The Torn Curtain

The curtain of the Temple was the richly embroidered tapestry which separated the presence of God from the people. In Jerusalem at the time of Jesus, this curtain may have been as much as 60 feet high, 30 feet wide, and 4 inches thick. Only the High Priest, a descendent of the tribe of Levi, could pass through this veil, and only once a year. It was a scary ordeal, for to enter the presence of God incorrectly meant sudden death. In one tradition, each year on the Day of Atonement, the High Priest tied a rope around his ankle. Other priests held the other end as he ducked slowly and cautiously through the curtain into the darkness beyond. If the High Priest died inside while performing his yearly duties, they could pull him out without having to enter this most holy place to retrieve the body. Touching a dead thing made you unclean, and being unclean in the presence of God meant certain death. A sticky "what if" situation solved with an extra-Biblical ritual.

At the moment of Christ's death on the cross, this tapestry was torn in two from top to bottom. In that culture, it was customary for a man to express his sorrow by ripping his garments and covering himself with ashes. Is it so strange for me to envision God doing the same? Shocked at the sin of man, indignant at the murder of His son, He tears the symbolic garment cloaking His presence starting from the top — from a place where no man could have possibly reached. He made it very apparent who was doing the ripping. And He tore it all the way to the bottom, to where all who believe in Jesus may now enter into His presence without fear of death. The covering with ashes came forty years later with the burning of the Temple in AD 70. I love the power of this image.

Just as a Levite, a priest, was given the right to dwell near to God, I also have that right. We all do. No rituals needed, for we are all priests under the authority of the High Priest, Jesus. As the writer of Hebrews proclaims, I have the right to walk boldly into the presence of God. I need not fear, sneaking in like an intruder, or as a guest in a stranger's house, or as Caiaphas with a rope around his ankle. I have an open invitation — the same invitation which has been given to every Christian on this planet — to enter His presence in obedience to a call, to fulfill our duties as priests unto God.

The work of the priesthood is a gift from God. Every morning, I can walk right up to Him and say, "G'mornin' Father." And then I can pour out my "thank you, thank you, thank you" and my "help me, help me, help me" prayers and know for certain that He is listening. As a priest on Holy business, I also have a responsibility to follow up with "steer me, steer me, steer me" prayers — for then He knows for certain that I am listening, not just with my ears, but with my heart. Do I really understand the power of this gift when I learn to fully receive it?

I think so. Maybe a little.

So why is this taking me so long to figure out? Why has it taken me so long to appreciate how blessed I feel when I allow Him to work through me to be a blessing to others? The "thank you" and "help me" parts come easily. I figured those out years ago. But, the "steer me, I'm listening" is still taking shape. I am feeling the joy of entering into His presence, feeling the joy of His loving, guiding hand on my cheeks directing me in the things I do everyday. Perhaps this is taking this long because it took me so long to yield to Him. It took so long to accept my brokenness, opening cracks to my darkest places, allowing His light to shine in. It took me so long to reach a point where His reflected light outshines the light I try to create on my own.

Perhaps for the first time, I feel the power of the torn curtain and how it can shape me, if only I would let it.