I’ve found that while I’ve been quieter than usual lately outwardly, my inner world has been filled with noise. A frequency of static that comes from where I’m listening and looking. As I prayed with today’s Gospel reading this Sunday morning, I was reminded of the opening pages of This Present Paradise, my book on St. Elizabeth of the Trinity.

I recount that as I was filled with overwhelm and paralysis in my attempts at writing, I discovered Elizabeth’s advice to her sister: “I would advise you to simplify all your reading, to fill yourself a little less; you will see that this is much better. Take your Crucifix, look, listen.”

Look. Listen. Behold.

“Behold the Lamb of God,” says John the Baptist in the Gospel.

All our projects, plans, and good ideas must have one starting point–even better, one focal point. All our words are empty without their source and summit. All our attempts to explain, encourage, exhort, and illuminate fall flat without the added dimension that only prayer can provide.

This year, let’s let some things fall away (even words, sometimes, as hard as it is for me to say that!) for the sake of silent gazing. “You will see that this is much better.”

Something beautiful happens when we allow ourselves to sit in silence before God. We realize that Someone is beholding us, too. Like a slow sunrise, we begin to feel light on our faces, warmth spreading over our being. We wake up to the knowledge that we are being looked upon.

This might make us uncomfortable. We might begin to feel shame and want to hide.

But if we let ourselves rest under the gaze of God, we will become a little more whole. A little more settled. A little more us.

Sometimes, letting Him love us begins with simply letting ourselves be beholden.

I asked Fr. James Brent, OP if it would be correct to say that God contemplates us.

He answered: “Yes, you can say God contemplates us. God does not contemplate in the same way humans or angels do, but in a higher and better way.” In other words, God holds us in his mind and heart, considers us, and knows us. But we cannot begin understand that in our own terms or experience. His beholding us and contemplating us is far beyond what we can know.

It’s enough to know that when God, through St. John the Baptist in today’s Gospel reading, invites us to “Behold”, he is inviting us to participate in His own beholding, for part of our being beloved—perhaps the most foundational part—is being seen.

So come out of your interior crawl-spaces and let yourself be seen, known, and delighted in. Practice “being beholden” in your prayer time and become comfortable under God’s loving gaze.

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