Matthew 6:16

Berean Standard Bible

When you fast, do not be somber like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces to show men they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they already have their full reward.

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Matthew 6:16, nestled within the Sermon on the Mount, presents Jesus’ teaching on fasting: “When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full.” This verse, part of a broader discourse on spiritual disciplines, offers a profound critique of religious performance and a call to authentic devotion. To unpack its meaning, we must consider its immediate context, its theological implications, and its enduring relevance for personal and communal spirituality.

The verse begins with the phrase “When you fast,” which carries an assumption that fasting is a normative practice for Jesus’ followers. Unlike modern contexts where fasting might be seen as optional or tied to health trends, in first-century Jewish culture, fasting was a deeply ingrained spiritual discipline. It was often associated with repentance, mourning, or seeking God’s guidance, as seen in the practices of figures like Moses, David, and the prophets. Jesus does not question the validity of fasting but shifts the focus to its motivation and execution. This assumption of “when” rather than “if” suggests that fasting, like prayer and almsgiving (the other disciplines addressed in Matthew 6), is expected to be a regular part of a disciple’s life. Yet, Jesus’ concern is not with the act itself but with the heart behind it.

The central critique in this verse is aimed at “the hypocrites,” a term Jesus frequently uses in the Gospel of Matthew to describe those whose religious actions are performative rather than genuine. The Greek word for hypocrite, *hypokrites*, originally referred to an actor in a play, someone who assumes a role for an audience. In this context, Jesus applies it to those who fast with an outward display of piety to garner admiration from others. The phrase “disfigure their faces” paints a vivid picture: these individuals deliberately make themselves look haggard, perhaps by smearing ashes on their faces or neglecting personal grooming, to signal their spiritual rigor. Their somber demeanor is a calculated act, a public performance designed to elicit praise or awe from onlookers. Jesus’ condemnation is sharp and unequivocal: such behavior nullifies the spiritual value of fasting.

The phrase “they have received their reward in full” is particularly striking. In the Greek, the verb *apechō* implies a transaction completed, a payment fully settled. The hypocrites, by seeking human approval, have already obtained their reward—fleeting admiration—and thus forfeit any deeper spiritual benefit. This stands in stark contrast to the reward Jesus later promises for those who fast in secret, where the Father, who sees what is hidden, will reward them (Matthew 6:18). The nature of this divine reward is not explicitly defined, but it aligns with the broader theme of the Sermon on the Mount: a life oriented toward God’s kingdom yields eternal significance, far surpassing temporal accolades.

To fully grasp the weight of this teaching, we must consider its place within the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew 6 is structured around three pillars of Jewish piety: almsgiving (6:2-4), prayer (6:5-15), and fasting (6:16-18). In each case, Jesus contrasts hypocritical, attention-seeking behavior with a call to secrecy and sincerity. The repetition of this pattern underscores a central theme: authentic righteousness is not about external performance but about an internal disposition toward God. The hypocrites’ fasting is not wrong because they fast but because their motive is self-glorification rather than devotion to God. This critique would have been particularly pointed in Jesus’ time, as religious leaders like the Pharisees often used public displays of piety to reinforce their social and spiritual authority. Jesus challenges this, urging his followers to prioritize God’s approval over human praise.

Theologically, this verse invites reflection on the nature of spiritual disciplines. Fasting, at its core, is an act of self-denial, a way to express dependence on God by forgoing physical sustenance. It is meant to draw the practitioner closer to God, fostering humility, repentance, and spiritual clarity. However, when fasting becomes a tool for self-promotion, it loses its transformative power. Jesus’ teaching suggests that the efficacy of any spiritual practice hinges on its orientation toward God rather than self. This aligns with the broader biblical narrative, where God consistently looks at the heart rather than outward appearances (1 Samuel 16:7). The hypocrites’ fasting, though outwardly impressive, is spiritually bankrupt because it seeks to elevate the self rather than honor God.

