Omniscience does not imply observation. One can know something without directly observing it. So to know something is not necessarily the same as to see something. This may be particularly true for us, but we may wonder whether it is true for God as well. God may know us, he may know all about us, but has he actually seen us? Has he seen our circumstance, our suffering, our plight? Is the all-knowing God also the God who sees?
We may take it for granted that our God is an omniscient God. For the original readers of the Old Testament, however, the idea of a God who sees us is made manifest through the story of Hagar. Hagar is the only character in the Old Testament who actually names God, the “God Who Sees.”
The Egyptian maidservant Hagar appears as a minor character in Genesis 16. Most likely, she is one of the Egyptian female servants given to Abram by Pharaoh several chapters earlier, when, due to famine, Abram and his wife Sarai sojourn in Egypt. Fearing for his life, Abram deceives Pharaoh by telling him Sarai is his sister. When Pharoah finds out his mistake, he hurriedly sends Sarai away with Abram, along with everything Pharoah has given him, including the male and female servants.
Later in chapter 15, God covenants with Abram, promising him that he would have a son, and that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars in the sky. The Bible tells us that Abram believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness. It is notable here that God did not make a contract with Abram, who had nothing to offer God in return for his promises. Rather, God made a covenant, a one-sided promise, that he would carry out what he had promised.
Despite this covenant, Abram’s conduct at times is the direct opposite of a faithful, devoted follower of the one True God. Although the passage notes famously that Abram believed God’s promise, the story of Hagar that follows is an example of how impatience with God’s timing can lead humanity down a dark path.
Hence, in chapter 16, when an elderly Abram and Sarai still have not conceived a descendant, they concoct a scheme to give God the human assistance that they felt he needed to fulfill his promises to them: Sarai offers her maidservant Hagar to Abram to bear the child promised by God.
The text is noticeably silent as to whether Hagar consented to this decision. In fact, in the original Hebrew in Genesis 16:3, the grammar seems deliberately constructed to give the idea of Hagar as an object, not a person. Sarai “took” Hagar and “gave”her to Abram; Hagar is not the subject of these actions, but the object. In reading this, one gets the sense of Hagar’s personhood not being of any concern at all to Abram and Sarai. Inevitably, Hagar becomes pregnant. And a pregnant Hagar begins to despise her mistress Sarai. In return, Sarai treats her harshly. Fearful and afraid, Hagar flees into the desert.
When we read of Hagar, our post-modern sensibilities are offended by the idea of Abram, the master of the household, using Hagar for her womb to conceive a child for himself and Sarai. But I think ancient readers of this story would react with even more outrage. Not only is Hagar mistreated, but by conceiving a child with Hagar and not Sarai, Abram is doing something theologically offensive.
Abram is presuming that the God who made the promise to him in chapter 15 is neither powerful enough nor trustworthy enough to fulfill it. And because God cannot fulfill His promise, Abram believed that God somehow needed human assistance to fulfill the divine covenant. When humanity relies upon itself to fulfill divine promises, the end result can only be human misery.
The God Who Sees …
Like Hagar, when we are afflicted by sin and suffering, we are unaware of God’s presence. Although our circumstances are often the only thing we see, not only does God see us in these circumstances, he comes looking for us. In Genesis 16, the angel of the LORD appears to Hagar after she runs away from her mistress Sarai. The angel asks her, “Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from and where are you going?” Through the appearance of the angel, God demonstrates that he sees Hagar and her suffering. But why does the angel ask Hagar these questions—doesn’t God already know the answers?
In seeing us, the omniscient God already knows everything about us. He knows our name. He knows where we have been, where we are, and where we are going. He knows the whole story of our lives, from our birth to our last breath. He knows us better than we know ourselves.
So God does not need to learn anything new. Rather, by asking Hagar to be truthful, God is prompting Hagar to see herself as God sees her, to remember who she is, and who God is. And the truth is, Hagar is fleeing the mistress who has mistreated her. But her mistress Sarai is also the wife of Abram, the one to whom God promised that his descendants would be as numerous as the starry night sky. And so in commanding Hagar to return to Sarai, God is reminding Hagar, who is pregnant with Abram’s son, that the God who sees her would be the God who protects her. For the promise that God made to Abram in chapter 15:5 regarding his descendants is the same promise that God would repeat to Hagar in chapter 16:10—not because of their righteousness (for none of the characters in this story come across as particularly virtuous), but rather because of God’s faithfulness. In this case, Hagar was pregnant with the first son of Abram, Ishmael, a name that means “God hears.” Later in this story, Hagar would realize the eternal truth of this name.
... Is the God Who Can Be Seen …
The God who sees is the God who can be seen. In Genesis 16:13, Hagar names the LORD who speaks to her, El Roi (אֵל רֳאִי). Some translations render this phrase, El Roi, as “a God of seeing,” while other translators render it as “a God who sees me.” The original Hebrew lends itself to either interpretation. But this linguistic ambiguity also highlights a truth about God. The God who is capable of seeing is also a God who personally sees me, who sees all of us.
