Hello my friends,
This is Mark Gladman,
Also known as Brother Frederick James,
Your friendly neighbourhood monk in dogs.
Welcome to day 6 of our Lent 2026 journey,
In the wilderness,
Still held,
As we walk towards Easter in the Gospel of John.
As always,
I invite you to take a moment to arrive,
To allow yourself to sit,
To still,
To settle.
Loosen the small effort you may not have realised that you were carrying with you as you came into this space today.
Let your breath come and go without interference,
You don't have to deepen it,
You don't have to improve it,
Just simply notice your breathing,
You are already being held.
Today we move to the last part of the first chapter of John's Gospel,
A simple but disarming moment.
Before Nathaniel has spoken to Jesus,
Before he's declared any belief,
Before he has understood who it is that stands before him,
Jesus says,
Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.
And Nathaniel is startled by this and says,
Well how do you know me?
And Jesus replies,
I saw you under the fig tree.
He's recognised before he explains himself,
Seen before he presents himself and known perhaps even before he's ready to be known.
When you think about it,
Most of us spend our lives preparing to be seen in some way.
We curate versions of ourselves,
We rehearse explanations,
We dress up both our bodies and faces as well as how we look in perhaps online spaces for instance.
We wait until we feel acceptable,
Spiritual enough,
Healed enough,
Looking right,
Certain.
In every case it's an enough,
Isn't it?
We want to be enough and only then do we risk stepping into the light and quite often still uncomfortable,
Still anxious.
Yet this story suggests something very different about the heart of God.
God's gaze doesn't wait for your readiness,
It precedes it.
And perhaps even more importantly,
God's gaze doesn't evaluate,
It reveals.
It doesn't scan your life looking for deficiencies.
It's not searching for grounds to withdraw love.
The divine gaze reveals what's already true,
What is beneath the strategies,
Beneath the protections,
Beneath the carefully managed self.
There is a life already held in God,
Already wanted and already known.
Many of us have learned to associate being seen with being corrected.
To be noticed meant something needed fixing,
To be recognized meant improvement was expected and so we hide.
And sometimes very subtly,
Even in prayer,
Even in our spiritual lives,
We bring edited versions of ourselves before others and before the divine.
But abiding invites another way.
Abiding means allowing yourself to be seen without rehearsal.
No performance,
No spiritual presentation,
No quiet attempt to control what God might notice,
Just presence.
And the wilderness teaches this gently because the wilderness has very little interest in the self that we curate.
Out there,
Whether in an actual landscape or the interior wilderness we all eventually walk,
The roles thin out,
Don't they?
Titles fall silent,
Competence becomes less persuasive,
Even certainty begins to loosen its grip.
And what remains is simply the self that is.
And this can feel unsettling at first,
But it's also where a surprising safety begins to emerge because we discover that God is not startled by who we are without our coverings.
To be known by God isn't the loss of freedom,
It's the creation of it.
When nothing must be hidden,
Nothing must be defended.
When you no longer have to spend your energy managing how you're perceived,
Something in you begins to rest.
And from that rest,
A quieter life becomes possible.
So today,
Hear this gently,
You are known before you are ready.
God isn't waiting for a more refined version of you.
There's no need to wait for clarity or emotional composure or some sort of spiritual maturity.
God sees you now and the seeing,
My friend,
Hear this carefully,
The seeing is kind,
It's protective,
It's steady.
If it feels natural,
You might imagine yourself sitting beneath Nathaniel's fig tree,
A place of shade,
Of honesty,
Perhaps even of unanswered questions.
And notice that Jesus doesn't intrude,
He simply sees.
Let yourself rest there for a moment,
Seen but not grasped,
Known but not managed.
As you rest,
You may want to reflect quietly.
Where do I hide until I feel acceptable?
What would it mean to be known without being corrected?
And can I trust a gaze that sees without grasping?
There's no need to force an answer.
Sometimes trust grows simply by remaining,
By letting yourself stay where you're seen.
This is the heart of abiding,
Not striving towards God,
But consenting to be found.
And as we close today,
Receive this assurance,
The one who sees you is the one who keeps you.
You're not exposed,
You're sheltered.
Forget about being analysed,
But embrace being loved.
So let God's knowing come before your self-explanation,
Let it come before the story you tell about yourself,
Before the improvements you plan,
Before the readiness you believe is required,
Just as you are.
You are already held in the gaze of God.
Abide there.
And when you rise to continue your day,
May you carry this quiet knowing within you.
You don't have to become visible,
Because you already are.
And when you're ready,
I invite you to rise from this place and go into your day.
And may grace,
Peace,
Love and the abiding presence of God be with you and remain with you this day and every day.
As we continue through Lent.
Amen.
Until tomorrow,
My friend.
Bye for now.
