Seen in Secret
An Ash Wednesday Devotional
Most of us don’t really struggle with not being religious enough.
We struggle with wanting it to count.
We want our goodness to register somewhere.
To be noticed.
To reassure us that it mattered.
Jesus seems to know this. Which is why, in the middle of the Sermon on the Mount, right when he’s talking about righteousness, he doesn’t warn us against immorality. He warns us to beware of practicing our righteousness before others in order to be seen by them.
That line lands uncomfortably close to home. Because Jesus isn’t talking about fake religion here. He assumes prayer. He assumes generosity. He assumes fasting. These are not the problem.
The problem is the audience.
Again and again, Jesus contrasts two worlds.
Two economies.
Two reward systems.
In one world, righteousness is public-facing. It circulates through attention, approval, admiration. It can be measured by reputation, credibility, applause. And Jesus is honest about this world. If that’s what you’re after, it works.
They have received their reward.
Paid in full.
This feels especially sharp in our moment. We live in a culture that rewards visibility almost automatically. Moral seriousness is often expressed by being seen taking the right stance, posting the right thing, signaling the right commitments. This happens on the Left and the Right, in activist spaces and religious ones alike.
None of this means justice doesn’t matter.
None of it means public witness is wrong.
But Jesus’ question presses deeper.
What is this for?
Is the goal faithfulness?
Or visibility?
Transformation?
Or recognition?
It’s possible to fight for good things while quietly feeding the same old hunger. The need to be noticed, affirmed, counted among the righteous. Activism can become a kind of spiritual theater. Outrage can substitute for prayer. Being seen on the right side can matter more than actually loving the people in front of us.
It’s possible to build an entire ministry brand around being prophetic, while never examining whether the performance of prophetic witness has become more important than the quiet work of reconciliation. To curate a life that signals depth while avoiding the unglamorous labor of spiritual formation.
And if I’m honest, I know how easy it is to confuse being seen doing good with actually being made good.
Jesus doesn’t dismiss any of this with cynicism.
He simply names the cost.
If righteousness depends on being seen, it will always be anxious. Always reactive. Always hungry for more attention.
So he introduces another way.
When you give, when you pray, when you fast, do it in secret.
Not because secrecy is holier. But because secrecy breaks the spell.
It severs righteousness from the economy of performance. It trains us to act without applause. It teaches us to trust that God’s witness is enough.
Would you still give if no one posted about it?
Would you still pray if no one saw growth?
Would you still fast if no one praised your discipline?
This is not about retreating from the world.
It is about refusing to let the world’s metrics shape our hearts.
That’s where Jesus reframes it all.
Do not store up treasures on earth.
When we give to be seen, we store our treasure in attention.
When we pray to be noticed, we store it in approval.
When we build a life around being recognized, we anchor ourselves in something fragile.
Or we learn to live before God.
Earthly treasure is brittle. It depends on being seen. It fades when attention shifts. It corrodes when the algorithm moves on. It leaves us exhausted, trying to maintain appearances we can’t sustain.
Heavenly treasure is quieter. Slower. Harder to measure.
But it endures, because it is bound to God, not to us.
And at the center of it all is this quiet, repeated word.
Your Father.
Not judge. Not audience. Father.
The righteousness Jesus invites us into isn’t an audition. It isn’t a pitch. It is a response to the stunning claim that God already sees.
Which exposes something tender and true. Much of our spiritual restlessness comes from doing good for reasons it was never meant to bear. From asking our practices to give us identity. From using righteousness to secure ourselves rather than to receive grace.
Jesus offers freedom from all of that.
Where your treasure is, he says, there your heart will be also.
Your heart will always follow your investments. If your treasure is visibility, your heart will remain restless. If your treasure is God, hidden, faithful, already given, your heart will begin, slowly, to rest.
This is not a call to withdraw.
It is a call to live before the right audience.
To practice justice that doesn’t need credit.
To pray without curating the result.
To trust a Father who sees in secret, and whose reward is not applause, but life.
Because the kingdom Jesus announces does not arrive with spectacle.
It grows in hidden soil.
It works in ways we cannot track.
And it frees us, finally, from the exhausting need to be seen.
These midweek devotionals aren’t sermons. They’re meant to complement the Sunday homily. I’ll share the sermon below after it’s preached: