The first time I wore a veil to church was my sophomore year of college. I was visiting some cousins of mine who attend the Traditional Latin Mass, and they offered me a veil. Feeling exceedingly awkward (I had only packed some ill-fitting khaki pants with a business casual shirt for church wear – did people wear veils with button-downs and pants?), but unsure how to refuse, I accepted. I was only with them for one Sunday, and then I came home and tried not to think about how awkward I had felt.

A year or two later, I first began to consider wearing a veil myself. It seemed like such a beautiful devotion, and I’d seen a few women at my college’s Catholic Student Center wearing veils. Young women, too, and all wearing a wide range of clothing styles. Ok, I thought. So it’s potentially an option for me... I don’t have to swear off pants for the rest of my life if I decide to wear a veil. I don’t have to “cover up” anymore than I do normally. Good to know. But I still held off – the door was open, but I didn’t have a reason to veil yet.

At this point in my life, I was growing a lot in faith, my relationship with God, and my relationship with His Church. At the same time, I was also exploring what it meant to be a feminist – for myself as a Catholic and for others. I had joined a feminist group at my university, knowing that I would disagree with many of the beliefs I encountered there. Yet I also knew that at the most fundamental level, we were all on the same page in believing  that women and men have equal dignity (dignity that often goes unacknowledged). And for that alone, I didn’t want to give up on the label “feminist”. My fears were confirmed. I found myself in the minority on several very important issues. For the most part, though, I kept my mouth shut.

At the most fundamental level, we were all on the same page in believing  that women and men have equal dignity

Much of the group’s discussions took place over social media – decidedly NOT the best place to have a fruitful discussion. I would interject occasionally, usually when the vitriol against pro-lifers or the Catholic Church was running especially high. Mostly I sat back, though, and drank it all in. The hate and the hurt – for there was a lot of both – but also the dreams and aspirations these women (and some men) had for the society they envisioned and worked for: a society where the patriarchy was a distant memory. This was my initiation into radical feminism. The two things that kept me from being swept completely in were my pro-life convictions and my trust in the Church. It got to a point, though, where I was clinging to both like a woman drowning. And I was exhausted with feeling like I had to question everything (or defend everything) that the Church believed. (A long tangent, I know, but I promise there’s a point.)

One day, I decided I’d had enough, and, in a fit of rebellion, I gathered the courage to do what I’d never been able to make a decision on: wear a veil to Mass. I suppose that’s not really the best reason to choose to start veiling. Many women cite Scripture passages, a reverence for Jesus in the Eucharist, a respect for woman’s unique gift to bear new life to the world, etc. as the reason(s) why they veil. I’d heard all of those reasons, and I didn’t disagree with them. But at this particular moment of my life, what I needed was a visible, tangible sign of my trust in the Church.

This particular moment of my life, what I needed was a visible, tangible sign of my trust in the Church.

I needed to show myself that I could accept something (maybe even something that seemed a bit sexist) without understanding it. I needed to prove to myself that I would never be able to “prove” every aspect of my faith, but that that faith still had beauty and value. I needed to go out on a limb, to do something that the Church said had value – not because I fully understood it, but precisely because I couldn’t explain it. I needed to acknowledge for myself that I am not the arbiter of truth (and thank goodness, because it was exhausting trying to be).

I knew there were people who saw head-covering as oppressive, and to be honest, I didn’t have a good refutation for that. (I didn’t see it that way, but I couldn’t tell you why or why not it would be oppressive.) But I was so exhausted from trying to defend my faith from every accusation and doubt (coming from others and from myself), that I gave up… well, I took a short break. And veiling was my way of choosing trust over my constant doubt and suspicion.

Now, to be clear, this is all my own personal journey. I think veiling is a beautiful devotion, and I would be thrilled if more women veiled, because I think there are really deep theological truths embedded in this ancient tradition – truths of which we probably haven’t plumbed the depths yet. But I do think it is good and wise of the Church not to require it anymore. I don’t think the Church was wrong to require it in the past, but making the practice optional means that veiling can become a true and loving devotion in a way that it never could before. It also means that for women who do find veiling off-putting or distracting, or for whom it brings up old wounds, they are free – and welcome! – to forgo this devotion.

I held off on wearing a veil because I didn’t want to “try it out” and then toss it off like so many fashion trends. I continue to veil because it’s a reminder to me of my often underappreciated dignity as a woman, because it’s a reminder to me of God’s closeness, and because it reminds me that Mass is special, no matter what else I’m wearing. And maybe - just a little - because it’s a small, quiet witness to all of us (myself included) who need reminding that the Church’s teachings don’t fit into a liberal or conservative dichotomy, and that they are all the more beautiful in their seeming paradox.

It’s a small, quiet witness to all of us (myself included) who need reminding that the Church’s teachings don’t fit into a liberal or conservative dichotomy, and that they are all the more beautiful in their seeming paradox.

I’ve been wearing a veil for a little over a year now. I’m still a feminist (surprise!). And I’m still questioning and submitting to and wrestling with Holy Mother Church when I don’t understand… because I love her - and I know she can take it. I’ve been so amazed and gratified by the answers God has given me so far that it’s getting much easier to trust when I don’t understand immediately, and I want that for everyone! Whether or not you decide to veil, I want everyone to know how breathtakingly beautiful it is to be a woman and to be Catholic.

As a final note, I want to share what I only very recently discovered about the classic Biblical passage on veiling (1 Corinthians 11:10).  The general gist of the verse is that a woman should  have a sign of authority on her head, and judging from the context of the surrounding verses, it’s not illogical to assume this “sign” (or “symbol”) refers to a veil. However, slightly different translations of this verse lead to wildly different interpretations. It is important to note what is often lost coming from the Greek to the English: this “authority” spoken of? It is specifically the woman’s own authority because of who she is, not a sign of someone else’s authority over her. (The Greek word “exousia” used here is the same word used in Mark 1:22 to refer to the authority of Jesus in the synagogue. Unlike the scribes and rabbis of the day, whose authority was based in the tradition going back to Moses, Jesus spoke with his own authority, which shocked people.)

Stay tuned for more on women and authority in a future post. ;)