The Veil

By Logan Pollock

I have always been fascinated with the tearing of the Temple Veil in the passion stories. The ancient Jewish historian Josephus wrote that the veil was around 60 feet tall, 30 feet wide, and about as thick as a man’s hand. Some have calculated that a textile with those dimensions would weigh something like 60,000 pounds, requiring hundreds of priests to lift it into place to protect the Holy of Holies from the worshipping hordes, and to protect the hordes from the Holy of Holies. The Glory of the Lord, after all, was known to be wild. The tearing of the Temple Veil was important enough of a feature of early Christian evangelism to find its way into all three Synoptic Gospels. Strangely, though, there is no historical evidence outside of scripture to corroborate the torn veil. For such a massive piece of cloth, playing such an important role in Temple life, I would expect its destruction to have caused more of a stir in first century writings of the region. But alas. 

While the historicity of the torn veil is a mystery, its meaning has always been clear to Christian commentators. With the veil’s destruction, the division between God and God’s people comes crashing down with it. The hedge of protection formed by the Temple is of no need. Jesus has been crucified, Christ our Passover has been sacrificed for us, and now God may tabernacle among his people again. 

In our Hebrews text, though, the veil takes on a deeper meaning. As the author likens the curtain to the flesh of Christ, He seems to imagine the veil not merely as the barrier between God and and God’s people (like a rood screen in old churches), but rather something like God’s clothing, his tunic. In the author’s imagination, the vast purple veil becomes the royal garb that adorns our Lord, like the earthly flesh that adorns our messiah. What does it mean, then, that in the hour of Christ’s death the earth shook and the veil was torn in two? Perhaps we are catching a glimpse of God’s grief. Perhaps in the torn veil we are witnessing both the efficacy of the crucifixion, as well as its emotion. Like the ancient Jewish custom of Kriah, in which those mourning the dead tear their garments in grief and anguish, God’s anguish is also on display here, responding to that anguished cry of our forsaken Messiah.

Our Hebrews text is writing to us on the other side of that grief and forsakenness, in which the torn veil is rolled out like a carpet on which we might enter into God’s very presence. How do we hold all this together in this Lenten season, this brokenness and new beginning? How do we feel all that this Holy Season encourages us to feel?