Today you stand at the cross. Darkness at noon, a loud cry, and then the detail Matthew reports like a newsflash: the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.

For centuries a veil said keep out. At the moment Jesus died, God tore it, from His side. Read slowly. This is the hinge of everything.

The veil Bezalel's team wove today in Exodus is the same barrier God ripped today in Matthew. Between the weaving and the tearing stand fifteen centuries of blood and incense, all of it saying the same two things at once: God wants to dwell with you, and sin stands in the way. At three in the afternoon, the second sentence died.

So the invitation of Psalm 34 is now structural: taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him. No curtain, no gatekeeper, no waiting room. The centurion, of all people, saw it first. Come in through the tear, and stay.