51. The Veil

 It was September of 2019, at our annual Awakening conference. I slipped into the prayer room to catch the last few minutes of intercession before the evening service. Various ones were praying for God to move mightily in our midst, asking for His manifest presence and intimate involvement. Shortly before it wrapped up, Vinjelu Muyaba, then pastor of Lighthouse Community Church, prayed that God would “tear away the veil.” 

The mention of “the veil” caused a lot of thoughts to go through my head, lickety-split: various things read in the Bible and heard from the pulpit and gleaned from various books over the years. The first thought was of how the veil in the temple, which separated the Outer Court and the Holy Place from the Holy of Holies and behind which no one could enter (except for the high priest, and that only once a year), was torn in two as Jesus breathed His last breath on the Cross.

The veil was a curtain of heavy brocade 30 feet high, a barrier that separated sinful man from a holy God. The fact that it was torn from “top to bottom” (Matthew 27:50-51; Mark 15:38) indicates that it was God Himself who tore it. Of course, no human would or could tear it anyway, as it was so holy—and so heavy. Not something a man or even a number of men could tear with their hands. The report that this veil was suddenly rent from top to bottom at the moment of Jesus’ death signifies that the way into the Holy of Holies, the very presence of God, had been opened up for all time to all people, by the death of Jesus. For this reason, the writer of Hebrews can invite us to “come boldly to the throne of grace” in our time of need (4:16), because God has torn open the veil.

Vinjelu’s prayer reminded me that the way into God’s presence is wide open.

My second thought of the veil was of Moses (Exodus 34:29–35), how when he came down from Mount Sinai after spending time with God and receiving the Ten Commandments, his face was so bright with the glory of the Lord that he had to wear a veil to tone it down. His fellow Israelites were afraid of the dazzling glory on his countenance and could not bear to look at him. Whenever he went into the tabernacle to speak with the Lord, he would remove the veil, but he always put it back on again when he was out and about among the rest of the people.

 Later on, as recorded in 2 Corinthians 3:13, NIV, we are told that Moses “would put a veil over his face to prevent the Israelites from seeing the end of what was passing away.” Some translations bring out the idea that as time passed, Moses tried to disguise the fact that the glory was fading away. Others bring it across more as two separate facts: Moses continued to wear the veil, and the glory slowly faded. The important point is that it was always destined to come to an end--to make a way for something new. The brightness on Moses’ face after receiving the law was symbolic (as well as a direct reflection) of the glory of that covenant, God coming down to His people and making an arrangement with them. But glorious though the dispensation of the covenant was—God delivering it amid terrible thundering and lightning and a fearsome voice that shook the very earth, that covenant was never meant to last forever. It ultimately passed away when Christ came and established the new one.

The old covenant brought condemnation and death, because it set a standard none of us could keep and told us that if we failed on even one point, we were guilty of transgressing the whole law (Deuteronomy 27:26; Galatians 3:10; James 2:10). The new covenant in Christ brought peace and right-standing with God; it brought a relationship where Christ refers to Himself as the Bridegroom and to us as His Bride. Listen to this comparison (2 Corinthians 3:7-11, NIV) between the two covenants and let it bring an appreciation for what we have been given in Christ.

 Now if the ministry that brought death, which was engraved in letters on stone, came with glory, so that the Israelites could not look steadily at the face of Moses because of its glory, transitory though it was, will not the ministry of the Spirit be even more glorious? If the ministry that brought condemnation was glorious, how much more glorious is the ministry that brings righteousness! For what was glorious has no glory now in comparison with the surpassing glory. And if what was transitory came with glory, how much greater is the glory of that which lasts!

In other words, how much greater than the Ten Commandments is the glory of the new covenant in Christ, which lasts forever! Let’s look at the same passage in The Message paraphrase:

The Government of Death, its constitution chiseled on stone tablets, had a dazzling inaugural. Moses’ face as he delivered the tablets was so bright that day (even though it would fade soon enough) that the people of Israel could no more look right at him than stare into the sun. How much more dazzling, then, the Government of Living Spirit? If the Government of Condemnation was impressive, how about this Government of Affirmation? Bright as that old government was, it would look downright dull alongside this new one. If that makeshift arrangement impressed us, how much more this brightly shining government installed for eternity?

