One of my friends (let’s call her Ann) once shared a memorable story about her daughter, Tina, who was about six years old at the time. Ann observed Tina standing in front of the bathroom mirror practicing her "sad face." There she was—pouting, giving exaggerated puppy-dog eyes, and even mimicking a dramatic sob. Amused, Ann quietly stepped back out of sight. Moments later, Tina came into the kitchen with her well-rehearsed performance, asking if she could visit a friend’s house—on a school night. Each "no" from Ann drew an even bigger reaction: the sad face became more pitiful, the puppy eyes more desperate, the wailing more anguished. Ann had to stifle her laughter at Tina’s Oscar-worthy attempt at persuasion.

It’s funny how human nature seems to drive us to dramatize our struggles, isn’t it? Even as children, we instinctively learn that visible displays of sorrow or sacrifice can influence how others perceive and respond to us. That same tendency is what Jesus addresses in this passage from the Sermon on the Mount. He warns against the temptation to "perform" our fasting or spiritual disciplines in order to gain the admiration or sympathy of others.

The Greek word for "hypocrite" (ὑποκριτής, hypokritēs) sheds light on this. It originally referred to actors in ancient Greek theater—literally, "interpreters from underneath," since actors spoke from beneath masks. These masks allowed performers to project an image that wasn’t their true selves. In a way, Tina was wearing a "mask" to elicit a response from her mom. And sometimes, we do the same.

Jesus calls us to lay down our masks. The point of fasting—or any spiritual practice—is not to curate an image of holiness for others. It’s not about appearing pious, deprived, or sacrificial so that people notice and admire our devotion. Instead, it’s about creating space for a deeper, more intimate connection with God. Fasting is a way of decluttering our hearts, of setting aside distractions to focus on the One who truly knows and sees us—not the mask, not the performance, but the real us.

When we fast or "give something up for Lent," we don’t need to announce it or wear our sacrifices on our sleeves. Jesus invites us to fast in secret, brushing our hair and washing our faces—not to hide what we’re experiencing, but to ensure that our focus remains on God, not on human applause.

The beauty of this kind of faith is that it honors the relationship over the show. When we seek God in the quiet, secret places of our hearts, we find a reward far greater than the fleeting approval of others. We find the joy of God’s presence, the peace of being fully known and loved by the One who sees beyond the masks.

This Lent, let’s ask ourselves: Are we fasting from something to impress others, or are we fasting to be transformed by God? Are we seeking the applause of people, or the embrace of a Father who rewards us in ways no human ever could?

True devotion isn’t about being seen—it’s about being known. And that’s the reward worth seeking.

Lord, help me seek You with a sincere heart, free from the need for approval or recognition from others. Teach me to find joy in the quiet places where you see and know me fully. May my fasting and devotion draw me closer to you and deepen our relationship. Amen.

This devotional was written and read by Donn King.

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