Matthew 6:5

Berean Standard Bible

And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites. For they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. Truly I tell you, they already have their full reward.

King James Bible

And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.

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Matthew 6:5, nestled within the Sermon on the Mount, offers a profound insight into the nature of spiritual practice, particularly prayer, and serves as a sharp critique of performative religion. The verse states, in the words of Jesus, "And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full." This teaching, delivered to a diverse crowd of disciples and onlookers, cuts to the heart of human motives, exposing the tension between outward displays of piety and the inward disposition of the heart. To unpack this verse fully, we must consider its historical and cultural context, its theological implications, and its enduring relevance for personal and communal spirituality.

In the first-century Jewish context, prayer was a central pillar of religious life, deeply woven into both private and public spheres. Synagogues served as communal hubs where prayers were offered, often with a degree of visibility, while public spaces like street corners could become stages for personal devotion. Jesus’ reference to "hypocrites" likely points to certain religious leaders or individuals who exaggerated their piety to gain social capital. The Greek term *hypokrites*, originally used for actors playing roles on a stage, carries a stinging implication: these individuals are not merely praying but performing, their devotion a carefully crafted act for human applause rather than divine communion. Jesus’ critique is not of public prayer itself—after all, communal worship was a norm—but of the motive behind it. The hypocrites "love" to be seen, suggesting a deliberate choice to prioritize human admiration over genuine connection with God.

This focus on motive is central to the verse’s theological weight. Jesus challenges the listener to examine the "why" behind their actions. Prayer, in its essence, is a relational act, a dialogue between the individual and God. When it becomes a spectacle, it ceases to be prayer in the truest sense, morphing into a transaction where the reward is fleeting human approval. The phrase "they have received their reward in full" is particularly striking. The Greek verb *apechō* implies a complete settlement, as if the transaction is closed. The hypocrites, by seeking human praise, have already cashed out their reward, leaving no room for the deeper, eternal reward that comes from authentic communion with God. This underscores a broader theme in the Sermon on the Mount: the kingdom of God operates on a different economy, one that values sincerity, humility, and unseen faithfulness over public acclaim.

The verse also invites reflection on the nature of reward. In a culture obsessed with visibility—whether in first-century Judea or the modern era—the temptation to measure spiritual worth by external markers is perennial. Jesus’ teaching subverts this, suggesting that true spiritual reward lies in the unseen, in the quiet moments of intimacy with God. This aligns with the broader context of Matthew 6, where Jesus contrasts earthly treasures with heavenly ones and urges his followers to seek first the kingdom of God. The hypocrites’ reward is immediate but ephemeral, like a fleeting applause that fades once the audience disperses. In contrast, the reward of authentic prayer is rooted in a relationship with the divine, which transcends temporal recognition and offers lasting fulfillment.

Culturally, the image of praying on street corners or in synagogues evokes a vivid picture of performative religion, but it also resonates with modern parallels. Today, the "street corner" might be a social media platform, where curated displays of spirituality can garner likes and followers, or even a church setting, where public acts of devotion might mask personal ambition. Jesus’ words challenge contemporary believers to interrogate their motives: Are spiritual practices driven by a desire for God’s presence or by the need for validation? This is not to say that public expressions of faith are inherently wrong—Jesus himself prayed publicly at times—but the heart’s intent is what matters. The hypocrite’s prayer is not wrong because it is seen, but because it is performed *to be seen*.

The verse also carries implications for community dynamics. In a religious culture where public piety could elevate one’s status, Jesus’ teaching levels the playing field. By emphasizing private, sincere prayer (as elaborated in the following verses), he democratizes spiritual practice, making it accessible to all, regardless of social standing or visibility. The poor, the marginalized, those without access to the synagogue’s spotlight, are equally capable of authentic prayer. This aligns with the Sermon’s broader emphasis on the blessedness of the meek, the poor in spirit, and those who hunger for righteousness. Jesus redefines spiritual greatness not as the one who is seen most but as the one who seeks God most earnestly.

On a personal level, Matthew 6:5 invites introspection. Prayer, at its core, is an act of vulnerability, a baring of the soul before God. To pray authentically requires courage to set aside ego and embrace humility. The hypocrite’s prayer, by contrast, is a mask, a way of hiding the true self behind a façade of righteousness. Jesus’ call to avoid this hypocrisy is a call to authenticity, to align one’s inner life with one’s outward actions. This is no easy task. The human heart is complex, often mingling genuine devotion with subtle desires for recognition. Yet Jesus’ teaching offers grace in its clarity: the path to true reward lies in sincerity, in turning away from the audience of the world and toward the audience of One.

The verse’s placement within the Sermon on the Mount also amplifies its significance. Preceding the Lord’s Prayer, it sets the stage for Jesus’ model of how to pray—simply, directly, and with a focus on God’s will. Following teachings on almsgiving and followed by instructions on fasting, it forms part of a triad addressing key religious practices. In each case, Jesus emphasizes the heart’s orientation over the act’s visibility. This consistency underscores a central theme of his ministry: God desires truth in the inner being, as the Psalmist writes, and external acts are only as valuable as the heart behind them.

