Matthew 6:3

Berean Standard Bible

But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,

King James Bible

But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth:

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In the unfolding tapestry of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus continues his piercing examination of the heart’s motives in Matthew 6:3, offering a concise yet profound directive on the nature of true generosity: “But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.” This verse, immediately following the critique of ostentatious giving in Matthew 6:2, builds upon the call to authentic righteousness, emphasizing a secrecy so radical that it borders on self-forgetfulness. The imagery and intent of this teaching invite a deep exploration of what it means to give in a way that honors God rather than self, challenging believers to cultivate a disposition of humility that aligns with the values of the kingdom.

The phrase “when you give to the needy” echoes the assumption found in the preceding verse, reinforcing that almsgiving is not optional but an expected practice for those who follow Jesus. In the Jewish context of the first century, caring for the poor was a cornerstone of covenantal faithfulness, rooted in the Torah’s commands to provide for the vulnerable. Jesus does not question the necessity of giving but shifts the focus to how it is done. The instruction to give in such a way that “your left hand does not know what your right hand is doing” is a vivid metaphor, likely hyperbolic, that underscores the need for secrecy in acts of charity. The imagery suggests an almost absurd level of unawareness, as if one part of the self is deliberately kept ignorant of the other’s actions. This is not a literal call to amnesia but a poetic way of urging believers to give without calculation, without self-consciousness, without the desire for recognition—even from oneself.

The metaphor of the right and left hands carries layers of meaning. In ancient culture, the right hand was often associated with action, authority, and public engagement, while the left hand could symbolize a more passive or hidden role. By instructing that the left hand should not know what the right hand is doing, Jesus may be calling for a kind of giving that bypasses the temptation to dwell on one’s own generosity. This secrecy extends beyond external audiences to the internal audience of the self. The human heart, prone to pride, can easily turn even private acts of charity into a source of self-satisfaction, where the giver mentally applauds their own virtue. Jesus’ teaching challenges this tendency, urging a humility so deep that it seeks no reward, not even the quiet gratification of self-awareness. In this way, the act of giving becomes purely an offering to God, untainted by ego.

This emphasis on secrecy stands in stark contrast to the hypocrites described in Matthew 6:2, who announced their giving with fanfare to gain human praise. While their actions were public and performative, Jesus calls for a private, almost invisible generosity that seeks only the approval of the Father. The phrase “do not let your left hand know” suggests an intentional effort to guard against self-glorification, redirecting the focus from the giver to the recipient and, ultimately, to God. This aligns with the broader theme of the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus repeatedly contrasts the external righteousness of the religious elite with the internal, heart-oriented righteousness of the kingdom. The true disciple gives not to be seen by others or even to feel virtuous but to reflect the character of God, who provides generously without seeking acclaim.

The cultural context of Jesus’ day adds depth to this teaching. In first-century Judaism, almsgiving was often a communal act, visible in settings like the synagogue or public spaces where the poor gathered. Such visibility could foster social cohesion, as acts of charity reinforced the community’s commitment to justice and care. Yet it also created opportunities for self-promotion, where the wealthy could use their generosity to enhance their status. Jesus’ call to secrecy disrupts this dynamic, challenging the social economy of honor and shame. By giving without recognition, the disciple renounces worldly status and aligns with a different economy—the economy of God’s kingdom, where value is measured not by visibility but by faithfulness. This teaching would have been radical in its original context, as it subverted cultural norms that tied generosity to social capital.

The instruction also invites reflection on the nature of reward, a theme Jesus develops further in the following verse. By giving in secret, without even the left hand knowing, the believer trusts that the Father who sees in secret will reward them. This reward is not a transactional payment but a deepening of relationship with God, a participation in his kingdom, and a sharing in his joy. The secrecy Jesus advocates is not about hiding from others out of shame but about cultivating a heart that finds its satisfaction in God alone. It is an act of faith, a declaration that God’s approval is sufficient, that his eternal promises outweigh the temporary validation of human praise or self-congratulation.

For modern readers, Matthew 6:3 speaks powerfully to a world obsessed with visibility and self-promotion. In an age of social media, where acts of kindness can be instantly shared and celebrated, the temptation to perform for an audience is ever-present. The call to give without letting the left hand know what the right hand is doing challenges us to examine our motives. Do we give to meet a need, or to craft an image? Do we serve to honor God, or to bolster our sense of self? Jesus’ words invite us to step away from the spotlight, to embrace a generosity that is quiet, unassuming, and free from the need for affirmation. This does not mean that all giving must be anonymous—there are times when public acts of charity can inspire or meet practical needs—but it does mean that the heart’s intent must be pure, focused on God and the recipient rather than the self.