The cultural context of first-century Judaism also enriches our understanding. Fasting was not only a personal practice but often a communal one, especially during times of national crisis or religious festivals like the Day of Atonement. Public displays of fasting could thus serve as a form of social signaling, reinforcing one’s status as a devout member of the community. Jesus’ call to fast in secret disrupts this cultural norm, challenging the assumption that spiritual devotion must be visible to be valid. By instructing his followers to “anoint your head and wash your face” (6:17), Jesus advocates for normalcy in appearance, ensuring that fasting remains a private act of worship. This does not mean fasting can never be communal—Jesus himself acknowledges corporate fasting elsewhere (e.g., Matthew 9:14-15)—but that even in community, the focus should be on God, not on impressing others.

For contemporary readers, this teaching carries profound implications. In an age of social media and personal branding, the temptation to perform spirituality for an audience is perhaps more acute than ever. Sharing moments of prayer, fasting, or charity online can easily slide into the kind of hypocrisy Jesus critiques, where the act becomes more about crafting an image than deepening one’s relationship with God. Yet, the challenge is not merely to avoid public displays but to examine the heart’s motives. Even private fasting can be tainted by pride or self-righteousness if the goal is to feel superior rather than to seek God. Jesus’ words call for relentless self-examination, urging us to ask: Why do I do what I do? Is my devotion for God’s glory or my own?

Moreover, this verse invites us to reconsider the purpose of fasting itself. In a culture that often prioritizes comfort and instant gratification, fasting can feel counterintuitive, even archaic. Yet, Jesus assumes its value, suggesting that it remains a vital practice for spiritual growth. Fasting, when done with sincerity, can cultivate discipline, heighten awareness of God’s presence, and remind us of our dependence on Him. It can also foster solidarity with those who lack, as voluntary hunger mirrors the involuntary hunger of the poor, prompting compassion and action. By stripping away distractions, fasting creates space for God to speak, revealing truths about ourselves and our priorities.

The enduring power of Matthew 6:16 lies in its call to authenticity. Jesus does not merely prescribe a new rule—fast in secret—but exposes the deeper issue of the heart’s allegiance. Whether in fasting, prayer, or any act of devotion, the question is not how others perceive us but how we stand before God. This verse challenges us to strip away pretense, to reject the allure of external validation, and to pursue a faith that is raw, honest, and God-centered. In doing so, it promises a reward not measured in human applause but in the quiet, transformative encounter with the One who sees in secret.

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Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ, who has called us out of darkness into His marvelous light. I write to you, beloved, as one compelled by the Spirit to stir your hearts toward a deeper devotion, to reflect on the words of our Savior in Matthew 6:16, where He teaches us, “When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full.” These words, sharp as a two-edged sword, pierce through the veneer of religious pretense and beckon us to a faith that is pure, untainted by the applause of men, and wholly fixed on the glory of God. Let us, therefore, meditate together on this divine instruction, that we might walk worthy of the calling we have received.

Consider, dear friends, the context of our Lord’s teaching. In the Sermon on the Mount, Christ unveils the righteousness of the kingdom, a righteousness that surpasses the external piety of the scribes and Pharisees. He speaks not as one who abolishes the law but as its fulfillment, revealing the heart of God’s desire for His people. When He addresses fasting, He assumes its place in our lives, saying “when you fast,” not “if.” Fasting, then, is no mere relic of ancient tradition but a living discipline, a sacred rhythm by which we draw near to the One who sustains us. Yet, our Lord’s concern is not the act itself but the motive behind it. He warns against the hypocrisy that seeks human admiration, that disfigures the face to broadcast spiritual fervor. Such hypocrisy, beloved, is a thief that robs us of the true reward—the intimate fellowship with our Father who sees in secret.

