so that your fasting will not be obvious to men, but only to your Father, who is unseen. And your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
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Matthew 6:18 concludes Jesus’ teaching on fasting with a striking emphasis on secrecy and divine reward: “so that your fasting may not be seen by others but by your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” This verse, though brief, carries profound weight, encapsulating themes of spiritual authenticity, divine intimacy, and the reorientation of human motives. To unpack its meaning, we must consider its immediate context within Jesus’ broader discourse on religious practices, its theological implications, and its enduring relevance for personal devotion.
The verse comes at the tail end of a passage where Jesus addresses three pillars of Jewish piety: almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. In each case, he critiques the performative nature of these acts when done for human acclaim. The structure is deliberate, almost rhythmic—Jesus repeatedly contrasts the hypocrisy of public displays with the quiet sincerity of devotion offered to God alone. Fasting, the focus here, was a significant practice in first-century Judaism, often associated with repentance, mourning, or seeking God’s favor. Yet, Jesus observes that even this deeply personal act could be corrupted by the desire for social approval. The “hypocrites” he references, likely a pointed nod to certain religious leaders, fasted ostentatiously, ensuring their gaunt faces and somber demeanor advertised their piety. Jesus’ instruction to “anoint your head and wash your face” in the preceding verse is not merely practical advice but a radical call to normalcy, to conceal the act of fasting so thoroughly that it becomes an invisible offering to God.
The phrase “your Father who is in secret” is the theological heart of the verse. It reveals a God who dwells in the unseen, who observes the hidden movements of the heart rather than the outward spectacle. This is not a distant deity, aloof from human affairs, but a profoundly intimate one, attuned to the quietest acts of devotion. The term “Father” underscores this relational closeness, evoking trust and personal connection. Jesus is not merely prescribing a rule but inviting his listeners into a transformative understanding of God’s nature. The secrecy Jesus demands is not about shame or concealment for its own sake but about redirecting the heart’s focus from human validation to divine communion. To fast “in secret” is to strip away the ego’s need for recognition, to encounter God in a space untainted by external agendas.
The promise that “your Father who sees in secret will reward you” introduces the theme of divine reward, a recurring motif in this chapter. But what is this reward? Jesus does not specify, and perhaps that is intentional. The reward is not a transactional payout, as if God were a cosmic vending machine dispensing blessings for good behavior. Rather, the reward lies in the deepened relationship with God himself. To fast in secret is to cultivate a posture of dependence and trust, to align one’s desires with God’s will. The reward may manifest in spiritual clarity, a sense of God’s presence, or the quiet assurance of being known and loved by the Creator. In a broader sense, Jesus is redefining reward altogether—away from the fleeting applause of others and toward the eternal affirmation of God.
This teaching also carries a subtle critique of the human condition. The desire to be seen and admired is universal, a temptation as relevant today as it was in Jesus’ time. In the first century, religious leaders might have craved the admiration of their communities; in the modern era, the same impulse manifests in social media posts, performative virtue, or even the subtle pride of being “humble.” Jesus’ call to secrecy challenges this deeply ingrained tendency. It asks us to examine our motives: Why do we do what we do? Is it for God or for ourselves? The instruction to fast in secret becomes a metaphor for all acts of faith—whether prayer, generosity, or service—urging us to prioritize God’s gaze over the world’s.
Furthermore, Matthew 6:18 connects to the broader themes of the Sermon on the Mount, particularly the call to a righteousness that “exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees.” Jesus is not abolishing religious practices but reorienting them toward authenticity. The secrecy he advocates is not about isolation but about purity of intention. It’s a reminder that true spirituality is not a performance but a dialogue between the soul and God. This resonates with the Jewish prophetic tradition, which consistently called Israel back to heartfelt devotion rather than empty ritual. Isaiah, for instance, critiques fasting that ignores justice and compassion, and Jesus builds on this, emphasizing that even a “correct” act like fasting is hollow if driven by pride.
The verse also invites reflection on the nature of discipline. Fasting, by its very nature, is an act of self-denial, a voluntary surrender of physical comfort to seek something greater. Jesus assumes his disciples will fast—he says “when you fast,” not “if”—but he reframes it as an act of worship rather than obligation. The secrecy he prescribes protects the act from becoming a badge of superiority. It’s a humbling reminder that spiritual disciplines are not about achieving moral high ground but about drawing near to God. In this sense, the verse challenges both legalism and laxity: it rejects rigid adherence to rules for appearances’ sake while affirming the value of disciplined devotion when offered in sincerity.
