In our superstition, washing a car breaks a drought, commenting aloud on good luck (without knocking on wood) brings bad, and refusing to shave extends a win streak. As technology and conspiracy replace superstition, we believe our whispered thoughts reach the king’s (or company’s) ear on the little wings of our iPhone (Ecclesiastes 10:20), which is why it tells us our favorite restaurant is 8 minutes away when we just said we’re hungry. We notice the incredible coincidences which confirm the suspicion that elves tinker or androids eavesdrop because we don’t notice the constant, credible incidents which don’t. (We likely visit that restaurant at the same time every week.)
We are great at observing things that are interesting or important to us. We are equally great—perhaps even more so—at discounting or disregarding the constancy and ubiquity of everything else. (Of course, to be fair and to coopt Joseph Heller: just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean Siri and Alexa aren’t after you.)
When the disciples are about to notice persecution, Jesus tells them not to fear because God notices everything. “Are not two sparrows sold for a copper coin? And not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father’s will. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:29-31).
God knows the secrets we whisper while we wash the car. And he knows when we need food or rain. He knows the things we don’t, even about ourselves. But unlike an impersonal, mischievous force, he also cares about us—not occasionally or conveniently, but constantly and faithfully.
To a week knowing God’s eye is as open as his hand.