And so Hagar confesses that the God who sees her is the God whom she can see: “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me.” When Hagar understands that God sees her, she realizes that she can also see God’s character, because God has listened to her in her affliction, and has promised that her son, unlike his mother, shall be no one’s servant; his hand will be against everyone; he will never be a slave.
The theological implication is clear. The seeing God is also the God who can be seen. Through an act of self-revelation, God allows himself to be viewed through his promise and through providential acts of mercy. These acts reveal a God who is faithful to the promises that he has made.
This name, El Roi, is significant also because it is a name given to God by Hagar. All other names God gives himself, and announces to his listeners. But we should not interpret this as something Hagar does on her own. Even the act of naming God as the God who sees her is a reaction to God reaching out to Hagar first by demonstrating his faithfulness. Dutch theologian Herman Bavinck writes:
[T]he names by which we call and address God are not arbitrary; they were not conceived by us at our own pleasure. It is God himself who deliberately and freely, both in nature and in grace, reveals himself, who gives us the right to name him on the basis of his self-revelation, and who in his Word has made his own names known to us on that same basis.1
The God who sees. The God who sees me. The God who can be seen. Every name of God is an act of divine self-revelation.
…Is the God who Hears and Saves
Later in Genesis 21, God fulfills everything he had promised to Hagar earlier. Issac, the son of Abraham and Sarah, is born, and Sarah demands that Abraham cast out Hagar and her son Ishmael. While Abraham is distressed, God tells Abraham that it is Isaac through whom his offspring shall be named, not Ishmael, and directs him to follow Sarah’s wishes. Hagar and the child Ishmael are cast out into the wilderness with only bread and a skin of water.
Wandering in the wilderness, her food is long gone and her skin of water runs dry. Not wanting to see Ishmael succumb to starvation, thirst, and inevitable death, she sets him down, and sits a distance away. She lifts her voice and wails. At this point in the story, it is only natural to ask ourselves, is God still the God who sees?
Interestingly, here in chapter 21 the angel of the LORD does not make an appearance. Instead, the Scriptures tell us that God heard Ishmael (per his name), and the angel of the LORD calls from above that God has heard the voice of the boy. Even when Hagar’s eyes cannot see God, God is still there with her. He is not only the God who sees, He is the God who hears.
According to the passage, God hears Hagar’s cries and opens Hagar’s eyes to see a well, and she revives the boy with water. Ishmael’s life is saved by divine intervention. The Scriptures note that God himself is with the boy, and indeed he grows up to be a great nation, because he too, is a son of Abraham. In this way, again Godshows himself to be faithful, fulfilling the promises that God made to Hagar in Chapter 16.
The God who sees is able to be seen. But even when we cannot see him, he sees and hears us. And through his writing of the story of our lives, his faithfulness is seen as well.
One might ask, why does God allow himself to be seen this way? Because our God is a promise-making, promise-keeping God, who is faithful to his purposes for our lives. His faithfulness should drive us to worship him, to give him what we owe him, the glory due his Name. For the God who sees is a saving and faithful God.
Seeing God’s faithfulness makes us view the world differently.
When we see God’s faithfulness clearly, our circumstances will seem different. To be sure, we will still see our world held captive to sin and suffering, but we will see it with fresh eyes, because we know that ultimately, our world is destined to be one of redemption and triumph, through the finished work of Christ.
Importantly, seeing God’s faithfulness forces us to ask ourselves, am I seeing others as God sees them? This theological question lies at the root of every crisis and conflict in human history. It is a particularly salient question as it relates to Isaac and Ishmael, sons of Abraham the patriarch, whose descendants now share a turbulent and troubled co-existence.
As I write this, it has been over six months since the October 7, 2023 attack on Israel by Hamas terrorists. Over 1,200 Israelis perished on that terrible day. Many are still held as hostages, as human shields, by the Hamas leaders sheltering underground in Gaza. In the meantime, Israel has responded with overwhelming military force, eliminating thousands of Hamas operatives, but in the process, killing over 20,000 Gazans, destroying tens of thousands of homes, and leaving hundreds of thousands of Gazans homeless. Over 700,000 Gazans are now at risk of famine and starvation, a great many of them young children.
There is no easy fix for the human tragedy that is unveiling before our very eyes. While we pray for our leaders to make wise national security decisions, we must also pray that all sides, Arab and Israeli, Jews and Muslims, see each other as God sees each of them. There is no policy, decision or legislation that can bring this about. Hatred as strong as that which currently exists can only be overcome by the working of a sovereign God whose love is stronger than hatred itself.
The descendants of Isaac and Ishmael are locked in perpetual conflict and hatred. Yet both are Abraham’s sons, and both received a promise that they would become great nations. Let us pray for a world in which the God who sees and is seen, the God who reveals himself to be faithful, opens all of our eyes to see every person as God sees them.
Israel Soong has been a graduate student at Westminster Theological Seminary in Glenside, PA, and is a graduate of Harvard Law School and the Harvard Kennedy School of Government. He preaches often at Chantilly Bible Church, in Chantilly, VA, where he is a member. He has written for Tennent and The Gospel Coalition.