In the middle of a psalm filled with enemies, danger, and warfare, King David pauses to voice the deepest desire of his heart: Ps 27:4

One thing I ask from the Lord,
    this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
    all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the Lord
    and to seek him in his temple.

One thing. Not ten things. Not even two. In a life threatened on every side, David declares that everything else can wait; only one pursuit is non-negotiable: to behold the beauty of the Lord.

We rush past that phrase too quickly. Beauty. We immediately picture symmetry, color, or physical attractiveness—the categories our culture has trained us to notice. Yet the Hebrew word David chose, noʿam, carries a far richer freight. It means pleasantness, delightfulness, sweetness, favor—the quality in something that makes it irresistibly attractive and life-giving all at once. When Scripture elsewhere speaks of the “beauty of holiness” (Ps 29:2; 96:9) or the “beauty of the Lord” resting upon His people (Ps 90:17), it is this noʿam that is in view.

David is not imagining God as a handsome statue. He is longing for the radiant sum of all God’s perfections—His holiness, goodness, mercy, faithfulness, power, wisdom, and love—shining forth together in perfect harmony. To gaze upon the beauty of the Lord is to have the heart ravished by who God is and what God does rather than merely by how God appears. It is the moment when covenant promises cease to be ink on a page and become fire in the bones.

The Sweet Burning of Jonathan Edwards

Few have described this gaze more vividly than Jonathan Edwards. In his Personal Narrative he recounts seasons of private prayer when the glory of God in Christ suddenly overwhelmed him:

“The sense I had of divine things would often of a sudden kindle up, as it were, a sweet burning in my heart; an ardor of soul, that I know not how to express… Sometimes only mentioning his name would cause my heart to burn within me… I had an inward, sweet sense of Christ and the beauty of His person… My soul was melted, and tears gushed from my eyes.”

Notice the language: sweet burning, ardor of soul, heart melted, tears gushing. This is not cerebral appreciation; it is whole-souled captivation. Edwards was not abnormal; he was simply awake to what every believer is invited into. The beauty of the Lord is meant to be tasted, felt, and enjoyed—not merely assented to.

Answered Prayer and the Disclosure of Beauty

One of the most common ways Christians actually experience this beauty is through answered prayer. When we cry out in desperation and God bends low to meet us—when the doctor’s report turns, the prodigal texts “I’m coming home,” the marriage that was dead breathes again—we are granted an undeniable glimpse of God’s noʿam breaking into history. Answered prayer is the beauty of God made tangible. It is the moment abstract attributes become concrete faithfulness, and we taste that the Lord is good (Ps 34:8).

The presence of God and the beauty of God are inseparable. Wherever the Holy Spirit grants comfort in grief, strength in weakness, or joy in obedience, there the beauty of the Lord is being unveiled. The same Spirit who hovered over the waters at creation now hovers over our chaos, whispering, “Behold your God.”

A Beauty the World Can See

For those who do not yet know Christ, this beauty must first be displayed rather than merely described. Unbelievers cannot see what we see until it is translated into deeds of justice, kindness, and sacrificial love.

William Wilberforce spent decades in Parliament fighting the British slave trade. When he finally succeeded, the beauty of Christ—the worth of every human being made in the image of God—shone so brightly that even secular historians still speak of it with awe. On a smaller scale, every act of forgiveness in a fractured family, every refusal to gossip at work, every meal shared with the lonely widow is a public witness to the same beauty.

Jesus Himself made the connection inescapable: “When I was hungry you fed me… when I was in prison you visited me… Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matt 25:35–40). Feeding the hungry and visiting the hopeless are not merely social obligations; they are living demonstrations of the beauty of Christ.

When Christians live this way, the world is forced to ask, “Where does this kindness come from? Why do they love the unlovely?” The answer, whether spoken or unspoken, is always the same: we have seen the King in His beauty, and we cannot help reflecting what we have beheld.

Made for an Infinite Beauty

Augustine famously wrote, “You have made us for Yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in You.” The Latin is even more poignant: Fecisti nos ad te—“You have made us toward Yourself.” We are, by constitution, theocentric. Our intellect, will, memory, and especially our capacity to love are oriented toward the Infinite. We are capax Dei—capable of God.

This built-in restlessness is not a flaw; it is a mercy. It is the ache that keeps us from permanently settling for counterfeits. C. S. Lewis later reframed it memorably: “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”

Every lesser beauty—however genuine—is finally too small. A sunset can stun us, but it cannot forgive us. A spouse can cherish us, but cannot justify us. Achievement can exhilarate us, but cannot ultimate satisfy us. Only the infinite beauty of God is large enough to fill the God-shaped cavity in every human soul.

From Duty to Delight

In recent decades, preachers like Tim Keller have recovered a vital emphasis: Christianity is not finally about fear-driven duty or cold legalism. It is about being captivated by the surpassing beauty of Jesus until loving and obeying Him becomes the most natural thing in the world.

Legalism says, “I must.” The gospel says, “I want to.” The difference is everything. When we behold the beauty of the Lord, our affections are re-tuned organically. Worship flows spontaneously. Obedience becomes delight. Evangelism is no longer a grim obligation but an overflow of joy: “Come and see!”

This is why David’s single request in Psalm 27:4 is so revolutionary. In the midst of real danger he sought refuge—not first in strategy or allies, but in the presence of the Beautiful One. There he found courage, comfort, and unshakable joy.

Learning to Linger

How, then, do we cultivate this gaze? The primary place Scripture appoints is gathered worship on the Lord’s Day and the daily rhythm of Scripture-soaked prayer. We come expectantly, asking the Spirit to “open our eyes that we may behold wondrous things out of Your law” (Ps 119:18). We linger in adoration longer than feels efficient. We sing until the truth moves from head to heart. We meditate on the gospel until we see fresh facets of Christ’s loveliness.

The promise is sure: those who look to Him are radiant (Ps 34:5). Beholding is how we become. As we gaze upon His beauty, we are slowly transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another (2 Cor 3:18).

One day the gaze will be perfect. Faith will give way to sight, and we shall see Him as He is (1 John 3:2). Until then, may David’s prayer become ours: Ps 73:25-26

Whom have I in heaven but you?
    And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
²⁶ My flesh and my heart may fail,
    but God is the strength of my heart
    and my portion forever.