Day 109—Curtains and Covering
When God Builds Beauty No One Else Can See
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The written portion gives an overview, with verses broken down into smaller bites, and journaling/prayer prompts for reflection. In the podcast, Steve Traylor reflects on today’s passage with Scripture reading, a deeper pastoral teaching, and prayer (about 15 minutes). Perfect for morning coffee, commutes, or when your eyes need a rest.
📖 Resources: Printable Bible Book Guides (Genesis & Job) · Hard Questions, Honest Answers
Exodus 26:1-37
Settle into this passage slowly.
Yesterday God described what would go inside the tabernacle—the ark, the mercy seat, the table, the lampstand. Today He describes the structure that holds all of it: curtains, coverings, frames, and a veil. It reads, at first, like a building manual. Stay with it. The architecture is theology.
The tabernacle had layers. Outermost: rough animal skins, plain and weathered. Beneath that: goat hair. But inside, hidden from every outside eye, were curtains of fine linen woven in blue, purple, and scarlet, embroidered with cherubim. The most glorious layer was the one no passing eye would ever see—made for God alone. And at the center: a veil. A single curtain dividing the Holy Place from the Most Holy. Behind it, the ark, the mercy seat, the place where God would speak. No one could pass through—not even the priests who served there daily. Only the high priest, once a year. The veil said: not yet. Not on your own terms.
Today we see that the tabernacle was designed to tell the truth about two things at once—the beauty of God’s presence among His people, and the cost of what it would take to open that presence fully.
1. Inner Curtains
Exodus 26:1-6
“Moreover you shall make the tabernacle with ten curtains of fine twined linen, and blue, and purple, and scarlet, with cherubim. You shall make them with the work of a skillful workman. 2 The length of each curtain shall be twenty-eight cubits, and the width of each curtain four cubits: all the curtains shall have one measure. 3 Five curtains shall be coupled together to one another, and the other five curtains shall be coupled to one another. 4 You shall make loops of blue on the edge of the one curtain from the edge in the coupling, and you shall do likewise on the edge of the curtain that is outermost in the second coupling. 5 You shall make fifty loops in the one curtain, and you shall make fifty loops in the edge of the curtain that is in the second coupling. The loops shall be opposite one another. 6 You shall make fifty clasps of gold, and couple the curtains to one another with the clasps. The tabernacle shall be a unit.
The innermost curtains—ten of them, joined in two groups of five by gold clasps—were made of fine twisted linen woven with blue, purple, and scarlet thread. Cherubim were worked into the fabric, the same winged figures associated throughout Scripture with God’s holy presence and majesty. This was not decorative choice. Every thread was a theological statement.
Many interpreters have noted the significance of the three colors. Blue, in the ancient Near East, was associated with the heavens—the color of the sky, the realm above human reach. Purple, produced from rare shellfish at extraordinary cost, was the color of royalty and kingship. Scarlet was the color of blood, of sacrifice, of the price by which sinners are received before a holy God. The priest who walked beneath these curtains walked beneath a visual sermon: God is heavenly. God is king. God receives us through blood.
The beauty of these curtains existed for God’s eyes, not the congregation’s. The people who gathered outside in the courtyard never saw them. The priests who served in the Holy Place glimpsed them above and around them. But no one stood back and admired them the way we would admire a cathedral. They were made for the One who dwelt inside.
Journaling/Prayer: Where in your life is God working in a place only He can see?
If you can name it, name it. If you can’t yet, simply bring the silence: God, what You are doing in the places only You see—I trust that it is real.
2. Outer Coverings
Exodus 26:7-14
7 “You shall make curtains of goats’ hair for a covering over the tabernacle. You shall make eleven curtains. 8 The length of each curtain shall be thirty cubits, and the width of each curtain four cubits: the eleven curtains shall have one measure. 9 You shall couple five curtains by themselves, and six curtains by themselves, and shall double over the sixth curtain in the forefront of the tent. 10 You shall make fifty loops on the edge of the one curtain that is outermost in the coupling, and fifty loops on the edge of the curtain which is outermost in the second coupling. 11 You shall make fifty clasps of bronze, and put the clasps into the loops, and couple the tent together, that it may be one. 12 The overhanging part that remains of the curtains of the tent—the half curtain that remains—shall hang over the back of the tabernacle. 13 The cubit on the one side and the cubit on the other side, of that which remains in the length of the curtains of the tent, shall hang over the sides of the tabernacle on this side and on that side, to cover it. 14 You shall make a covering for the tent of rams’ skins dyed red, and a covering of sea cow hides above.
Where the inner curtains were woven in jewel tones, the outer layers were practical and plain. Goat hair—the material of ordinary tents throughout the ancient Near East. Rams’ skins dyed red. Sea cow hides as a final weatherproof shell. Travelers who saw the tabernacle from any distance would have seen something that looked like a well-made nomadic tent. Nothing about the exterior announced what was inside.
This layered structure was intentional on multiple levels. Practically, the outer coverings protected the inner beauty from wind, rain, and the harsh wilderness elements. Theologically, the contrast is deliberate: the tabernacle did not advertise itself. Travelers who saw it from the outside saw a well-made nomadic tent. The glory was not on display for the nations. It was inside, for God and for those who entered on His terms.
