What is it that you just can’t understand, do, or remember? You try, you’ve tried many times, people show you how, but it is all to no avail. You just can’t get it. There are plenty of things that fit that category for me: math, German, modern philosophy, use of a TV remote or DVD player, ANYTHING my children label as “intuitive” on a computer or cell phone, ballroom dance, chess, tennis, remembering left from right. It is like there is SOMETHING that comes between my mind and the task at hand. St. Paul calls that something a “veil” in today’s first reading from 2 Corinthians.
Paul says, “Whenever Moses is read, a veil lies over the hearts of the children of Israel, but whenever a person turns to the Lord the veil is removed. Now the Lord is the Spirit and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. All of us, gazing with unveiled face on the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, as from the Lord who is the Spirit.”
The background for this discussion of veil lies in Exodus 34. When Moses came down from Mt. Sinai after God had given him the 10 Commandments the second time, his face shown with such radiance that it frightened the people. So Moses wore a veil, a thin covering he could see through, over his face. Apparently the radiance was reduced over time. Moses led the children of Israel another 38 years without its mention.
Paul uses a play on words in today’s Scripture. He refers to the Jews’ block to seeing Jesus as the fulfillment of the Hebrew Scriptures as a veil over their hearts: they cannot quite see the glory of God which is in Jesus. They are able to read it, but they do not “get it.” They cannot grasp the Truth of Jesus. However, he says the Christians at Corinth ARE ABLE to see the glory of the Lord in Jesus. As they see the glory, the Truth of Jesus, they are being transformed—changed—by looking at him.
My prayer leads me to ask, “How am I transformed by looking at Scripture or looking at Jesus?” And “where is there a veil over my heart?”
This leads me to think how very important spending time in front of the Blessed Sacrament has been for my faith journey. Seeing Jesus beyond that “veil” has transformed me as it has ever so gently pulled away many veils over my heart. The first time I sensed the pull of the Eucharist I was 11. Our family visited the mission San Juan Capistrano in California while on vacation. I felt a pull to stay in the chapel. There was a glory there. I knew nothing of the Catholic faith at that time. I just sensed there was “something.”
When I was 17 my mother almost died after a surgery. The Catholic Church was near the hospital. A teacher suggested that I might go in there to pray for my mother. I did. Even though I was scared someone would come in and recognize I was not Catholic and did not belong there, I kept going back because God seemed so very near.
Years later—but still years ago—there was a time when I felt Jesus Presence deeply during our parish’s Forty Hours devotions.
I yearned for (and tried to recreate) that Forty Hours prayer experience for many years. Eventually I knew it came from God because nothing equaled it, nothing gave me the joy and peace of it, and nothing I tried to do could get it to return.
That yearning and struggle was a big part of how I learned “God is God and I am not.”
Some seven years ago I made a choice to spend as much time as I could in front of the Blessed Sacrament each First Friday. Our parish exposes the Blessed Sacrament on the altar all day each First Friday. Within a year I began to spend most of the day there. It became the most important day of the month.
It has transformed me.
Gradually, a habit here, a sin there, an understanding, a choice, an awareness—bit by bit by bit—God has made my faith alive, central, joyful, loving. Worship at mass mostly comes easily. I choose to pray in front of the Blessed Sacrament other times now, too. In fact a group of us pray and sing to Jesus in our small Eucharistic chapel each Sunday night. With many other people in our parish, I slip in to “make a visit” frequently. In the mornings when parents bring their children to school, the chapel is full of people who start their day with time with Jesus.
The number who adore, who stop by the chapel some time during a week, is growing. You can see the effect of that in our parish, as well as in the lives of those who come. They will give testimony that what Paul says is true in their lives: “Now the Lord is Spirit and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. All of us, gazing with unveiled face on the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the SAME IMAGE from glory to glory, as from the Lord who is the Spirit. Therefore, since we have this ministry through the mercy shown us, we are not discouraged.”
We find great strength, courage, and hope through our time before Jesus.
Yes!
But THEN Paul goes on to say something that at first startled and challenged me, “And even though our Gospel is veiled, it is veiled for those who are perishing, in whose case the god of this age has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, so that they may not see the light of the Gospel of the glory of Christ.”
What? That sounds like predestination, that God is keeping people from believing, is keeping them away. How could that be true?
But then I looked again at the word “god”. It is not capitalized. It is not God, our God, THE God, who veils Jesus in the Eucharist. It is “the god of this age.” The god of this age questions the existence of THE God at all. There is only science or learned behavior or human endeavor this god says. THE God doesn’t exist, let alone exist in the appearance of a piece of bread or cup of wine. If there is a god, how could he—why would he—reduce himself to something which enters into people, becoming momentarily one with them? This is what the little god of this age says in so many people’s heads.
To those questions, Jesus quietly answers, “I am the bread of life.” “I am the Way and the Truth and the Life.” “No one comes to the Father except through me.” “Come to me all you who labor and are heavy burdened.” “The Truth will set you free.”
And Jesus quietly transforms all of us who pray before him. “For God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to bring to light the knowledge of the glory of God on the face of Jesus Christ.”
For some, like me, the change is tiny day by day—but if you keep adding a drop of grace each day, eventually the face of God shines through.
This coming Sunday is Corpus Christi, the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ. This week (and next) Jesus invites us to come spend time with him, praying before the tabernacle where he lives and waits.
He is there. Loving you. Seeking you. Waiting for you. Wanting to change your life.
Come. You make the choice. God makes the change.
Prayer—today the Anima Christi from St. Ignatius of Loyola:
Soul of Christ, sanctify me.
Body of Christ, save me.
Blood of Christ, inebriate me.
Water from the side of Christ, wash me.
Passion of Christ, strengthen me.
O Good Jesus, hear me.
Within your wounds hide me.
Permit me not to be separated from you.
From the wicked foe, defend me.
At the hour of my death, call me
and bid me come to you
That with your saints I may praise you
For ever and ever. Amen
