Why Is It So Profound That God Is “The God Who Sees”?

“I see you.” 

What tone did you read that in? 

That phrase can be both comforting and alarming. Said tenderly, it means that someone notices you. You’re known. Valued. But if you say it with a glare, it can feel like shameful exposure. Like you’ve been caught. 

We live in a world that is both desperate to be seen and terrified of it actually happening. Social media says, “look at me” but it’s a heavily filtered “me.” Deep down most of us are asking, “if you really saw me — all of me as I actually am — would you still love me?”

The Bible identifies God as El Roi, the God who sees. That’s not only speaking to His omniscience but rather to the fact that He really sees us. And He doesn’t look away. When we learn about the origin of the phrase it will help us to see why it’s so beautiful and powerful. 

Where Does This Phrase Come From?

Oddly enough, the phrase comes from one of the most overlooked people in the Bible. Many Bible readers have heard of Abraham and Isaac. You can probably even remember that Abraham’s wife was Sarah. And if you’ve really studied you might have heard of Ishmael. But do you know the name of his mom? It’s Hagar. 

I’ll admit when I first started reading the Bible, what came to my mind when I saw her name was a beer-drinking Viking from the Sunday morning comic strips. (Yes, I’m referring to Hagar the Horrible). I’d never really heard of this woman. You might say that I didn’t see her. 

In Genesis 16, Abraham and Sarah are waiting on God’s promise that they’d have a child (yes, it was going to come through the elderly and barren Sarah). But the waiting wore thin and they decided to take matters into their own hands. Sarah’s plan was to giver her servant, Hagar, to Abraham as a concubine in the hopes of producing an heir. Surely that would count. It’s still Abraham’s “seed” right? 

The plan “works” and she becomes pregnant. But it tears the household apart. Jealousy and resentment bubble up in Sarah. Abraham refuses to take responsibility. And Hagar — the servant caught in the middle — is mistreated and driven out. Alone and pregnant, she flees into the wilderness.

It’s a heartbreaking situation. She never asked for this role. She didn’t have the power to refuse it. Her body was just a means to an end — her existence only there to solve other people’s “problems.” Now cast out and carrying a child, she wanders into the wilderness with no protection, no provision, and not a single plan. In the society in which she lived her status was tied to a household. Without a household she had nothing. Everything in her life screamed “disposable.” 

And that’s where God finds her. Not Abraham. Not Sarah. God.

The Angel of the Lord appears to her at a spring and speaks to her by name. He gives her a promise: her son, Ishmael, will also become a great nation. Her life is not disposable. Her story is not over. And in response, Hagar gives God a name: El Roi. “You are the God who sees me” (Genesis 16:13).
 
 That’s where we get our phrase “the God who sees.” This is the only time in Scripture when someone gives a name to God. And it’s not someone with a big name, it’s a nobody. An Egyptian servant girl. And the name sticks. 

Where Else Do We See the God Who Sees?

Though the name El Roi appears here in the Bible, the idea of God seeing with compassion is all throughout the Scriptures. We could break it up this way: 

God sees with compassion. 

“I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out... and I am concerned about their suffering” (Exodus 3:7).

“When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her…” (Luke 7:13).

God sees the forgotten and overlooked. 

“When the Lord saw that Leah was not loved, he enabled her to conceive” (Genesis 29:31).

Hannah prays, “Lord Almighty, look on your servant’s misery and remember me...” in 1 Samuel 1:11.

Jesus sees the poor widow drop in two small coins and says, “She gave more than all the others” (Mark 12:42-43).

God sees with intimate knowledge. 

“People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).

“You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise... you perceive my thoughts from afar” (Psalm 139:1-3).

 “Your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you” (Matthew 6:6).

God sees with justice. 

God sees the wickedness on the earth before sending the flood (Genesis 6:5).

“But you, God, see the trouble of the afflicted; you consider their grief and take it in hand” (Psalm 10:14).

Jesus says to the churches, “I know your deeds...” (Revelation 2:2).

As you can see, this concept is prominent in the Bible as God reveals Himself to humanity. But what does it mean? What does it really mean that God sees?  

Why Is It So Significant That God Sees Us?

To say that God is “the God who sees” isn’t just a poetic image, it’s a declaration of His character. It tells us that God isn’t distant, distracted, or indifferent. He’s aware. He’s present.

What makes this really amazing, though, is when the character of the “God who sees” matches the plight of a woman like Hagar. It takes on a tender, maybe even shocking, depth. 

Hagar is the kind of person that everyone forgets. Someone that an author could make a joke about and compare her to a Viking in a cartoon. We can just dismiss her as a character in a biblical story, a side-character who serves as a foil for the really big story about Abraham and God’s promise. 

But to God she wasn’t that. She was a real person whom God really met in a wilderness. We can relegate her to categories like servant or foreigner. She’s just a woman without status, used and discarded by those with more power. She runs away with nothing. And it’s exactly here that God meets her. 

She’s seen, and for the first time in her life perhaps, the One who sees her doesn’t see what He can get out of her. He doesn’t see a mere servant. He sees a person. He doesn’t meet her with scolding. He doesn’t sideline her. He calls her by name. He hears her story. And even gives her a promise of her own. 

What does all of this mean? 

It means healing begins where we are seen and known. It means that God does not just monitor our lives from afar — He moves toward us in our mess. God’s vision is personal. He is not watching generically. He sees particular people in particular pain. It’s not abstract, it’s personal. So when we say God is “the God who sees,” we’re saying He’s the God who stops for the one. The God who pays attention. The God who refuses to let a single tear go unnoticed.

That’s a rather profound message in our fast-paced society. We live in a world where so many people feel watched but unseen. To know this about the character of God is wonderful. 

What Does This Mean for Us? 

As I noted in the beginning, there is a difference between being watched and being seen. 

Many of us grew up with the idea that “God is watching.” It was mostly meant to keep us in line — a divine security camera, always rolling. And while it’s true that nothing escapes God’s knowledge, the name El Roi turns that concept inside out. This isn’t about God watching you in the security room, waiting to descend upon you with a wallop when you get out of line. Rather, this is about God refusing to lose sight of you. 

Many today live in a “wilderness” space similar to that of Hagar. It’s important to know that God sees you right where you. Many wonder if their lives count for anything. The God of Genesis 16 answers that question. He sees the undocumented, the mistreated, the exhausted single parent, the invisible caregiver, the one whose story no one asks to hear. He sees what others miss. And He moves toward you with compassion.

That name also tells us what we’re supposed to be like. Jesus certainly embodied this. He saw when others looked away. He saw the outcasts. He saw the sick. Those who are grieving and those who had stories marked by shame. He saw sinners who dared to hope for mercy. And He even saw those who’d death-grip their money and reject Him. He saw those who would foolishly pierce Him with spears and twist a crown of thorns upon His head. 

When Jesus said to Simon, “Do you see this woman?” (Luke 7:44), He wasn’t asking about eyesight. He was asking about heart. El Roi is a comfort for the unseen, but it’s also a challenge to the seen: if God sees like this, will we?

Photo credit: ©Getty Images/Jenny Dettrick