The verse also speaks to the inner life of the believer. The call to keep the left hand ignorant of the right hand’s actions suggests a discipline of self-forgetfulness, a turning away from the constant self-awareness that marks human nature. In a culture that encourages self-reflection to the point of obsession, Jesus’ teaching offers a countercultural invitation to lose ourselves in service to others. This is not a denial of the self but a reorientation of the self toward God, where acts of love become so natural, so instinctive, that they require no internal fanfare. Such a disposition reflects the humility of Christ, who gave himself fully without seeking recognition, whose life was a continuous offering to the Father for the sake of the world.

Ultimately, Matthew 6:3 calls us to a life of authentic generosity, where our giving flows from a heart transformed by God’s grace. It challenges us to release our grip on pride, to trust in the unseen reward of the Father, and to find joy in acts of love that point not to us but to him. In doing so, we participate in the kingdom’s work, where the poor are cared for, the broken are restored, and the glory of God shines through the quiet faithfulness of his people. This teaching, though simple in its phrasing, is a profound invitation to live for an audience of One, to give with a heart so surrendered to God that even our own hands forget the good they have done.

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Grace and peace be to you, beloved in Christ, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ, who has redeemed us by his blood and called us to walk in the light of his kingdom. I write to you as a fellow servant, bound by the love of our Savior, to exhort and encourage you in the way of righteousness revealed in his holy words. May the Spirit illuminate our hearts as we reflect on the teaching of our Lord in Matthew 6:3, where he declares, “But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.” These words, spoken in the radiance of his Sermon on the Mount, beckon us to a life of humble generosity, free from the entanglements of pride, that we might live for the glory of God alone.

Brothers and sisters, consider the profound simplicity of this command, which pierces the heart of our human striving. Jesus assumes that we will give to the needy—his use of “when” rather than “if” reveals that generosity is not an optional virtue but a mark of those who belong to him. Yet his focus is not on the act itself, but on the spirit in which it is done. To give without letting the left hand know what the right hand is doing is to embrace a secrecy so radical that it borders on self-forgetfulness. It is a call to give without calculation, without the desire for recognition, even from ourselves. In this, our Lord unveils a truth that challenges the very core of our fallen nature: the temptation to make even our good deeds a monument to our own virtue.

In the days of our Lord’s earthly ministry, acts of charity were often visible, woven into the fabric of community life. The synagogue and the marketplace were stages where generosity could elevate one’s status, where the clink of coins in a beggar’s hand might echo with the applause of onlookers. Yet Jesus calls us to a different way, a way that renounces the economy of human honor for the treasures of the kingdom. The image of the right hand and the left hand is vivid, almost startling. It suggests a giving so pure, so unselfconscious, that it bypasses even the internal audience of the self. How often, beloved, do we perform acts of kindness only to linger on them in our minds, savoring the thought of our own goodness? Jesus bids us to let go of such self-awareness, to give in a way that seeks no reward—not from others, not even from the quiet satisfaction of our own hearts.

This teaching is rooted in the theology of God’s kingdom, where true righteousness flows from a heart transformed by grace. Our God is not swayed by outward displays, for he searches the depths of our souls. He is the Father who sees in secret, who delights in the hidden offerings of his children. When we give without fanfare, without even the left hand knowing, we reflect his character—his quiet, steadfast love that provides without seeking acclaim. Consider the cross, where Christ poured out his life in the ultimate act of generosity. There was no trumpet, no parade, only the silent surrender of a Savior who sought only the will of his Father. So, too, our giving is to be an echo of that sacrifice, an act of worship offered not for our glory but for his.

What does this mean for us, scattered as we are in a world that craves visibility? In this age, where every deed can be shared with a tap, where generosity can become a performance for likes and followers, the words of Jesus are a clarion call to humility. Let us examine our hearts, dear friends. When we give—whether money, time, or compassion—do we do so to meet a need, or to feed our pride? Do we seek the fleeting reward of human approval, or the eternal reward of fellowship with God? The Spirit who indwells us will reveal the truth, convicting us where pride has taken root and guiding us into the freedom of selfless love.

