Jesus assures us the Father sees not only when we’re wronged but also when we do right, when we practice our righteousness in secret. The reason he tells us not to perform righteous acts before others is because, once again, the Father is El Roi: the God who sees. We live for the Lord, trusting that the Father who sees in secret will reward us (Matt. 6).

The longer I live, the more often I whisper to myself, “The Lord sees.”
It’s a biblical truth repeated throughout Scripture. The psalmist sees all of life taking place coram Deo: before the face of God. “The LORD looks down from heaven,” he writes. “He observes everyone” (Ps. 33:13). Nothing escapes God’s notice. “The eyes of the LORD are on the righteous, and his ears are open to their cry for help” (34:15).
The heart’s silent cry, giving rise to tears of anguish no one else sees—the aloneness compounds the heartache. In those moments when you’re wronged, or your name is slandered, or your intentions are questioned . . . In the times when you feel alone or abandoned . . . In the aftermath of saying what’s true and paying a price, when you’ve experienced the deep wounds of injustice or betrayal . . . the Lord sees.
The Lord is the One who untangles all our hidden motivations, the Shepherd who knows our hopes and fears. The Lord knows our desires. The Lord sees the quiet suffering we endure when others sin against us. The Lord sees us in troubled times, notes every unmerited slight and insult flung our way, and observes the chill that descends when those around us fall short of Christ’s call to love.
El Roi: The God Who Sees
“El Roi” is a name given to God in the Old Testament, a source of comfort and peace in times of distress. It first falls from the trembling lips of Hagar, the enslaved woman driven into the wilderness after being caught up in the sinful designs of her master and his wife. There she kneels, despondent and despairing, ready for life to come to an end. And there in that desert of sorrow, the Lord sees. Transformed by the gracious presence of the God of all justice and mercy, Hagar speaks with surprising confidence. She names the Lord who spoke to her: “In this place, have I actually seen the one who sees me?” (Gen. 16:13).
El Roi. The God who sees.
It’s the tender nature of our Father to speak to us in the wilderness of pain, to come alongside us when we feel the sting of injustice, the sadness of lost love, the sorrow of dried-up friendships, the hurt of neglect and rejection.
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I trust that God is pleased with my intentions even when my deeds have been so faulty and my desires when my words have been unsuitable. Yet imperfect deeds and optimistic intentions would be the shakiest grounds of confidence before God. Thankfully, God gives much firmer grounds: I trust him to be pleased with my broken efforts and partial self-sacrifice only in the light of Christ’s perfect efforts and complete self-sacrifice. These deeds are not the basis of my salvation but proof of it and fruit that flows from it.

The day will come when every man will stand before the Lord and be asked to give an account of his life. God makes clear the basis of this coming judgment: he “will render to each one according to his works” (Romans 2:6).
I have spoken with the adherents of many faiths who insist they can approach that day with confidence. Each has put their good and bad deeds onto a scale and become convinced that in the end, the good will outweigh the bad. But a person who is humble and sincere will recoil at such a thought, intimidated and perhaps even terrified to consider the declaration of Jesus that “I am coming soon, bringing my recompense with me to repay each one for what he has done” (Revelation 22:12). For when we are honest with ourselves we know that even our best deeds are still tainted by sin and even our best intentions are still suffused with selfishness. We know that we have no truly good deeds to claim and that we have fallen far short of the glory God demands.
Sometimes I find myself pondering my life after I trusted in Christ and considering the strange and grievous reality of being both saved and sinner and of living in both the already and the not yet. I consider that I have so often been careless with my life, I have so often been cowardly in my faith, I have so often been faithless in my calling. At times I have nearly mutinied against God. I would never deny that I have deserved rebuke and reproach.
But God knows as well that I have never been a traitor and I have never been a deserter.
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While the battle is long and fierce, “He who is in us is greater than he who is in the world.” Therefore we should expect to see frequent successes shown in significant and measurable victories over our sin. “Frequent success against any lust is another part and evidence of mortification. By success I understand not a mere disappointment of sin, that it be not brought forth nor accomplished, but a victory over it and pursuit of it to a complete conquest.”

To become a Christian is to accept the lifelong challenge of becoming who you are — of putting sin to death and growing in holiness. Today I want to channel a little John Owen and tell you three things you ought to expect when battling sin.
Expect that the Battle Will Be Long
Owen says that putting sin to death consists of “a habitual weakening of sin,” and I take this to mean that over time and through our habits we chip away at our sin bit-by-bit and day-by-day. Rather than expecting sin to be destroyed in a moment, we expect that it will take time and focused effort. In this way putting sin to death is relative to our maturity as Christians and to the amount of time we have dedicated to battling a particular sin. He says, “The first thing in mortification is the weakening of this habit of sin or lust, that it shall not, with that violence, earnestness, frequency, rise up, conceive, tumultuate, provoke, entice, disquiet as naturally as it is apt to do.”
He has this amazing quote that is quite an indictment of humanity: “The reason why a natural man is not always perpetually in the pursuit of some one lust, night and day, is because he has many to serve, every one crying to be satisfied; thence he is carried on with great variety, but still in general he lies toward the satisfaction of self.”
He also makes a very helpful comparison between putting sin to death and a man being executed on a cross:
As a man nailed to the cross he first struggles and strives and cries out with great strength and might, but, as his blood and spirits waste, his strivings are faint and seldom, his cries low and hoarse, scarce to be heard; when a man first sets on a lust or distemper, to deal with it, it struggles with great violence to break loose; it cries with earnestness and impatience to be satisfied and relieved; but when by mortification the blood and spirits of it are let out, it moves seldom and faintly….
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