Under a Veil

When I was in RCIA and still trying to sort out the dos and don’ts of Catholicism, I pondered why women had once covered their heads and now didn’t. But it was clear now that no one did, and therefore, it fell low on my figuring out priority list. But there was a lingering feeling that the reason the practice stopped was more cultural than theological and that I needed a better reason.

Two years ago, I finally got the courage to veil. And it did feel like it took courage. It was such an outward sign, and I was afraid people would think I was a radtrad or acting holier than thou. I decided to veil for Advent—just a four-week exercise, and if it helped me in worship I would continue. I thought maybe it would help me remember that I was in a holy place, maybe it would make it meeker.

I didn’t expect to feel empowered, but I did. I felt strong, for an inexplicable reason. I like veiling in church. I like the motion of putting it on as I enter, acknowledging the sacred space. I like the edges of the veil keeping my vision forward, toward Jesus, as I pray. I like the solidarity I feel with all the women who historically have covered their hair. It makes me feel humble and protected and noble. It helps, so I continue the practice.

I’m glad it’s a voluntary practice. I wouldn’t tell another woman that she should veil, and I don’t know how I would feel if it were still obligatory. But I know that for me, it’s a beneficial devotion. Or, as Fred says in A Christmas Carol: “…though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!”

Some women do it because they attend Latin Mass or are more conservative. Some do it as a sign of their God-given femininity. Some do it to emulate Mary. Some do it because sacred things are covered, like tabernacles. I think a lot of people assume the reasons and apply judgments when they see veils, but the reasons are varied and frankly, private.

Judgement can come from both sides: those who oppose or take offense to it, and those who are a little too excited to see it. I myself judge men who think women have to veil. I read my own assumptions into that—that they’re conservative, possibly sexist, rigid. Men shouldn’t have a say in telling women specifically what to wear to Mass. I know some men that prefer women who veil, who like the devotedness of it. But I worry about fetishization. I’m not doing it for men or to signal to men or anyone else. I don’t want to stand out. I don’t want to be stared at or have assumptions placed on me. But if I do, it’s the gazers’ problem, not mine. I’m still going to veil. But it was never about them; it’s about me and Jesus, and we’re cool with it.

It's a personal devotion that means a lot to me, but probably less than others think it does. I'm glad I've kept with it, and I intend to do so. Though if I stop, it's no sin.

How can a little piece of cloth mean so much? When it points to God, every little thing matters.