My temptation is not so much toward a disbelief in God as toward a belief in an impersonal and philosophical God, a necessary being that is unknown and unknowable—something like the “first cause” of Plato and Aquinas. Such a being would answer the philosophical mysteries of our existence, and that of the universe, and yet not be interested in the lives of humans. Such a being would be unlike the God of Christianity.

Just how unlike struck me again recently. Upon reviewing the account of the widow of Nain, recorded in Luke chapter 7, a particular sentence popped out at me. As a recap of the story, Jesus and a crowd of his followers have reached the gate of a village and are blocked by a funeral procession for a dead boy. As the wailers cry out, and the casket is being hoisted aloft, we are told of the boy’s mother, a widow. Suddenly, “when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her.”

There it is! These are the words that on a casual reading can drift by unnoticed, but in fact are shocking and set Christianity apart from other religions. As the crowd later gasps upon seeing Jesus perform the miracle of restoring life to the boy: “God has visited his people!”

Jesus “saw” her. And more than that he noticed. He perceived her, with a gaze that pierces flesh and bone to see what is inside the mind, the soul. An old Anglican prayer begins, “Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid…” God sees you and notices you.

God isn’t some Unmoved Mover. He is not aloof, but rather is deeply and intricately involved in our lives. As those townspeople proclaimed, God has indeed visited His people. He came to us not as a vision or an idea, but as a person who could be seen, heard, touched, and mistreated. Furthermore, God notices individuals, and has compassion upon their plight. In other passages of the Gospels we see Jesus being moved to tears at the death of a friend, and showing anger at injustice. This is what sets Christianity apart from other belief systems.

It is radically different from other ancient religions, which had pantheons of gods who were a bit like Marvel’s Thanos, or larger scale versions of the pretenders for the Iron Throne of Westeros (a “Game of Thrones” reference there). These were arrogant, morally impaired, entitled beings jockeying for power, who would not even notice a commoner (unless perhaps an unusually attractive maiden might arouse some sexual interest now and then). Such “gods” don’t approach you, rather you approach them, if you dare, and if you are somehow unusually worthy. They would not grieve for the death of a widow’s son.

This care and concern for individuals also differentiates Christianity from eastern religions such as Buddhism and Hinduism, which would suggest that everything we see and experience, including our griefs and sufferings, are merely illusions superimposed on some deeper reality, and that the way forward is to detach from this world. This deeper reality doesn’t notice you, because there isn’t really a “you” to notice.

This touching little story in Luke could be seen a microcosm of the Gospel. God notices you, has compassion upon you in your current state of weakness and pain. God not only notices, but approaches. Further, he reaches out and touches the spiritually lifeless, bringing healing and new life where previously there was none.