Jesus continues His teaching on fasting by shifting from what not to do (the showy hypocrisy of verse 16) to what true devotion actually looks like. The contrast is intentional and sharp. The hypocrites made their fasting visible on purpose. They wanted recognition. Jesus tells His followers to do the opposite: live it out quietly.

“When thou fastest…” assumes that fasting is still a valid practice. Jesus doesn’t cancel it. He corrects it. The issue has never been the act itself, but the heart behind it.

“Anoint thine head, and wash thy face” sounds almost humorous in its simplicity. In other words, don’t look like you just walked out of a dramatic reenactment of suffering. Take care of yourself. Look normal. If anything, look refreshed. The point isn’t deception for its own sake, but the removal of any outward signal that invites human applause.

This builds directly on the earlier pattern in Matthew 6. In giving (vv. 1–4), prayer (vv. 5–15), and now fasting (vv. 16–18), Jesus addresses the same core issue: who are you doing this for?

“But unto thy Father which is in secret…” shifts the entire focus. The unseen becomes central. God’s not impressed by performance, but He is attentive to sincerity. Scripture consistently affirms this truth. In 1 Samuel 16:7, we’re told that “man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.” That thread runs straight through this passage.

There’s also a subtle but powerful theological statement here: God sees. Not vaguely, not generally, but personally and specifically. “Thy Father… seeth in secret.” This isn’t a distant deity checking boxes. This is a Father who knows His children intimately.

“And thy Father… shall reward thee openly.” This reward isn’t earned in a transactional sense. It’s not a spiritual paycheck. Rather, it reflects God’s gracious delight in genuine devotion. The reward may be spiritual (deeper fellowship, increased dependence, clarity of heart), or it may include outward blessings. Scripture doesn’t always specify the form, but it consistently affirms the certainty.

Some might object that this creates a kind of hidden pride: “I’m being humble by not showing it.” But that misunderstands the passage. Jesus isn’t encouraging secret self-congratulation. He’s removing the audience altogether. If your goal is still to be seen, even internally, you’ve missed it. The aim is singular: the Father.

Others might argue that this discourages any public expression of faith. But that would contradict other teachings, like Matthew 5:16, where believers are told to let their light shine before men. The difference lies in purpose. Public faith that points to God is good. Private devotion that seeks personal praise is not.

What makes this teaching so compelling is its coherence with the rest of Scripture. Across both Old and New Testaments, God consistently prioritizes the heart over outward ritual. Unlike many ancient religious systems that emphasized visible displays or public rites to gain favor, biblical faith calls for inward sincerity grounded in relationship with the living God.

Fasting in the Sight of God Alone

This passage lands uncomfortably close to home if we’re honest. It presses on motivation, not just behavior. It asks a simple but searching question: who am I trying to impress?

Jesus doesn’t call us to stop practicing spiritual disciplines. He calls us to purify them. Fasting, prayer, giving, Scripture reading, and even church involvement can quietly drift into performance if we’re not careful. Not always in obvious ways, either. Sometimes it’s subtle. A comment dropped at just the right moment. A story told with just enough detail. A quiet hope that someone notices.

This passage firmly redirects us. It reminds us that the most meaningful acts of devotion are often the ones no one else sees. The early morning prayer no one knows about. The decision to fast without mentioning it. The quiet act of obedience that doesn’t make it into a conversation later.

There’s something freeing about that. When we’re no longer performing, we’re no longer managing impressions. We’re simply walking with God.

And notice how Jesus frames God here: “thy Father.” That matters. This isn’t about earning favor from a distant authority. It’s about living before a loving Father who already knows, already sees, and already cares.

That changes how we approach obedience. It becomes relational rather than transactional. We don’t fast to get something from God. We fast as an expression of dependence on Him. We don’t hide our devotion out of fear, but out of love.

At the same time, this passage calls the Church to examine its culture. Are we creating environments where visible spirituality is subtly rewarded? Do we unintentionally elevate those who appear more outwardly disciplined? Jesus’ words push us toward humility and authenticity, not comparison.

There’s also a missional implication here. When our devotion is real, it shapes our lives in ways that others eventually notice, even if the acts themselves remain hidden. Genuine faith produces fruit. But that fruit points beyond us.

A helpful way to think about it is this: let your life be visible but let your devotion be personal. One draws attention to God. The other risks drawing attention to self.

And practically, this means we need rhythms of unseen obedience. Not just public faith, but private faithfulness. Because what happens in secret often determines what happens in the open.

The Secret Fast and the Grace That Makes Us Righteous

If you’re reading this and realizing that your motives haven’t always been pure, you’re not alone. In fact, that’s exactly where this passage leads us. It exposes something deeper than inconsistent behavior. It reveals a heart that often seeks its own glory.

And that’s the real issue. Scripture teaches that sin isn’t just what we do, but what we desire. Even our best efforts can be mixed with self-interest. We want to be seen. We want to be affirmed. Left to ourselves, we drift toward self-centeredness.

But here’s the good news.

God doesn’t call us to fix ourselves before coming to Him. He calls us to come as we are, and He does the transforming.

Jesus Christ lived the perfectly sincere life we haven’t lived. Every act, every prayer, every moment of obedience was directed fully toward the Father. No hypocrisy. No divided motives. And yet, He went to the cross, not for His own sin, but for ours.

The Bible tells us that the penalty for sin is death (Romans 6:23). That includes not just obvious wrongdoing, but the hidden pride and misplaced motives of the heart. But Jesus took that penalty upon Himself. He died in our place, bearing the judgment we deserved, and He rose again, proving His victory over sin and death.

And now, through Him, forgiveness is offered freely.

If you don’t already know Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, this is an invitation. Not to religious performance, but to a real relationship. You don’t have to clean up your motives first. You don’t have to prove anything. You simply come in repentance, acknowledging your sin, and place your faith in Him.

When you do, something changes at the core. God gives you a new heart. New desires. A new direction. And from that place, true devotion begins to grow. Not perfectly, not instantly, but genuinely.

And even then, when you stumble, when your motives get mixed again, you’re not cast out. You’re called back. Because your standing before God isn’t based on your performance, but on Christ’s finished work.

That’s the beauty of the gospel. It doesn’t just command sincerity. It creates it.

So come to Him. Trust Him. And begin to live, not for the approval of others, but in the quiet, steady joy of being known and loved by your Father.

Reflection and Response

• In what areas of my spiritual life might I be subtly seeking recognition or approval from others rather than from God?
• How can I intentionally cultivate private, unseen acts of devotion?
• Do I view God more as an audience to impress or as a Father to walk with? Why does that matter?
• How does the promise that “thy Father… seeth in secret” encourage or challenge my current walk with Him?
• Who in my life needs to hear the gospel, and how can my quiet, genuine faith open the door for that conversation?