Spirit cloaks itself in different cultural expressions. And some religious teachers have used difference to denigrate and divide.

In 55 CE, the Apostle Paul wrote:

Since, then, we have such a hope, we act with great boldness, not like Moses, who put a veil over his face to keep the people of Israel from gazing at the end of the glory that was being set aside. But their minds were hardened. Indeed, to this very day, when they hear the reading of the old covenant, that same veil is still there, since only in Christ is it set aside. Indeed, to this very day whenever Moses is read, a veil lies over their minds; but when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed (2 Corinthians, 3:12-16).

Allow me to paraphrase Paul’s words.

Moses was a coward. He was afraid to show the Israelites the true effects of God’s glory. Not that it would have mattered. Israelites are stubborn, set in their narrow ways. Every time I try to preach to a Jewish group, they reject my interpretation, and insist on theirs. But theirs is decrepit. It’s time for them to lift the blinding veil of their flawed tradition, and accept Christ.

Really, Paul? Is that what you have to say to me, a Jew, spiritually alive on this very day, 2,000 years after you pronounced our religion decrepit? Really?

Is there a better way to understand this troubling passage? I’m bold enough to try.

A few years ago, after a very emotionally intense family weekend, I boarded a plane from Toronto to Vancouver. As I took my seat, the man seated next to me took out a giant pair of headphones and placed them, deliberately, over his ears. And proceeded to actively ignore me for four and a half hours.

Now, this happens all the time on airplanes, and introverted, exhausted people surely deserve to be left alone. But this man’s gesture really bothered me. And my annoyance sparked something in me.

And I saw: No matter how hard he tries to be alone, he is not alone. His psyche is inside him, and also outside of him. Consciousness is both inside and outside each of us. To imagine my consciousness centered in my body, as I usually do, is an illusion. The source of experience lies beyond my body, brain, or mind. What I am, what we are, is not bounded by our bodies. Of course there is life after death, because the source of life does not die.

My old view of an “I” centered within me and generated by my brain is a false product of unclear thinking. Just as gossip makes it hard to see people truly, so the conventions of language and dogmas of science make it hard to see myself truly.  The conventions of religion make it hard to see God truly. To see clearly, I have to lift veils of opinion over and over again.

Torah teaches us explicitly about the veil. While Moses was on Mount Sinai, he asked God for a vision of the divine presence. “No one can see me,” God said, “but I will transfer all my goodness into your presence.” When Moses came down, his own presence was luminous. His face was radiant. And out of his radiance he spoke with the people. But as soon as he was done speaking, he put on a veil. From that day forward, he only took off the veil when he entered the presence of God. When he spoke with others about God’s teaching, he put the veil back on.

In the suitable-for-children version of the revelation at Mt. Sinai, everyone heard God speak ten commandments in a thundering voice. But that’s not what the Torah says. God said a few words in the first person, and then Moses took over and talked about God.

Some famous commentators say that the people heard only God’s first word, “I.” Everything else was Moses’ attempt to put into words what he received when he heard “I.” Everything else – the rest of the commandments, maybe even the entire Torah — is transmitted to us through Moses’ veil.

Paul knows his Torah. And Paul reads it right: it tells us that our religious tradition is a veil! Our tradition transmits the message of the Divine presence even as it hides God’s intensity. Just as every humanly interpreted religious tradition does.

To imagine God centered in my own religions tradition, as I often do, is an illusion. God, the source of our tradition, lies beyond our scriptures and rituals. My traveler’s experience of cosmic consciousness gave me a glimpse of that “beyond.” Some ecumenical Christian writers call that cosmic consciousness “Christ.” And if that’s what Paul means by “Christ,” then I get it: in cosmic consciousness, our veils are set aside.

As Paul says, we — Jews and Christians alike — should open our minds. And we should be bold. We should welcome one another, and together we should welcome our Islamic cousins. Because fear is a different kind of veil. If we clutch the veil of fear too tightly, we will miss the glimpses God gives us into a spiritual consciousness that can unite us all.

Earlier versions presented at St. Andrews Wesley United Church and Vancouver School of Theology.