Anyone who wears a veil, whether it is a bride on her wedding day, a nun taking her vows, or an ancient queen at her coronation, often does so to outwardly signify an elevation in her status, sanctification, and power. Veils convey the idea that the object or person within the veil is precious, holy, and powerful.
Like Moses on Mount Sinai who shone with the glory of God (Exodus 34:33–35), women who wear a veil, especially in temple settings, signify that they have now obtained the knowledge and preparation necessary to exude the glory and power of godliness.
In this typological scenario, Eve (or the Church) worked through the mediator Adam (or Christ). In either a symbolic or literal interpretation, Paul described this empowering veil as a sign of unique female authority to pray and prophesy (1 Corinthians 11:5). By covering her head, female saints received “power on her head” and could interact with angels (1 Corinthians 11:10).
Paul’s verses on veiling women encourage a positive interrelationship between man, women and God; they do not promote gender supremacy.
Eventually, the veil that now encloses us will be no more. Neither will time. (D&C 84:100.) Time is clearly not our natural dimension. Thus it is that we are never really at home in time. Alternately, we find ourselves wishing to hasten the passage of time or to hold back the dawn. We can do neither, of course, but whereas the fish is at home in water, we are clearly not at home in time—because we belong to eternity. Time, as much as any one thing, whispers to us that we are strangers here.
The veil (which is both the film of forgetting and the border between mortality and eternity) will, one day, be shown to have been a succoring screen for us earthlings. Were it possible to breach it on the wrong terms, we would see and experience, before we are ready, things that would moot much of the value in this mortal experience. Remember, we are being proven as to our faith and fitted for strenuous chores to be done elsewhere. To change the nature of this necessary experience by premature commingling would mean that we would not be suitable company for those we yearn to be with, nor would we be ready to go where they are ready to go, nor to do the things that they have painstakingly learned to do. There is no other way!
We experience this same close separateness when a baby is born, and also as we wait with those who are dying—for then we brush against the veil, as goodbyes and greetings are said almost within earshot of each other. In such moments, this resonance with realities on the other side of the veil is so real that it can be explained in only one way.
We must not approach God as if He were somehow constrained by finite knowledge and by time. A useful and illustrative episode is the one involving the prophet Elisha and his young manservant. The prophet could see that a surrounded Israel need not fear. (2 Kings 6:15-17.) The alarmed younger man had to have his eyes opened, however, so he too could see that while the mountain was hostilely compassed about with horses and chariots of the enemy, it was also filled with horses and chariots of fire. Thus, even though the prophet said to the young man, "Fear not: for they that be with us are more than they that be with them," he was still puzzled and doubting. Only when his eyes were opened could he see the reassuring reality. Often, so it is with us. We see dimly, or, as Paul said, "through a glass, darkly." (1 Corinthians Such is the relevance of seers. Such is the role of faith. In a very real sense, all we need to know is that God knows all!
Though His plans are known to Him, there is no premature exposure of the Lord's plans. This could bring unnecessary persecution upon an unready Lord's people. Further, a premature showing of His power and strength in support of His Saints could cut short the trial of our faith.
No wonder the Savior said that His doctrines would be recognized by His sheep, that we would know His voice, that we would follow Him. (John 10:14.) We do not, therefore, follow strangers. Deep within us, His doctrines do strike the promised chord of familiarity and underscore our true identity. Our sense of belonging grows in spite of our sense of separateness, for His teachings stir our souls, awakening feelings within us that have somehow survived underneath the encrusting experiences of mortality. This inner serenity that the believer knows as he brushes against the veil is cousin to certitude. The peace it brings surpasses our understanding and certainly our capacity to explain.
Such partings of the veil happen, of course, but in private settings and often with instructions or needed reassurances to expedite God's work and always to reward faith—not to moot faith. Without the veil, for instance, we would lose that precious insulation which keeps us from a profound and disabling homesickness that would interfere with our mortal probation and maturation. Without the veil, our brief, mortal walk in a darkening world would lose its meaning,for one would scarcely carry the flashlight of faith at noonday and in the presence of the Light of the world!
And how could we learn about obedience if we were shielded from the consequences of our disobedience? Nor could we choose for ourselves in His holy presence among alternatives that do not there exist, for God's court is filled with those who have both chosen and overcome—whose company we do not yet deserve.