In a broader theological sense, Matthew 6:5 points to the character of God. The God to whom Jesus calls his followers to pray is not a distant deity impressed by grand gestures but a Father who sees in secret, who knows the heart’s deepest longings. This intimacy is revolutionary, both in its first-century context and today. It reframes prayer as a relational encounter rather than a ritual obligation, inviting believers to approach God with trust rather than pretense. The hypocrites’ error lies not just in their performance but in their misunderstanding of God’s nature—they pray as if God values spectacle, when in fact God seeks sincerity.

For contemporary application, this verse challenges individuals and communities to cultivate spaces where authenticity in faith is prioritized over appearances. Churches, ministries, and individuals might ask: Do our structures encourage genuine spiritual growth, or do they inadvertently reward performative piety? Are we fostering environments where people feel safe to be honest about their struggles, or are we subtly pressuring them to project an image of spiritual perfection? These questions are as vital today as they were in Jesus’ time, as the temptation to prioritize image over substance remains a constant.

Ultimately, Matthew 6:5 is a call to reorient the heart toward God. It reminds us that prayer is not a performance to be applauded but a conversation to be cherished. The reward of such prayer is not the fleeting approval of others but the enduring presence of God, who sees, knows, and loves us in our most authentic moments. In a world that often equates worth with visibility, Jesus’ words offer a countercultural invitation: to seek the unseen, to pray with sincerity, and to trust that the God who sees in secret is more than enough.

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Grace and peace to you, dear brothers and sisters in Christ, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ, who sees the heart and knows the depths of our souls. I write to you, scattered across cities and towns, united by the Spirit, yet wrestling with the temptations of this age, to exhort you in the way of authentic devotion, as our Lord Jesus taught in the words recorded in Matthew, the sixth chapter, verse five. There, in the radiance of his Sermon on the Mount, he declares, “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full.” These words, sharp as a two-edged sword, pierce the heart of our motives, calling us to a faith that is pure, a worship that is true, and a prayer that seeks the face of God above the applause of men. Let us, therefore, reflect deeply on this teaching, that we may walk worthy of the calling we have received and live as those who bear the name of Christ in a world that clamors for recognition.

Consider, beloved, the context of our Lord’s words, spoken to a people steeped in religious tradition yet often ensnared by the lure of human approval. In that day, the synagogue was a place of communal worship, a sacred space where prayers cuisines were offered to God, yet for some, it became a stage for self-display. On the street corners, where the devout might pause to pray, certain ones turned their piety into a spectacle, craving the admiration of passersby. Our Lord calls such ones “hypocrites”—actors playing a role, their prayers a performance for human eyes rather than a cry to the living God. Their reward, Jesus says, is the fleeting praise of men, a paltry prize compared to the eternal riches of God’s presence. How this warning resonates in our own time, where the platforms of social media and the stages of public life tempt us to broadcast our spirituality for likes, followers, or fleeting esteem! The hypocrisy Jesus condemns is not the act of public prayer—for he himself prayed openly at times—but the motive that seeks human glory over divine communion.

Oh, beloved, let us examine our hearts in light of this truth! Prayer is the sacred language of our union with God, a communion of the soul with the Creator, who knit us together in the womb and knows our every thought. Yet how easily we turn this holy act into a mirror of our pride, seeking to be seen rather than to see God. The hypocrite’s prayer is a hollow thing, a clanging cymbal, for it lacks the love that seeks God alone. As the apostle Paul, whose mantle I humbly emulate, might say, “If I pray with the eloquence of angels but have not love, I am nothing.” The love of human praise is a thief, robbing us of the deeper reward—the joy of God’s presence, the assurance of his ear, the promise of his kingdom. For what does it profit us to gain the world’s applause and lose the intimacy of the Father who sees in secret?

Let us, therefore, be vigilant, for the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. The temptation to perform is not merely a relic of ancient Judea but a present danger in our churches, our homes, our very hearts. In this age of curated images and public personas, we are besieged by the urge to display our faith as a badge of honor. Yet Christ calls us to a hidden life, a secret place of prayer where no eyes but God’s behold us. This is not to forsake the gathering of believers or the public witness of our faith, but to root our actions in a heart that seeks God’s glory alone. For the reward of the hypocrite is a fleeting thing, a vapor that vanishes with the morning dew, while the reward of sincere prayer is the eternal weight of glory, the fellowship of the Spirit, the promise of a kingdom that cannot be shaken.

I urge you, dear saints, to cultivate a life of hidden devotion. When you pray, enter your room, shut the door, and speak to your Father who sees in secret, as Jesus instructs in the verses that follow. Let your prayers be a conversation of the heart, unadorned by pretense, unburdened by the need to impress. For what is prayer but the lifting of the soul to God, the cry of a child to a Father who delights in us? The God who spoke the stars into being does not require our eloquence or our spectacle; he desires our sincerity, our trust, our love. And when you gather with the body of Christ, let your worship flow from this secret place, so that your public prayers are but an overflow of a heart already surrendered to God in private.