Let us pause to marvel at the hypocrisy Jesus exposes. The hypocrites, as He calls them, are not merely those who err but those who perform. Like actors on a stage, they craft an image of piety, their somber faces a calculated display to win the praise of others. But what is this praise, dear ones, but a fleeting vapor? It is a reward that fades with the setting sun, leaving the soul empty and the heart untouched by the transformative grace of God. When Jesus declares that they “have received their reward in full,” He unveils a sobering truth: to seek the approval of men is to forfeit the approval of God. The transaction is complete, the ledger closed. Oh, how tragic to trade the eternal for the temporal, to exchange the smile of our Father for the fleeting nods of a crowd!

Yet, this warning is not merely a condemnation but an invitation. Our Lord calls us to a better way, a path of sincerity where our fasting is unseen by men but seen by God. To fast in secret, to anoint our heads and wash our faces as Jesus instructs, is to declare that our devotion is for Him alone. It is to stand before the One who searches hearts, to offer our hunger as an act of worship, untainted by the desire for recognition. This, beloved, is the essence of true righteousness—not a performance for others but a surrender to God. For what is fasting, if not a humbling of ourselves, a laying aside of physical sustenance to cling more fiercely to the Bread of Life? It is a cry of the soul, saying, “You, O God, are my portion; in You alone do I find my strength.”

Reflect, then, on the theological weight of this teaching. Fasting is not a means to earn God’s favor, for we are justified by faith alone through the finished work of Christ. Rather, it is a response to His grace, a discipline that aligns our hearts with His purposes. When we fast, we confess our dependence on God, acknowledging that our life is not sustained by bread alone but by every word that proceeds from His mouth. We mirror the humility of our Savior, who fasted forty days in the wilderness, not to impress but to prepare His heart for the Father’s will. In fasting, we join the chorus of the saints— Moses, Elijah, Anna—who sought God’s face through self-denial, trusting in His provision. And in this act, we are drawn into the mystery of the cross, where Christ emptied Himself for our sake, that we might be filled with the fullness of God.

But let us not be content with theology alone, for faith without works is dead. What does this mean for us today, living in a world that clamors for visibility and validation? We are surrounded by a culture that thrives on performance, where even our spiritual lives can become a stage for self-promotion. Social media, with its endless scroll of curated moments, tempts us to broadcast our piety, to post our prayers or share our fasts for likes and retweets. Beware, beloved, for this is the hypocrisy of our age, dressed in modern garb. To fast for the eyes of others is to build on sand, to erect a monument to self that will crumble under the weight of eternity. Instead, let us fast in the quiet of our hearts, in the secret place where only God sees. Let us close the door to the world’s applause and open our souls to the One who rewards in secret.

Practically, how shall we live this out? Begin by examining your heart. Before you fast, ask yourself: Why do I undertake this discipline? Is it to draw near to God, to seek His guidance, to intercede for others, or to grow in holiness? Or is there a subtle desire to be seen, to be thought spiritual by your peers? Confess any trace of pride, for our God is merciful and quick to forgive. Then, fast with simplicity. It need not be a grand gesture—a day, a meal, or even a sacrifice of time or distraction can be a fast offered to God. Do so with normalcy, as Jesus instructs, carrying on your daily tasks without fanfare. Let your hunger be a silent prayer, a reminder of your need for God’s sustaining grace. And as you fast, pray. Seek His face. Listen for His voice. Let the physical emptiness awaken a spiritual hunger for His presence.

Moreover, consider fasting not only for yourself but for others. In a world marked by division and suffering, fasting can be an act of solidarity with the poor, the oppressed, the brokenhearted. As you abstain from food, remember those who hunger involuntarily, and let your fast stir you to compassion and action. Share your bread with the hungry, as Isaiah 58 urges, and let your devotion overflow into justice and mercy. In this way, fasting becomes not only a personal discipline but a communal witness, a sign of the kingdom breaking into a world in need.

Beloved, let us not grow weary in pursuing this sacred call. The path of secret devotion is not easy, for it requires us to die to self, to lay aside the allure of human praise. Yet, the reward is unspeakably great. The Father who sees in secret will reward you—not with the fleeting treasures of this world but with the eternal riches of His presence. He will draw you closer, shape you into the image of His Son, and fill you with the joy of knowing Him. This is the promise of Matthew 6:16, a promise sealed by the blood of Christ, who fasted, prayed, and gave Himself for us.