For contemporary readers, Matthew 6:18 speaks to the tension between public and private faith. In an age where personal lives are increasingly public, the call to secrecy feels countercultural. It asks us to carve out spaces of hiddenness, to nurture a faith that does not depend on external validation. This might mean resisting the urge to broadcast every good deed or spiritual insight, instead cherishing moments of quiet communion with God. It also prompts us to consider how we judge others’ faith. Just as we are not to parade our piety, we are not to assume the absence of devotion in those who do not advertise it. The God who sees in secret knows the hearts of all.
Ultimately, Matthew 6:18 is a call to authenticity and intimacy with God. It invites us to strip away pretense, to offer our devotion not as a means to an end but as an end in itself. The promise of reward is not a bribe but an assurance that God delights in the sincere heart. In a world obsessed with visibility, Jesus points us to the unseen, where the Father waits to meet us in the quiet of our souls. This verse, though brief, encapsulates the essence of true spirituality: a life lived not for the applause of others but for the gaze of the One who sees in secret.
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To the beloved in Christ, scattered across cities and towns, to all who call upon the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, grace and peace be multiplied to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. I write to you, not as one who has attained perfection, but as a fellow traveler, compelled by the Spirit to reflect on the words of our Savior in Matthew 6:18, where he instructs us concerning fasting: “so that your fasting may not be seen by others but by your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” These words, simple yet profound, pierce the heart of our devotion, calling us to a faith that is pure, untainted by the clamor of human praise, and wholly offered to the God who sees what is hidden. Let us, therefore, consider together the weight of this teaching, that we may walk worthy of the calling we have received.
Brothers and sisters, the words of our Lord in this passage are not merely instructions for a religious practice but a revelation of the heart of God and the nature of true worship. When Jesus speaks of fasting in secret, he is not prescribing a rule to be mechanically followed but unveiling a principle that governs all our acts of devotion: they are to be for God alone. In the days of our Lord’s earthly ministry, there were those who fasted with loud displays, their faces marked by sorrow, their demeanor crafted to draw the eyes of others. Such was their reward—the fleeting admiration of men, a currency that fades as quickly as it is gained. But Jesus, in his infinite wisdom, calls us to a different path, one that leads to the secret place where the Father dwells, where the soul meets its Maker in unadorned sincerity.
Consider, dear ones, the beauty of this truth: our God is the Father who sees in secret. He is not swayed by outward appearances, nor does he delight in the spectacle of our piety. His gaze penetrates the heart, discerning the motives that lie beneath our actions. This is both a comfort and a challenge. It is a comfort because it assures us that no act of devotion, however small or unseen, escapes his notice. The prayer whispered in the quiet of the night, the kindness shown without fanfare, the sacrifice made without expectation of reward—these are precious to our Father. Yet it is also a challenge, for it forces us to confront the question: for whom do we live? Is it for the applause of others, the likes and shares of a watching world, or is it for the One who sees what no human eye can perceive?
In this age, where every deed can be broadcast and every thought made public, the temptation to perform our faith is greater than ever. We are not so different from those Jesus called hypocrites, for we too can fall into the trap of seeking human approval. Whether it is the subtle pride of being known as “spiritual” or the urge to display our good works for affirmation, we must heed our Lord’s warning. To fast in secret, to anoint our heads and wash our faces, is to reject the lure of self-exaltation. It is to say, with the psalmist, “My soul waits in silence for God alone; from him comes my salvation.” This is no easy task, for the flesh craves recognition, and the world rewards visibility. Yet Christ calls us to a higher way, a way that leads to the Father’s reward.
And what is this reward, my beloved? It is not gold or glory, nor is it a ledger of blessings tallied for our obedience. The reward is God himself—the joy of his presence, the assurance of his love, the transformation of our hearts as we draw near to him. When we fast in secret, when we pray in the quiet of our rooms, when we give without seeking credit, we enter into a sacred intimacy with the Father. This is the treasure that does not fade, the inheritance that cannot be stolen. For in the secret place, we come to know him as he truly is: not a distant judge, but a Father who delights in his children, who sees their hidden struggles and honors their quiet faith.
Let us, therefore, examine our hearts. Are there areas where we have sought the praise of others rather than the approval of God? Have we allowed the noise of the world to drown out the still, small voice of the Spirit? If so, let us not despair, for our God is merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love. He does not call us to perfection but to repentance, to turn from the vanity of human glory and seek him anew. Fasting, as Jesus teaches, is but one way to do this—a discipline that humbles the body and sharpens the soul’s longing for God. Yet the principle applies to all our acts of worship. Whether we give, pray, serve, or sacrifice, let it be for the Father alone, free from the need to be seen or celebrated.
