This morning I’m thinking of Moses in bed – his veil, like Eleanor Rigby’s face, safely ensconced in a jar that he keeps by the door. His wife, who for many days had been sleeping in another room because of the glory on her husband’s face that kept her up all night, is now peacefully tucked in next to him, since that glow had faded away to next to nothing. She’s happy to have her husband back, but tonight, it’s her husband who isn’t sleeping. Moses’ eyes are wide open and focused on a crack in the ceiling barely visible in the pale moonlight. His wife’s rhythmic breathing, which should be a comfort to him, is only a reminder of the fact that he is no longer wearing on his face the visible evidence of being the only human being to have been as close as he was to the actual presence of God.

Tonight he’s wondering whether continuing to wear the veil is such a good idea after all. It was Aaron who first suggested it. Not that he hadn’t thought of it too, he just hadn’t had the nerve to voice it. It had been a decision he and Aaron had made originally for the best of reasons – not wanting the people to witness the fading glory and worry that God was leaving them as well. It was hard enough to keep their hopes up out here in the desert where even some of their worst memories of life in Egypt seemed better in hindsight than what they were currently experiencing in this dreadful place.

But Moses was now being increasingly bothered by how much his own ego was becoming involved. In his most honest moments, like this one, he was tired of living a lie. But the alternative was becoming equally undesirable: What would the people think of him? It was knowing that he had to address the whole nation that day that kept him up. What would it take for him to walk out there and leave the veil in its jar? He knew now the answer to that question and that’s what was bothering him. Though he knew what it would take, he didn’t know if he could do it.

First, it would take total trust in God that He was the true leader of the people. If God gave him the brightness, and God took it away, then God must know what He was doing. Perhaps He had another plan that Moses didn’t know about. If He did, Moses wouldn’t ever know what that plan was without taking the risk of facing the people unveiled. The problem was that whenever he convinced himself that he could take that risk, he was met with another obstacle: what would the people think of him? He would be a failure – a total flop. Not only that, they would want to know how long he had been fooling them by wearing the veil when he no longer had to. It was that last thought that made Moses walk out the door later that morning with the veil hiding his sleep-depraved, bloodshot eyes. And each day after that, the veil became easier to wear and harder to take off.

What Moses didn’t know is what you and I have access to today through the death and resurrection of Christ Jesus. We have the Spirit of God alive in us, so that He can be seen in and through our human frailties and weaknesses. Instead of wearing the brightness on our face, we have it in our hearts. We aren’t perfect; we are in process, but when we believe and keep our eyes focused on the Lord, He will be reflected in and through us, because the glory Moses once had on his face has become our permanent possession by faith.

And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit. (2 Corinthians 3:18)