 Matthew Henry, in his commentary of almost 300 years ago, says this:

 The gospel therefore so much exceeds in glory that in a manner it eclipses the glory of the legal dispensation. As the shining of a burning lamp is lost, or not regarded, when the sun arises and goes forth in his strength; so there was no glory in the Old Testament, in comparison with that of the New.

This talk of a burning lamp in comparison to the sun brings to mind a vivid memory. When I cooked in a cow-camp many years ago and rolled out of bed every morning several hours before the dawn, I would pump up the two Coleman lanterns and light them. They threw a dazzling glare in the pitch-dark cookhouse. But a couple of hours later, after the cowboys were fed and gone for the day, dawn slowly came and the light in my cookhouse seemed to grow dimmer, in comparison to the sky. I wrote in my journal one morning as sunshine burst over the horizon: “The sun has stolen the light from the Coleman lanterns, although they still hiss and burn. Time to turn them off....”

That’s what the Gospel does to the Law: it vastly outshines what once seemed dazzlingly bright, and it makes it obsolete. But though it shines more brightly, we do not need a veil to shield ourselves from it.

There are, however, a couple of ways in which the gospel can be veiled. Here is one way:

 If the Good News we preach is hidden behind a veil, it is hidden only from people who are perishing. Satan, who is the god of this world, has blinded the minds of those who don’t believe. They are unable to see the glorious light of the Good News. They don’t understand this message about the glory of Christ… (2 Corinthians 4:3-4, NLT).

 The Apostle Paul compared these people of his day to the Israelites of old, whose hearts and minds were hardened: 

…[T]o this day whenever the old covenant is being read, the same veil covers their minds so they cannot understand the truth. And this veil can be removed only by believing in the Christ. Yes, even today when they read Moses’ writings, their hearts are covered with that veil, and they do not understand. But whenever someone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. (2 Corinthians 3:14-16)

 God will not remove this veil until somehow, some way, our hearts are softened, because He knows it would only increase our condemnation if we clearly saw the truth but were still not yet ready to embrace it. 

Scripture also speaks of the veil representing Christ’s body, which was torn for us that we might gain entrance into the presence of God. It is the writer of Hebrews who assures us that we can enter confidently into the Holy of Holies, the very presence of God, “by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way…, through the veil, that is, His flesh…” (Hebrews 10:20, NKJV). This is how Matthew Henry explains it:

It is a way that Christ has consecrated for us through the veil, that is, his flesh. The veil in the tabernacle and temple signified the body of Christ; when he died, the veil of the temple was rent in sunder, and this was at the time of the evening sacrifice, and gave the people a surprising view into the holy of holies, which they never had before.

By extension, I believe the veil represents our flesh as well. Our old nature must be torn, “crucified with Christ” (Romans 6:3-11; Galatians 2:20), for us to realize full access to God. We will only experience the reality of the Kingdom of God here on earth to the degree that we are willing to die to ourselves. This will also allow us to be an open doorway to Christ for the world. They will look right through us and see Jesus. Lord, tear away the veil! 

All these thoughts, or at least the seeds of these thoughts, flashed through my mind in a matter of seconds in that pre-service prayer meeting when Pastor Vinj asked God to tear away the veil from our hearts. But then another thought dropped into my head, directly from God Himself, and it riveted me to my chair even as others filed out for the service. I caught Vinj’s eye and beckoned to him. After we exchanged a greeting, I told him I wanted to share with him what God had just shown me about what he had prayed. As I spoke the words to Vinj, I felt a rush of power flush my arms, and the hair on them prickled and stood up. It seemed to have the same effect on Vinj, because he said “Whoa!” and rubbed his arms briskly. What I spoke was this: “When God tears away the veil, it means the Bridegroom is getting ready to kiss the Bride.”

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Our son Ben and his wife Margaret, on their wedding day. 

By: the furnace room STUDIO