Why I Veil

And it is not because I am holier than you. I mean, maybe I am holier than you. But if that is the case, trust me...it is not because of my veil.

My first veil.

Scrolling images for far too long, I’d eventually pause, take a screenshot, and text it to my friend. “What about this one? I like the color…just not sure about the length.” A few seconds later, she’d respond, “That’s pretty. I’m thinking of going with a color that matches my hair.” Hmmm…I didn’t think about that. And so, to the scroll I’d return. This back-and-forth would go on for hours until, finally, I would get up the courage to make a decision, put it in the cart, and click on purchase.

First time veil shopping. It’s not for the faint of heart. Buying my first home was easier, probably because I knew I wouldn’t be wearing it on my head.

As a fifty-year-old woman attending the Traditional Latin Mass for the first time, my greatest concern wasn’t understanding the Latin or receiving on the tongue. I feared the veil. Would I look stupid? Will it stay on my head? Will people know that I have never done this before? The insecurities were endless. The intrusive thoughts were relentless. And not for nothing, but have you seen my hair? It’s hands down, my best feature. A true crime to cover up, if you ask me. But I pushed through the vanity. Why? I’m not entirely sure, but something unexplainable within me longed to wear it.

And so I did.

I want to say it was smooth sailing, but the awkwardness was reminiscent of my Middle School years, minus the acne. The first couple of weeks of veiling were some of the most self-conscious of my life. I was painfully aware that there was something more than hair on my head. When you have spent your entire life not veiling, you can not help but sit through the entire Mass thinking about the fact that you are veiling. My hands were constantly adjusting, and fingers forever straightening, and thanks to perimenopause, I had the bonus of profusely sweating. How such a delicate piece of lace could feel like a dead alpaca on my head is beyond me. It was a rough start.

Then something shifted.

One Sunday morning, in a rush to get out the door, I accidentally left my veil at home. As I ascended the ramp to the church doors, I frantically searched my bag, feeling around for the lace, coming up short. In that moment, I realized that I was going to have to go through the entire Mass without my veil. The mere thought of my head uncovered instilled instant panic; you’d think I’d left my dress at home.

In a matter of weeks, I went from feeling intimidated by the veil to naked without it. What the heck happened?

I can tell you what didn’t happen. I didn’t take a deep dive into the theological significance of the veil. I didn’t study its historical or biblical roots. And while I did read Saint Paul’s reference to veiling in Scripture, “disgracing my head” was of no concern (1 Corinthians 11:5). The truth is, I do not veil because of the vast knowledge I have gained; I veil because of the immense love it’s uncovered.

Hidden beneath the veil on every woman’s head rests the unfathomable love of a Father utterly captivated by his daughter. Does God love women who veil more than those who do not? Of course not. But, do I love Him more since veiling? Absolutely. And the reason sounds far too simple, almost self-centered, and embarrassing to admit, but here it goes: Veiled before God, I awaken to my true feminine value, and I feel beautiful. And I know. This isn’t about you, Laura; it is about God. However…

When you consider the years I spent wrestling to make peace with my own reflection, this is no small thing.

The world’s idea of beauty and its unattainable expectations impressed upon women have messed with far too many of God’s precious daughters. I have ministered to women for over ten years. I know their hearts. I have seen their wounds. I have wept alongside them. We do not know how beautiful we are.

Have you wasted time obsessing over your appearance, measuring your worth by your weight?

Have you fallen into the trap of revealing too much skin in your attempt to be seen?

Have you rooted your identity in what you do, rather than in whose you are?

Have you altered or enhanced your God-given body and features in hopes of looking prettier or younger?

If you are nodding your head yes to any of these, you are not alone. And if we women haven’t been hard enough on ourselves (we are our own worst critics, after all), then enter technology, the rise of social media, curated lives of people we do not know, and the ability to stare at ourselves for far longer than we were ever meant to. I’m convinced Satan invented the front-facing camera.

It’s no secret that women and girls are under attack. We’ve taken a hit, and many don’t know how to fight back. That’s the bad news. But here’s the good news. Holy Mother Church offers us a particular layer of protection: the veil.

You see, once I got past the clumsy stage, I encountered the peace and calm that the world had promised but failed to deliver. Distractions slowly vanished as my focus shifted from myself to God, as I brought every thought captive to Him. The tangible act of veiling closed the doorways in the hallway of my mind, ushering me into a new experience: an interior participation in the Mass. Like a piece of armor, the veil has provided protection and security; it is both a strong shield and a shoulder, and like a little bird, I am pulled in close, sheltered beneath His wing, hidden from my worst enemy, which, if I am being honest, is most often me.

I’ve heard the argument that veiling is misguided worship, drawing attention to the self; an act of spiritual pride that distracts while it demands: “Look at me! I’m so holy!” I can’t speak for every woman, but I can assure you that, for me, nothing could be further from the truth. After a lifetime of believing a woman’s looks were her superpower, covering my hair (remember, it’s gorgeous) is a heroic act of humility; an invitation to decrease as I increase in virtue. In the stripping away of vanity, my identity is revealed.

As for holiness, it’s not that I am trying to look holy so much as I am seeking holiness. We are all called to be holy, and the Church veils holy things. In his essay, Veiling the Sacred, Reverend Michael Rennier writes:

“The tabernacle, chalice, ciboria, altar, and priest are veiled with vestments. The altar is veiled by incense. The prayers, addressed primarily to God the Father, are offered under the veil of a sacred language (an ecclesiastical, stylized form of Latin), and the Eucharistic Host is veiled under the appearances of bread and wine.”

“Women are included in this veiling of the sacred.”¹

Veiling doesn’t exclude, it includes. In its concealing, it reveals. Beneath it, I become a living tabernacle, a sacred vessel; the noise of the world is silenced, as my heart attunes to the voice of my Father, the One who has been chasing after me for years, calling me daughter (Mark 5:34), precious in His eyes (Is 43:4), His beloved in whom He takes great delight (Mt 3:17), altogether beautiful (Canticle of Canticles 4:7).

It’s all a girl wants to feel, and beneath the veil, this girl believes it.

1. Veiling the sacred