“Be a Catholic: When you kneel before an altar, do it in such a way that others may be able to recognize that you know before whom you kneel.”
That’s one of my favorite quotes from Maximillian Kolbe. The first time I read it, it took my breath away. For if we believe (as we do) that Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, lives in the tabernacle of every Catholic Church, kneeling is the least we can do.
While kneeling may seem unrelated to veiling, this quote is one of the main reasons I started wearing a veil. That said, there was quite a bit of time between first reading that quote and actually wearing my first veil. It’s interesting, isn’t it, how God typically works on us over time. I imagine that evolving—the beauty of things gently unfolding over time—is one of His favorite things to talk about.
But I digress.
Early on, I talked to Dan about the prospects of veiling and asked how he’d feel about it. It came as no surprise that he was all for it, yet something was holding me back. Maybe I needed to pray some more before leaping into this decision. Moreover, I needed to be guided by the right reasons—not because I thought it was in vogue, or the in-thing to do.
At some point a few months later, I broke down and bought my first veil. Mind you, I wasn’t ready to wear it, but just in case. Meanwhile I continued to ponder what seemed to me to be a huge step forward in my Catholic life.
With Kolbe’s quote to guide me, I wrote down the reasons I wanted to veil. As it turned out, my reasons were quite similar to his words. Not that I necessarily wanted the world to know that I knew Whose presence I was in. But that I wanted a physical reminder for myself.
I also knew that making this decision would be a point of no return—that once I started veiling I couldn’t and wouldn’t go back.
Of course that’s when Satan and his minions started needling me:
“Who do you think you are?” “You’re nothing special.” “You just want to draw attention to yourself.”
I’m embarrassed to say it was those nasty little voices that found my veil tucked away safely in its pouch for another few months. I even began taking it to church, but left it in the car, never allowing it to grace the doors of the church.
The first time I braved it? I can’t tell you exactly when it happened, only how it happened. There I was in the parking lot, minding my own business (isn’t that always the way?). As I approached the church doors, I felt a voice gently reminding me I’d forgotten something. Enter the moment of reckoning. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that it was the prompting of the Holy Spirit—and that the item I’d *forgotten* was my veil. Without pause, I grabbed it and headed inside.
Oh sure, those first few times were uncomfortable. Were people staring at me? Were they judging me? Did I look like an idiot or was my veil on straight? (Satan never stops, does he?) Remarkably, that feeling didn’t last long and was replaced with something deeper. Not a feeling as much as a knowing—and a reminder.
Each day at Mass as I pause to put on my veil, I’m reminded that I’m about to step into the presence of the living Lamb of God, into the presence of the One who made me and counts every hair on my head and knows more about me than I know about myself. It reminds me of my own littleness on the one hand and at the same time, it leaves me in awe of the Greatness of God. May He always grant me the grace to share in the mystery of His presence, to always be reminded before Whom I kneel. And may that delicate piece of lace always remind me of the unfathomable reality, beauty, and responsibility of being a daughter of the King.
Saint Maximillian Kolbe, pray for us!
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