22/03/2026
You know, every year when Passion Sunday rolls around, the 5th Sunday of Lent, the Church does this really striking thing: she veils the crucifix, she veils the images of Christ, she veils even the statues of the saints. And yes, we always hear the standard explanation: “It’s so we can fast with our senses, so we can meditate on the Passion, so we can focus on what Christ suffered.” And that’s true, but that’s really just the surface of it. There’s a much deeper, much more theological and almost cinematic logic to it, and it’s all tied to how Christ Himself acted in the Gospel. Because think about it, today’s Gospel in the old Roman rite shows us Jesus literally “hiding” Himself from those who want to stone Him to death. And here’s the key: He’s not hiding because He’s scared. He’s not hiding because He’s running away from death. He’s hiding because His hour has not yet come. This is crucial. The entire liturgical action of veiling, the Church is basically mirroring Christ’s own divine timing. We veil the images because, just like Jesus, there’s a “revelation” that has not yet come. His suffering and death are approaching, but His glory, His divinity, His resurrection, that full unveiling of who He is, will not happen until Easter.
Now, here’s a fun liturgical parallel that a lot of people miss: the Church actually veils Christ’s images twice in the year. Once is on the Feast of the Holy Innocents. Remember that one? That’s the feast where the Holy Family flees into Egypt to hide the Child Jesus from Herod. On that feast, we veil the statue of the infant Jesus, again, because He is hidden. He is alive, but He’s not yet revealed to the world. And now, fast forward to today, Passion Sunday. Jesus is no longer a child, He’s a grown man, teaching, preaching, healing. And once again, He hides, not because He’s weak, but because the divine plan is unfolding in perfect timing. He is veiled, and by veiling His images, the Church is helping us participate in that same rhythm. We are invited to enter into that tension: the tension of expectation, the tension of the hidden Christ, the tension of watching someone we love suffer in order to reveal His glory fully.
So, when you walk into a church this Sunday and see the veils, remember this: it’s not about fear, it’s not about gloom for the sake of gloom. It’s a liturgical echo of Christ Himself, teaching us about patience, about hiddenness, about divine timing. Jesus is veiled, His saints are veiled, the cross is veiled, and in that hiddenness, He’s drawing us closer to the mystery of His glory. We fast with our senses so that we feast with our souls when the veils are lifted on Easter Sunday, revealing not just the risen Christ, but the fulfillment of everything we’ve been waiting for. And that’s the genius of the Church’s liturgy: it’s not just about what we see, it’s about what we participate in.