Consider the practical outworking of this truth in your daily lives. In your workplaces, where the pressure to appear virtuous may tempt you to signal your faith for approval, let your actions speak louder than words, and let your words be few and true. In your homes, teach your children not only to pray but to love prayer as a sacred encounter with God, not a performance for your pride. In your churches, guard against the subtle pride that creeps into leadership or service, where the temptation to be seen as “spiritual” can overshadow the call to serve in humility. And in the digital spaces where so many of you dwell, pause before you post, asking, “Is this for God’s glory or my own?” For the eyes of the Lord roam the earth, seeking those whose hearts are fully his, and he is not swayed by the metrics of human approval.

This teaching, beloved, is not a burden but a liberation. It frees us from the tyranny of appearances, from the exhausting pursuit of human validation. It calls us to a life of authenticity, where our faith is not a costume but a conviction, not a performance but a passion. For the God who sees in secret is a Father who loves us, a Savior who died for us, a Spirit who dwells within us. What greater reward could we seek than his presence, his peace, his promise of eternal life? The hypocrite’s reward is a shadow; the reward of the faithful is the substance of glory, the joy of knowing God and being known by him.

I beseech you, therefore, by the mercies of God, to present your prayers as living sacrifices, holy and acceptable to him. Let your devotion be a flame that burns for God alone, undimmed by the gaze of the world. And may the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit strengthen you to walk in this truth, now and forevermore. Amen.

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O God of all creation, you who dwell in the secret places of our hearts, we come before you with souls laid bare, seeking not the applause of human eyes nor the fleeting praise of this world, but the quiet embrace of your eternal presence. You have taught us, through the words of your Son, that true prayer is not a spectacle to be performed, not a clamor raised in the streets to garner admiration, but a sacred communion, a turning inward to the hidden chamber where you, the unseen Father, see all things. In the light of Matthew’s gospel, we are reminded that you are not swayed by ostentatious displays, nor do you delight in the empty repetitions of those who seek to be seen rather than to be known. You, who search the heart, call us to authenticity, to a prayer that flows from the depths of our being, unadorned by pretense, untainted by the desire for recognition.

Forgive us, Lord, for the times we have prayed with divided hearts, when our words have been more for the ears of others than for your glory. We confess that we have, at times, sought the approval of those around us, dressing our prayers in fine phrases to mask the poverty of our devotion. Yet you, in your mercy, invite us to a better way—a way of simplicity, of sincerity, of solitude where the soul meets you unencumbered. You are the God who sees in secret, who knows the whispered longings of our hearts before they find voice, who hears the groanings too deep for words. In this sacred encounter, you offer us not just your ear, but your very self, drawing us into the mystery of your love, where we are transformed by the renewing of our minds.

We stand in awe of your omniscience, O Lord, for you perceive the motives that lie beneath our actions, the thoughts that swirl beneath our words. You are not deceived by outward piety, for your gaze pierces through the facades we construct, inviting us instead to a prayer that is honest, raw, and real. Teach us to seek you in the quiet places, to shut the door on the noise of this world and rest in the stillness of your presence. Let our prayers be like incense, rising not for show but as a fragrant offering, pleasing to you because it is true. May we learn to speak with you as a child speaks with a loving parent, trusting that you hear, that you care, that you respond not according to our merit but according to your boundless grace.

O Holy One, you who are both transcendent and immanent, reigning in the heavens yet nearer than our breath, we marvel at the privilege of prayer. You have not left us to wander in isolation but have opened the way for us to approach you, to pour out our joys, our sorrows, our fears, and our hopes. In the secret place, you meet us not as a distant monarch but as a compassionate Father, eager to listen, ready to heal, longing to restore. We are humbled by this intimacy, for what are we that you should be mindful of us, that you should invite us into such fellowship? Yet you have declared it so, and in your Son, Jesus, you have shown us the way, the truth, and the life—a life lived in constant communion with you, a life of prayer that seeks not to be seen but to see you more clearly.

Grant us, we pray, the courage to embrace this hidden way of prayer, to resist the temptation to perform for others and instead to seek you alone. Let our hearts be altars where your Spirit kindles fire, where our words, though faltering, are met with your mercy. Fill us with the assurance that in the secret place, we are fully known and fully loved, that our prayers, though imperfect, are precious in your sight. May our lives reflect the authenticity of our prayers, so that whether in solitude or in community, we bear witness to your kingdom, not with empty gestures but with hearts ablaze for your glory.

We lift this prayer to you, O God, in the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Mediator, who taught us to pray not for show but in spirit and truth, and who intercedes for us even now before your throne. To you be all honor, power, and praise, now and forevermore. Amen.