This large white veil (usually of lawn, or some other delicate fabric) is draped over the remaining eucharistic elements, after all have received communion, until they can be reverently consumed - usually in the sacristy after the service.

As the careful observer will note, this practice is rarely observed here at Trinity, since we typically either consume the remaining wafers and wine immediately after communion or save the consecrated elements by placing them in the Aumbry, thus reserving them for future use - which is why we call it the reserved sacrament.

And it is in this latter usage that the communion veil resurfaces; for when the sacrament is placed in the Aumbry, it is always covered with a communion veil.

There are, however, two occasions when communion veils are used in their traditional fashion:   the first being during the Maundy Thursday Liturgy when the sacrament is processed to the altar of repose (in St. Nicholas Chapel) to symbolize Jesus' time of trial in the Garden of Gethsemane - when Christ's presence is taken from us and the fullness of our joy is, temporarily, under wraps.

The second occasion is on Good Friday, when the veiled sacrament is again brought back to the main altar, implying that, even when Christ is in the tomb, the burial cloth is removed and we are to feed on him in our hearts with thanksgiving.

There is much speculation as to why this ancient custom, whose observance is lost in the mists of the past, is still observed.

Some suggest that the idea of covering the sacrament stems from Old Testament times, when the ancient Hebrews believed that human beings could not bear to gaze upon the unveiled glory of God.

This explains not only why in Exodus 3:6 Moses "hid his face" in the presence of God, but also why the Israelites were so careful about keeping the law, enshrined in the ark of the covenant, away from peering eyes; for they believed that the contents of the ark were written with the finger of God, and thus represented his eternal presence in the world.

And even though we take the presence of the living God into our bodies when we receive communion, there is that vestigial sense that we dare not gaze over long on the divine presence, not out of fear that God's unveiled glory will do us harm, but out of reverence:   acknowledging that the presence of God we share in the Eucharist can be, in the purest sense of the word, overwhelming.