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to fast with sincerity, to seek the face of your Father in the hidden place. Let your devotion be a sweet aroma to Him, untainted by the world’s gaze. And may the God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, strengthen you, guide you, and keep you steadfast in this holy pursuit. To Him be the glory forever and ever. Amen.

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O Eternal God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, Creator of all things and Sustainer of our souls, we come before You in the humility of our need, bowing our hearts in the secret place where You alone see. You are the One who searches the depths of our being, who knows our thoughts before they are formed, and who delights in the sincere devotion of Your children. We lift our voices to You, inspired by the words of Your Son in Matthew 6:16, where He calls us to fast not for the praise of men but for the glory of Your name. Grant us, O Lord, the grace to heed this call, to offer our fasting as a pure sacrifice, untainted by pride, and to seek Your face with undivided hearts.

We confess, Almighty God, that we live in a world that tempts us to perform, to display our righteousness before others, to seek the fleeting applause of human approval. Like the hypocrites Your Son rebuked, we are prone to disfigure our faces, not with ashes but with the subtle boasts of our words, the curated images of our lives, the desire to be seen as spiritual. Forgive us, merciful Father, for every moment we have traded Your eternal reward for the temporary praise of this age. Cleanse us from the stain of hypocrisy, and purify our motives, that our fasting may be a true act of worship, a silent offering laid before Your throne.

You, O God, are the source of all life, the Bread that sustains us, the Living Water that quenches our deepest thirst. In fasting, we declare our dependence on You, acknowledging that our strength comes not from the things of this world but from Your boundless grace. We thank You for the example of Your Son, who fasted in the wilderness, not to impress but to draw near to You, to align His heart with Your will. Teach us, Lord, to follow in His steps, to embrace the discipline of self-denial as a pathway to intimacy with You. Let our hunger be a prayer, our weakness a testimony to Your strength, our emptiness an invitation for Your Spirit to fill us.

We pray, O Father, for the courage to fast in secret, to anoint our heads and wash our faces, as Jesus taught, so that our devotion may be unseen by men but seen by You. Guard us from the temptation to broadcast our piety, to seek validation in the eyes of others. In the quiet of our hearts, in the hidden moments of sacrifice, meet us, Lord. Speak to us in the stillness, reveal to us the beauty of Your presence, and transform us into the likeness of Your Son. May our fasting be a crucible where pride is burned away, where self-reliance is surrendered, and where Your glory shines forth.

We lift before You, gracious God, those among us who are weary, who struggle to fast, who feel the weight of this discipline in a culture that exalts comfort and excess. Strengthen them, we pray, with the power of Your Spirit. Remind them that You do not demand perfection but a heart turned toward You. For those who hunger involuntarily, the poor and the oppressed, we intercede with fervent hearts. Stir in us compassion through our fasting, that we may share our bread with the hungry, clothe the naked, and seek justice for those who cry out. Let our devotion be a witness to Your kingdom, a sign of Your love breaking into a broken world.

O God of all grace, we marvel at the promise of Your reward—not a reward of earthly treasures but the surpassing gift of Your presence, the joy of knowing You more deeply. We long for the day when we will see You face to face, when every act of secret devotion will be revealed in the light of Your glory. Until that day, keep us steadfast in our pursuit of You. Let our fasting be a foretaste of the feast to come, a reminder that we are sojourners in this world, citizens of a kingdom that cannot be shaken. May it draw us closer to one another, binding us as a community of faith, united in our hunger for Your righteousness.

We offer this prayer through Jesus Christ, our Savior, who fasted for us, who gave Himself fully that we might be reconciled to You. To Him, with You and the Holy Spirit, be all honor, glory, and praise, now and forevermore. Amen.