Practically, dear brothers and sisters, this means cultivating a life of hidden devotion. Set aside time to meet with God in secret, not as a duty but as a delight. When you fast, do so with joy, knowing that it is a conversation between you and your Father. When you give to those in need, do it quietly, trusting that God sees. When you pray, let your words be honest, not crafted for an audience. In a world that measures worth by visibility, choose the unseen. In a culture that celebrates self, choose humility. And in all things, fix your eyes on Jesus, who lived not for the praise of men but for the glory of his Father.
I urge you, beloved, to encourage one another in this pursuit. Let the church be a place where we value authenticity over appearance, where we spur one another toward sincere devotion. Let us not judge the faith of others by what we see, for only God knows the heart. And let us hold fast to the promise of our Lord: the Father who sees in secret will reward you. This reward may not come in the ways we expect, but it is certain, for our God is faithful. He who spared not his own Son but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, with him, graciously give us all things?
Now to him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you blameless before the presence of his glory with great joy, to the only God, our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion, and authority, before all time and now and forever. Amen.
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O God Most High, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, you who dwell in the secret place, whose eyes behold the hidden depths of every heart, we come before you with awe and trembling, seeking your face in the quiet of this moment. You are the One who sees in secret, the God who knows the unspoken cries of your children, the silent offerings of their devotion, and the motives that lie beneath their deeds. We stand in the light of your Son’s words, recorded in the sixth chapter of Matthew’s gospel, where he calls us to fast not for the eyes of others but for you alone, promising that you, our Father in secret, will reward those who seek you in sincerity. To you, O Lord, we lift our hearts, pouring out our praise and petition, that our lives may be a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable in your sight.
We confess, O God, that you are not like the gods of this world, who are swayed by outward displays or appeased by empty rituals. You are the Father who delights in truth, who searches the heart and tests the mind, who sees beyond the veil of appearances to the reality of our souls. Your Son, Jesus, has taught us that true worship is not a performance but a communion, a sacred encounter between you and those you have redeemed. We marvel at this truth, that you, the Creator of all things, the One who spoke the stars into being, would draw near to us in the hidden places of our lives. You do not demand our perfection but our sincerity; you do not require our grandeur but our humility. For this, we give you thanks, for your love is steadfast, your mercy unending, and your grace sufficient for all our need.
Yet, O Lord, we acknowledge our weakness. Too often, we have sought the praise of others, craving the fleeting approval of this world rather than the eternal reward of your presence. We have adorned our acts of devotion with the trappings of pride, desiring to be seen rather than to see you. Our fasting, our prayers, our giving—how easily they become tools for self-exaltation rather than offerings of love. Forgive us, gracious Father, for every moment we have traded the glory of your gaze for the applause of men. Cleanse us by the blood of your Son, who humbled himself even to death on a cross, that we might learn the way of lowliness and find our joy in you alone.
We pray, O God, for the grace to walk in the path your Son has shown us. Teach us to fast in secret, to discipline our bodies and souls not for recognition but for intimacy with you. Let our acts of devotion be a quiet conversation between us and you, untainted by the need to impress. When we give to those in need, let it be with open hearts and closed lips, trusting that you see. When we pray, let our words rise like incense to your throne, free from pretense. And when we fast, let it be a hunger for your righteousness, a longing for your kingdom, a surrender of our desires to your perfect will. Shape us, Lord, into a people who live for your eyes alone, whose treasure is found not in the fleeting rewards of this age but in the eternal embrace of your love.
We lift before you, merciful Father, your church throughout the world. In this age of noise and visibility, where every deed can be broadcast and every thought made public, we pray for your people to stand firm in authenticity. Guard us from the temptation to perform our faith, to measure our worth by the approval of others. Grant us courage to seek the secret place, to carve out moments of hiddenness where we may meet you unhindered. Raise up among us men and women who model the humility of Christ, who serve without seeking credit, who pray without seeking praise, who fast without seeking notice. Let your church be a beacon of sincerity, a community where the unseen acts of devotion are cherished as offerings to you.
We pray also for those who do not yet know you, whose hearts are restless for the love only you can give. Use our quiet faithfulness, O God, to draw them to your Son. May our lives reflect the beauty of a faith that seeks not its own glory but yours. Let the world see in us a joy that cannot be explained by human acclaim, a peace that surpasses the rewards of this age, a hope anchored in your eternal promises. And for those among us who are weary, who feel unseen in their struggles, who labor in secret without recognition, comfort them with the truth that you see, that you know, that you reward with a love that never fails.
O Father who sees in secret, we long for the reward you promise—not for wealth or fame, but for the fullness of your presence, the joy of your fellowship, the transformation of our hearts into the likeness of your Son. We await the day when we will see you face to face, when all that is hidden will be revealed, and when our secret offerings will be gathered into the glory of your kingdom. Until that day, keep us faithful, keep us humble, keep us fixed on you. Through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.
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