Revelation is a strange phenomenon. It both shows and conceals. This truth is right in the etymology of the word, which means “to veil again.” We tend to imagine revelation as a process of something being made clear. Yet in scripture, a revelation is also a veiling. Such is the case with Moses.

His time on Mount Sinai has been singularly transfiguring. He is still Moses, but he is more Moses than he ever has been. He is shot through with glory, so much so that he must veil his face to spare his community the full radiance. His practice of veiling when he is with them and then unveiling when he is with the Lord becomes a kind of vesting and unvesting.

Though he cannot see his altered face, Moses does behold the response of those around him. Out of kindness and respect, he veils. He chooses a way of humility (which, it might be noted, has not characterized his leadership). In his ongoing encounters with God, he removes the veil because the One in whom he lives and moves and has his being is the author of this glory, the creator of this light.

In the life of prayer, the charism of humility allows for breathing room in the gathered community. Leaders who know when to “veil themselves” so that others may speak create space for transformation. This chosen self-limitation is fruitfully cultivated in silence, solitude, and stillness. When we cherish our times of deep prayer, opening ourselves to the working of the Holy Spirit, we are led to listen to our neighbors. In choosing to be veiled, we join in a tradition going back to Moses, a tradition of quiet confidence and trust.