Matthew 27:51

This verse describes the moment Jesus died on the cross. The 'curtain of the temple' refers to an enormous, thick veil inside the Jewish temple in Jerusalem — ancient sources describe it as being several inches thick and roughly sixty feet high. It hung between the main worship area and the innermost room, called the Holy of Holies, which was believed to be the actual dwelling place of God's presence on earth. Only one person — the high priest — was ever permitted to enter the Holy of Holies, and only once a year, on the Day of Atonement. The curtain tearing from top to bottom — not bottom to top, the way a person would tear it — is understood as God tearing it from his side. The earthquake and splitting rocks signal that this was not a routine moment in history.

God, you tore the curtain — I did not earn that and I cannot lose it. Teach me to live like the way is actually open, instead of hovering at the threshold. I come to you now, with everything I am and everything I am ashamed of. Thank you for tearing it yourself. Amen.

Imagine growing up knowing there is a room you are never allowed to enter. You have been in the building your whole life — you have worshipped there, prayed there, brought your offerings — but behind that curtain is the presence of the living God, and you are not the high priest, so that space is not for you. Every Israelite lived with that reality their entire life. Then one Friday afternoon, with no human hands touching it, the curtain — four inches thick, sixty feet high — tears open. From the top. Not from the bottom, the way a person would do it. God tears it himself. You are the reason that curtain is gone. Not in some abstract doctrinal sense — in a right-now, today, this-applies-to-you sense. There is no longer any veil between you and the God who made you. No priest to go through, no ritual to perform first, no requirement to have it together before you approach. The curtain is gone and you can walk straight in. That 3 AM moment when you cannot sleep and do not have the words — you have access. The grief you have not told anyone — you can bring it directly. Whatever has been keeping you hovering at the threshold, too ashamed or too tired to come close: the only thing that ever stood between you and God was torn apart on the afternoon his Son died.