Practically, this means cultivating a life of hidden generosity. This is not to say that all giving must be anonymous—there are times when public acts of charity build up the body of Christ or meet urgent needs. But let our motive be pure, our focus on the One who sees and the ones who suffer. When you write a check for the poor, when you volunteer your time, when you offer a kind word to the hurting, do so as unto the Lord. Resist the urge to linger on your own goodness, to tally your deeds in the ledger of your heart. Instead, let your giving be a reflex of grace, a natural outpouring of the love you have received from Christ. In this, you will find a joy that the world cannot give, a peace that surpasses the applause of men.

Moreover, let us trust in the reward of our Father. Jesus assures us that those who give in secret will be rewarded by the God who sees. This reward is not a wage earned, for our salvation is by grace through faith alone. Rather, it is the reward of intimacy with God, of living in harmony with his purposes, of sharing in the life of his kingdom. When we give without seeking recognition, we declare that God’s approval is enough, that his presence is our true treasure. This is the freedom of the gospel, beloved—a freedom from the tyranny of self, from the need to prove ourselves to others or to ourselves. It is a freedom to live for the One who gave all for us, to serve without thought of return, to love as he loves.

I urge you, therefore, by the mercies of God, to embrace this way of hidden generosity. Let your giving be a secret between you and your Father, a sacred offering that needs no audience but him. In a culture that measures worth by visibility, let us be a people who live for the unseen God, whose acts of love point not to ourselves but to the Savior who redeemed us. May the Spirit empower you to give with a heart unburdened by pride, to serve with a joy untainted by self-interest. And may the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all, now and forever. Amen.

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O God of infinite grace, Father of all compassion, whose eyes see the hidden places of the heart and whose love upholds the universe, we draw near to you in awe and humility, seeking the transforming power of your Spirit. You are the One who knows every secret deed, who delights in the quiet faithfulness of your children, and who rewards with the riches of your presence. We lift our hearts to you, not to be seen by others, but to abide in your holy presence, trusting in the mercy of your Son, Jesus Christ, who spoke these words of life: “But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.” May this truth shape us, O Lord, as we seek to live for your glory alone.

We confess, O God, that our hearts are prone to wander, easily ensnared by the desire for recognition. Too often, our acts of generosity become mirrors for our own pride, reflecting not your love but our need for affirmation. We have given to the needy, yet lingered on our own goodness, savoring the thought of our charity as if it were a trophy to display. Forgive us, merciful Father, for seeking the applause of this world, for allowing even our private deeds to become a stage for self. Cleanse us by your Spirit, and teach us to give with a heart so surrendered that even our own hands forget the good they have done.

Your Son, our Savior, modeled a life of perfect humility, giving himself without thought of reward, without clamor for praise. On the cross, he poured out his life in silence, not for the acclaim of men but for the redemption of the world, fulfilling your will in perfect obedience. O Lord, let his example be our guide. Grant us the grace to give as he gave—quietly, selflessly, with a love that seeks only to please you. May our acts of charity be a reflection of your kingdom, where the poor are lifted up, the broken are restored, and the forgotten are embraced by your boundless mercy.

In this age, O God, where every deed can be broadcast, where generosity is often measured by its visibility, we pray for the courage to give in secret. Help us to serve without fanfare, to offer our resources, our time, our compassion, without seeking even the quiet approval of our own hearts. Purify our motives, Holy Spirit, that our giving may flow from a love that mirrors your own—a love that gives without counting the cost, that serves without expecting return. Guard us from the temptation to dwell on our own virtue, and lead us into the freedom of self-forgetfulness, where our acts of kindness become a natural outpouring of your grace within us.

We pray for those in need, O Lord—the hungry, the hurting, the overlooked—who are ever before your eyes. Use our hands, our hearts, our resources, to be vessels of your provision, channels of your comfort, signs of your kingdom breaking into this world. Let our giving be an act of worship, a response to the immeasurable gift of your Son, who became poor that we might become rich in grace. We ask not for the rewards of this world, but for the deeper reward of knowing you, of walking in your truth, of sharing in the joy of your eternal purposes.

O God, you who see in secret, we long to live in the light of your presence, free from the chains of pride and self. Teach us to give with a heart so attuned to you that we need no other audience. Let our lives proclaim the gospel, not through loud displays but through quiet faithfulness, through deeds that point to your love rather than our own. We thank you, Father, for the promise of your reward—not a prize we earn, but the gift of intimacy with you, the treasure of your kingdom, the joy of being yours. To you, O God, be all glory, honor, and praise, through Jesus Christ our Lord, who reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.