A.W. Tozer said, “What comes to our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us,” falls in a similar vein. And based on some recent experiences, I’d add an addendum saying, “What we think comes to God’s mind when He thinks about, or sees us” is similarly important.

Some of my favorite minutes of the week have become a Sunday evening Compline service, held from 9-9:30pm at an old Episcopalian church in town. The candlelit ambiance is quiet, dark and patient. Voices sing from a choir-pit above, and a stain-glass window of Christ peers from ahead. At one point congregants stand, but otherwise, it’s an entirely passive thirty minutes, whereby aside from showing-up and staying open to how I’m experiencing God and myself, nothing is asked of me. That’s the good news.

The bad news, or agonizingly difficult news, is that Compline is an entirely passive thirty minutes, whereby aside from showing-up and staying open to how I’m experiencing God and myself, nothing is asked of me. Nothing of my doing is asked its opinion. Just my being is—just my simple noticing of where I find myself. And each week, such a finding is entirely unique.

At Compline I’ll often think someone must’ve re-stained the glass throughout the week, given various perceptions of how Jesus is looking, or looking at me. One week his gaze might be familiar, safe, or alluring, while another indescribably distant, or disconnected. Some weeks I move freely toward the one I know as my Savior, brother and friend, while others mere consideration of his eye contact feels too much to bear.

Hindus in India uphold something called “darshan,” whereby they frequent the temple not for sake of practicing the sight of God, statues, or a ritual, but practicing being seen by God. I like such the thought on my good days. And even moderately good ones, maybe. But it’s the rest that make me wanna hide.

In Romans 8:26-27, the apostle Paul talks about prayer as something that happens to us, versus necessarily what we do. And similarly, I think, being seen by God, is a passive allowance, versus a mere assertion of our efforts. Furthermore, letting God see and accept all of me is the path to me seeing and accepting all of me, and thus, ultimately everything else. To be seen in my imperfection and nakedness, even, versus how I wish to be seen, is the path to freedom. Being fully seen, I'm convinced, while yet receiving that I am fully loved, leads me to the essence of grace.

What do you think comes to God’s mind when He thinks about, or sees you?  For that might just be of the most important things about you today.