:35*). As long as the temple stood, it signified the continuation of the Old Covenant. But the tearing of the veil marked the dawn of the New Covenant, where God now dwells within the hearts of believers through Christ. *Hebrews 9:8-9* tells us that the temple system was only a shadow of what was to come, and now that Christ has come, we have access to God through Him.

In many ways, the veil itself was a symbol of Christ. Just as the high priest had to pass through the veil to enter God’s presence, so now Christ has become our High Priest. Through His death and resurrection, we can confidently approach God. *Hebrews 10:19-20* says, “We have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, His body.”

The tearing of the veil also reminds us that the temple and its rituals were always meant to point toward something greater: Jesus Christ. The sacrifices, the rituals, the priesthood—all of these were shadows of the ultimate High Priest and the ultimate sacrifice. Jesus, through His death, removed the barriers between God and humanity.

The veil in the temple was a constant reminder of the separation caused by sin. The daily and yearly sacrifices pointed to the fact that sin could never truly be atoned for by the blood of animals. Only Christ, the perfect Lamb of God, could take away the sins of the world. And by doing so, He removed the need for the veil and opened the way for us to enter God’s presence with boldness and confidence (*Hebrews 4:14-16*).

Today, as Catholics, we see this profound mystery unfold in the Eucharist. Through Christ's body and blood, we encounter the living God—not hidden behind a veil, but present with us in a tangible way. The torn veil teaches us that we are no longer separated from God. We are His people, and He is our God. In Christ, the way to the Father is forever open.

Let us approach with reverence, knowing that the veil has been torn, and we have been granted free access to the throne of grace.

Biscuit

Over the years, you have heard or read about Biscuit, my beloved little mixed breed dog...well Biscuit made her final journey on September 4, 2024. 

Buttermilk Biscuit Anders

Sept. 1, 2009 – Sept. 4, 2024

Buttermilk Biscuit departed this life on September 4, 2024. Known by her middle name, Biscuit came into the family like a whirlwind, and from that moment, nothing was ever the same.

Many might not know Biscuit's full story, so I'd like to share it with you today. Biscuit was a rescue from Alexander County, North Carolina. Her journey to us began after the loss of my beloved beagle, Hunter. When I saw Biscuit’s picture online, I knew in my heart that she was meant to be ours. During that week of contemplation, my parents advised, "Just pray about it." So pray I did. A few days later, with the adoption fee in hand, I asked my mom to "just go look."

When we arrived, we learned that Biscuit and her siblings had been abandoned, no older than six weeks. They allowed us to see her, and the moment Biscuit gazed into our eyes and nuzzled my mom's neck, I knew she was coming home with us. As we stepped outside, Mom said, "Let's go to the bank to get the adoption fee." I smiled and pulled the money out of my pocket, ready for the moment I knew would come. We walked back in and said, "Let's go home!"

Mom cradled Biscuit all the way back, and that night, when Dad came home, he picked the perfect name: Biscuit. We decided to add a touch of Southern charm by giving her a friend's CB handle, Buttermilk. And so, Buttermilk Biscuit became part of our family.

For 15 incredible years, Biscuit filled our lives with love, laughter, and more than a little mischief. She was never just a dog; to my parents, she was the "Baby," and to me, she was my "Little fur sister." After about 12 years of delightful shenanigans, Biscuit began to slow down. She developed liver and kidney disease and, six months ago, stopped hopping up the steps. Last night, she began to cry, unable to use her back legs. Today, four days after her 15th birthday, we made the ultimate act of love and mercy, letting Biscuit go. 

In reflecting on her life, I’m left wondering: Who really rescued whom on that day in October 2009? Biscuit may have been the one we brought home, but she’s the one who truly rescued us, filling our hearts with her unwavering love and joy.

Rest in peace, Biscuit. You’ll always be the "Baby" of the family, and the best little fur sister I could have ever asked for.

Navigating Faith and Belonging: A Personal Journey Through the Catholic Church

In late 2023, I embarked on a significant journey of faith, prompted by a profound disillusionment with my previous Methodist church. The split within the Methodist denomination, centered on issues such as homosexuality, same-sex marriage, and LGBTQIA+ inclusion in leadership roles, left me deeply troubled. I chose to abstain from the vote on the split, unable to support a decision that would marginalize a part of the Christian community based on their identity. My commitment to love and inclusivity guided this decision, leading me to leave the church when it aligned with a more conservative stance.

For nearly eight months, I was away from any church community. This period of absence was marked by a lack of outreach from my former church or its leaders, which was disheartening and left me feeling disconnected. My spiritual journey took an unexpected turn when a dentist friend invited me to attend Mass with him and his wife. What began as a single visit quickly became a regular practice, leading to an invitation from the parish priest to join the Order of Christian Initiation for Adults (OCIA) and consider teaching faith formation.

Despite the warmth and welcome I’ve experienced, I find myself grappling with several significant questions about the Catholic Church that have arisen during my time in OCIA. My reflections on these questions may resonate with others who are also navigating their faith journey:

1. The Origins of the Church

One of my main questions revolves around the historical origins of the Catholic Church. The Catholic tradition often traces its roots back to Peter, viewed as the first pope. However, this raises questions about how the Church’s practices have evolved since the early Christian community. If the Church’s origins were directly with Peter, why does the Catholic Church not align more closely with the early Jewish roots of Christianity, including the observance of Jewish feasts and festivals?

2. The Role of Communion

Another area of concern for me is the role and requirements for participating in communion. The Bible, particularly 1 Corinthians 11:28-30, emphasizes self-examination before partaking in the Lord’s Supper: “Let a person examine himself, then, and so eat of the bread and drink of the cup,” and warns of serious consequences for those who do not. This suggests that communion is a personal and reflective act of faith. Why, then, is formal church membership a prerequisite for receiving communion in the Catholic Church?

3. The Concept of Pride and Exclusivity

Lastly, I’ve encountered the notion that not joining the Catholic Church could lead to a questioning of one's faith or standing before Jesus. This idea concerns me, as I believe that salvation and faith are deeply personal and not solely contingent on denominational affiliation. I find it troubling that some might view non-Catholic Christians as inadequate or excluded. This perspective seems to imply a level of pride and exclusivity that conflicts with the inclusive nature of the Christian faith as I understand it.

Reflecting on Faith and Belonging

My reflections are not meant to challenge or critique but to seek understanding and clarity. I am deeply committed to exploring a faith community that aligns with my values of inclusivity, love, and personal faith. As I continue this journey, I hope to gain a deeper understanding of how the Catholic Church’s teachings and practices align with the broader principles of Christianity.

Thank you for joining me in this exploration of faith and community. I look forward to continuing this journey with an open heart and a quest for knowledge, hoping to find a spiritual home where my beliefs and values are embraced and nurtured.


If you want to follow more, you can do so by subscribing to https://ociajournal.blogspot.com