What the outer coverings tell us is that God’s design does not require external impressiveness to be real. The rough exterior was not a compromise or a failure—it was the structure protecting what mattered. The tabernacle’s significance was not determined by what a passerby could observe.
Journaling/Prayer: Does your faith feel more like the rough outer covering right now—plain, unremarkable, nothing to show—than like the beauty inside? What would it mean to you if that plainness was structural rather than a failure?
You don’t have to resolve that today. The outer covering existed to protect what was real inside, not to announce it. God knows the difference between the two.
3. Frames and Foundation
Exodus 26:15-30
15 “You shall make the boards for the tabernacle of acacia wood, standing upright. 16 Ten cubits shall be the length of a board, and one and a half cubits the width of each board. 17 There shall be two tenons in each board, joined to one another: thus you shall make for all the boards of the tabernacle. 18 You shall make twenty boards for the tabernacle, for the south side southward. 19 You shall make forty sockets of silver under the twenty boards; two sockets under one board for its two tenons, and two sockets under another board for its two tenons. 20 For the second side of the tabernacle, on the north side, twenty boards, 21 and their forty sockets of silver; two sockets under one board, and two sockets under another board. 22 For the far side of the tabernacle westward you shall make six boards. 23 You shall make two boards for the corners of the tabernacle in the far side. 24 They shall be double beneath, and in the same way they shall be whole to its top to one ring: thus shall it be for them both; they shall be for the two corners. 25 There shall be eight boards, and their sockets of silver, sixteen sockets; two sockets under one board, and two sockets under another board.
26 “You shall make bars of acacia wood: five for the boards of the one side of the tabernacle, 27 and five bars for the boards of the other side of the tabernacle, and five bars for the boards of the side of the tabernacle, for the far side westward. 28 The middle bar in the middle of the boards shall pass through from end to end. 29 You shall overlay the boards with gold, and make their rings of gold for places for the bars. You shall overlay the bars with gold. 30 You shall set up the tabernacle according to the way that it was shown to you on the mountain.
The frames that gave the tabernacle its shape were acacia wood—a dense, durable hardwood that grows in the Sinai wilderness, resistant to rot and insects. Each board was overlaid with gold. Horizontal bars of acacia, also gold-covered, ran through golden rings to hold the walls together, the middle bar running the full length of each side invisibly through the center. At the base of each board: two silver sockets, two silver bases, two silver tenons fitting precisely into them.
That silver is significant. The silver used throughout the tabernacle’s construction came from a specific source: the half-shekel ransom payment required of every Israelite male during the census (Exodus 30:11-16). Every man had paid it equally—rich and poor alike—a ransom for his life. The silver became the base of the sanctuary. The entire structure of the place where God would dwell rested, literally, on redemption money. Not on the skill of the craftsmen. Not on the generosity of the wealthy. On the ransom that every single member of the community had paid.
The word translated “plan” in verse 30—mishpat, the same word used for the legal ordinances—points to the weight of this instruction. The tabernacle was not to be built according to Moses’ aesthetic preferences or the craftsmen’s innovations. It was to be built according to the pattern shown on the mountain. A copy of something heavenly, made in earthly materials. The writer of Hebrews will later make this explicit: the tabernacle was a shadow of better things to come (Hebrews 8:5; 10:1).
Journaling/Prayer: What are you trying to build—in your faith, your life, your relationship with God—that keeps failing? Have you considered that the foundation was never yours to lay?
The tabernacle’s framework rested on ransom already paid, equally, by everyone. You did not lay that foundation. You stand on it.
4. The Veil
Exodus 26:31-35
31 “You shall make a veil of blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine twined linen, with cherubim. It shall be the work of a skillful workman. 32 You shall hang it on four pillars of acacia overlaid with gold; their hooks shall be of gold, on four sockets of silver. 33 You shall hang up the veil under the clasps, and shall bring the ark of the covenant in there within the veil. The veil shall separate the holy place from the most holy for you. 34 You shall put the mercy seat on the ark of the covenant in the most holy place. 35 You shall set the table outside the veil, and the lamp stand opposite the table on the side of the tabernacle toward the south. You shall put the table on the north side.
The veil was made with the same materials as the inner curtains—blue, purple, scarlet, fine linen—but with the cherubim worked into it by a skilled workman (the Hebrew suggests a particularly complex, artistic construction). It hung two-thirds of the way into the tabernacle, suspended from four gold-covered pillars on silver bases. Everything forward of the veil was the Holy Place—accessible to the priests. Everything behind it was the Most Holy Place—inaccessible to everyone except the high priest, once a year, on the Day of Atonement.
The cherubim on the veil echo the cherubim placed at the entrance of Eden when humanity was driven out: winged guardians of God’s holy presence, marking the boundary between what fallen humanity could approach and what remained beyond reach. The veil was not cruel. It was honest. It told the truth about the gap between a holy God and a sinful people—a gap that good intentions and sincere effort and religious devotion could not close.
