by Courtney Keller
I wasn't always a believer. I grew up in a home that was more culturally Christian than actually devout. We never read the Bible or went to church, but we were taught little childhood prayers here and there. It was never really brought home to me how important it was to believe, so as I grew older, I simply fell away, and instead made science my god. I think in some ways I thought of prayer and devotion as being superstitious and silly. How could things like clothing choices be so important?
In my twenties, as my friends and I all grew up and went our own separate ways, I found myself feeling empty. Science textbooks can be great reading for graduate studies, but are poor company during Eastertide when everyone else is off celebrating and you are unable to go home due to work commitments. I was miserable and lonely and, while everyone was at their home celebrating, I found myself outside, walking to my nearest church.
There was a Mass being celebrated, very solemn, but it was being said in a language I didn't recognize. I was feeling even more dejected - how could I find comfort in a service I didn't understand? - and turned to go, but a kind woman slipped into the lobby area to greet me. She was wearing a beautiful lace veil that immediately caught my attention, but instead of feeling morally superior (as I would have only a few weeks previously) I found myself thinking she looked beautiful. Serene, almost. She explained that it was a Latin Mass, but I could share her missal with her to follow along. She handed me a soft pink veil from a basket on a table, and helped me to tie it on, explaining in a hushed voice that veils could be construed as a woman's reverence for Christ, who was truly present at the Mass.
I don't remember much from that Mass. I couldn't tell you what the topic was. What I can tell you is that the atmosphere was charged with those who were silently giving their all for God. Mothers, fathers, children, single folk - all were united as one in their love for God. There was a distinct sense of "otherness" in the sanctuary that evening, and I felt it too. I couldn't explain it with science. I couldn't look through the reference books of my childhood and blame it on nostalgia. What I know was that as I sat in the pew, following along in a beautifully illustrated missal, was that, by slipping that veil over my hair, I too had joined this "otherness", this world of the sacred. There was a presence in the sanctuary with us that night that felt warm and familiar. It felt like home.
From that point onward, I slowly found myself going home to God. I found books on religion catching my eye, and I devoured them as a starving woman would devour a hearty, homecooked meal. I read about the Real Presence in the Eucharist, about the history of the veil, and I finally got around to reading the Bible. I attended Mass - both the Latin and the English - and even though I could not take communion (I had neither been baptized nor confirmed) there was the same feeling of "home" as had been present at the first one I had gone to. Now, though, I found I was more "aware" of the change from my busy, secular life to the solemn, sacred space in the church when the veil was involved.
The veil is a tangible reminder of the sacred. It is a reminder that I have entered the house of God in the presence of Christ when I slip it over my head. For me, there is a change, too, in the way I view both myself and my surroundings. I am calmer, more tranquil in my mind, even if I have gone to the chapel to pray for succour from my Saviour. When the world around me is a storm of deadlines, stress, and endless "to-do"s, entering the church and putting on the veil lets me know that it's time to focus on God and place my trust and faith in His will.
Using the veil showed me that it's so much more than just a beautiful item of clothing. It is a tool for prayer. It is a way to designate the holy from the hum-drum. Most importantly for me, it was the beacon of light that led me home to God.
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