The veil stood there as both a barrier and a promise. A barrier, because no one could pass through it by their own merit. A promise, because the God who gave instructions to build it was also the God who had a plan to tear it. Centuries later, at the moment Jesus died on the cross, this veil—or its counterpart in Herod’s temple—was torn from top to bottom (Matthew 27:51). Not from bottom to top, as a human hand would tear it. From top to bottom. God’s hand, tearing from the inside.
What even the high priest could only enter once a year, trembling, with blood that had to be offered again and again, Jesus entered once for all—with His own blood (Hebrews 9:12). The veil no longer stands. The way is open. What Israel could only approach through a mediator on one day per year, you can approach through Christ today.
Journaling/Prayer: When you try to pray and it feels like speaking into silence, what do you do with that—do you keep going, or do you stop?
The access to God’s presence is not contingent on whether you feel it today. If prayer feels like silence right now, bring that silence to the One who tore the barrier. The way in was opened from His side, not yours.
5. The Entrance Screen
Exodus 26:36-37
36 “You shall make a screen for the door of the Tent, of blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine twined linen, the work of the embroiderer. 37 You shall make for the screen five pillars of acacia, and overlay them with gold. Their hooks shall be of gold. You shall cast five sockets of bronze for them.
The screen at the tent’s entrance was made of the same colors as the veil and the inner curtains—blue, purple, scarlet—but by a different method. The veil required the work of a skilled artisan who could craft cherubim into the fabric. The screen required the work of a weaver—still skilled, but a different and somewhat more accessible technique. And where the inner pillars of the veil stood on silver sockets (redemption silver), the entrance screen’s pillars stood on bronze.
Even in a two-verse passage, the architecture is theologically ordered. Bronze throughout Scripture is associated with judgment—the bronze serpent lifted for a judged people, the bronze altar where sacrifices for sin were made, the bronze sea for priestly washing. The entrance to the tabernacle was framed by judgment material, because no one could enter without passing through what it represented. But beyond that entrance, the materials shifted toward silver—redemption already accomplished—and gold—the glory of God’s presence.
There was a way in. The entrance was not barred. The priests who served there passed through it regularly. The screen was not the veil—it separated the courtyard from the Holy Place, but it was not sealed the way the Most Holy Place was sealed. It invited entry. It said: there is a way forward. Come through.
Journaling/Prayer: Is there a doorway you have been standing outside of, not sure you are allowed in? What would it take for you to simply show up?
You don’t have to feel worthy. The screen didn’t require it. Beginning again—through prayer, through Scripture, through one small step toward God—is enough.
Summary
What is striking about Exodus 26 is not the detail—though the detail is extraordinary—but the design logic running beneath it. God did not design a fixed temple requiring His people to travel to Him. He designed a portable structure that would travel with them. The God who designed the tabernacle designed it to go where His people go.
He also designed it with layers. The outermost covering was plain animal hide. The innermost curtains were linen woven in blue, purple, and scarlet, embroidered with cherubim—beauty that existed entirely within God’s presence and was never on public display. The contrast was intentional: the glory of God’s dwelling did not depend on external impressiveness.
And then the veil. It said two things simultaneously. First, that God’s holiness and human sinfulness cannot simply coexist without a reckoning—the barrier was real and it was honest. Second, that the barrier was not the end of the story. Every year the high priest entered behind it—trembling, with blood—and every annual entry was pointing toward a better High Priest, a better sacrifice, a permanent entry. When Jesus died, the veil tore from top to bottom. Not from below, as a human hand would do it. From above. God’s act, from the inside.
The tabernacle is gone. But what it pointed to stands. You do not approach God behind a veil today. You approach through One who has already passed through it—and who, in passing through, opened it for you forever.
Action/Attitude for Today
Walk through today holding this truth: what God builds does not require external visibility to be real.
If you are in a season where your life looks unremarkable from the outside, the tabernacle is a useful reminder: the most glorious thing about it was hidden from every passing eye. The inner curtains were not less real because no one outside could see them. What God is doing in a life He inhabits does not depend on whether it is visible to others—or even, on hard days, to you.
If you are standing at what feels like a veil—a barrier between you and God that you cannot seem to get through—turn toward the One who tore it. Not toward your own effort or religious performance. Toward Christ, who entered the Most Holy Place once for all, with His own blood, and opened what had been closed. You do not need to tear your way through. He already did.
If you are simply too depleted today to process any of this, do one thing: acknowledge, even wordlessly, that the entrance exists. You don’t have to walk through it feeling ready. You just have to face the direction of it. That is enough for today.
Say this prayer, as much of it as is true for you today:
Father, You did not make Your people travel to You. You designed a dwelling that moved with them through the wilderness. You are that kind of God. The tabernacle’s foundation rested on ransom paid—not on what the people built or deserved. So does my standing before You. The veil that once marked the boundary of what sinful people could not enter has been torn—by Christ, from top to bottom, once for all. I approach You today through Him, through blood that does not have to be offered again. The way is open. I come through it. Amen.
You do not have to feel close to God to be near Him. The veil is torn. The entrance is open. Come as you are.
The Bible for the Broken is published by Aurion Press LLC. © Aurion Press LLC. All rights reserved.