From Surface Obedience to a Transformed Heart
Mathew 6:1-8, 16-18

“Take care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them.” (Matthew 6:1)

When Jesus begins the Sermon on the Mount, He starts with the Beatitudes. They overturn the logic of the world. Happiness, He says, is not found in power, applause, or possession, but in mercy, purity, humility, and trust.

Then He goes deeper into the heart of the commandments.

He tells us that our righteousness must surpass that of the scribes and Pharisees. That can unsettle us. Because suddenly righteousness is no longer just about what we do, it is about who we are becoming. It is not only about avoiding murder but also about examining anger. Not only about avoiding adultery but guarding the heart. Not only about loving those who love us but learning to love our enemies.

We realize something uncomfortable: it is possible to keep many commandments outwardly and still resist true conversion inwardly. We can avoid scandals yet carry resentment. We can appear faithful yet cultivate pride. We can follow the letter of the law and still miss its spirit.

Jesus is not satisfied with surface obedience. He calls us to interior transformation.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus reorders our understanding of reward and helps us to surpass the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees. In the Old Covenant, blessings were often described in visible and earthly terms. In the Book of Deuteronomy, we hear: “The Lord shall make you higher than all the nations of the earth.” [Deut 28:1] Honor, prosperity, recognition these were signs of divine favor.

But Jesus redirects our desire toward the heavenly. He calls us away from human applause to the gaze of the Father. He touches something hidden even from us: our longing for recognition, affirmation, security, and He redirects it to something infinitely greater: heavenly treasure and quiet trust

Lent refuses to let us remain on the surface and places before us this searching question: What kind of righteousness am I seeking? Jesus tells us our righteousness should surpass that of the scribes and Pharisees.

“Take care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them.” He shifts from what we do to why we do it.

Lent brings that question close to home:

Why do I pray?

Why do I give?

Why do I serve?

Why do I fast?

Is it to be noticed? To be affirmed? To feel secure in the opinion of others?

Or is it to live before the Father who sees in secret?

The temptations we face are rarely loud. They whisper. They slip quietly into good actions and subtly bend them toward self-glory. The real battle is not only outside us; it is within us.

Lent does not accuse us. It invites us. It invites us to purify not just our actions, but our intentions.

The Church gives us three pillars for this Lenten journey: almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. These are not mere obligations; they are weapons for the battle within; they are spiritual weapons against the temptations Christ faced for us.

In the desert, Jesus confronted three fundamental distortions of the human heart:

• Disordered appetite
• Possessiveness
• False glory

These are not ancient problems. They are ours.

Against these distortions, the Church gives us three remedies: almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. They are not spiritual decorations for Lent. They are Christ’s strategy for freedom.

Almsgiving: Healing Possessiveness

When the devil showed Jesus “all the kingdoms of the world,” he was tempting Him with control and accumulation. Possess. Secure. Dominate.

Almsgiving does the opposite: it scatters what covetousness hoards.

When we generously loosens the grip of fear, we declare: My security does not rest in what I store, but in the Father who provides. It breaks the illusion that life depends on what we hold.

But Jesus adds something more: “Let not your left hand know what your right hand is doing.”

The secrecy Christ desires is interior. It is the quiet space of a good conscience that no human eye can penetrate and no human tongue can fully describe. So, he warns, do not allow the love of human glory to mingle with your intention. Guard the interior space where charity is formed.

The real battleground is the heart. The work may be generous, but if part of the heart is seeking applause, the offering becomes divided.

Let your almsgiving remain pure, done for the Father alone, who sees in secret and rewards in truth. The Father sees what no one else sees:

the struggle behind the sacrifice,

the intention behind the action,

the tears behind the smile,

the love hidden within the duty.

That is enough.

Almsgiving is not merely social charity. It is spiritual warfare. It heals possessiveness and teaches trust.

Prayer: Healing Pride

On the pinnacle of the Temple, the devil tempts Jesus with spectacle: “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down.”

It is the temptation of false glory, to prove oneself dramatically before others. All other vices arise from evil; but vainglory arises from good. It feeds on virtue. It has no obvious external sign.

Prayer dismantles that temptation. It places us before God alone. It removes the audience. It purifies intention. It teaches us to seek not admiration but communion. Jesus says:

“When you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret.”

St. Augustine teaches that the “inner room” is the heart, and the “door” is our senses. Through them the world enters — images, worries, distractions, anxieties. To close the door is to guard the heart so it can stand quietly before God.

Prayer is not about impressing God or informing Him. He already knows all we need. Rather, Prayer is the lifting of the heart, a turning of the mind and body toward God, offered in pure love and supplication. It is communion. It purifies our intention. It teaches us to seek not admiration, but intimacy with the Father.

This Lent, perhaps we do not need more complicated prayers. We need more honest ones. Simple, steady, faithful prayer offered in secret heals pride and reorders our love.

Fasting: Healing Disordered Desire

The first temptation in the desert concerned hunger: “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become bread.”

It was not only about food; but it is also disordered desire. It was about living as though material satisfaction is the highest good. Jesus’ hunger in the desert reminds us: we do not live by bread alone. Fasting disciplines the body, strengthens the soul, and restores freedom.

But true fasting goes deeper than diet. Pope St. Leo the Great reminds us that fasting is more than abstaining from food. It is ultimately about cutting off vices. Food is only the beginning; the heart must also withdraw from what fuels sinful desire. True fasting is integrity of will: sober in thought, abstinent from dishonorable action. Even if the body is weak, the heart can remain strong.

We fast not to impress others. We fast out of love for God. Joined with generosity, fasting becomes prayer in action. It disciplines desire so that the soul may become more attentive to God.

Without fasting, prayer can grow faint. Without prayer, fasting becomes empty. Together, they strengthen the heart.

Fasting, almsgiving, and prayer correspond to the three great distortions of the human heart: pleasure, possession, and praise. So, these are not optional decorations of Lent, but they are Christ’s strategy for freedom and transformation.

Christ entered the wilderness not for Himself alone, but for us. When we fast, give, and pray with purity of heart, we stand with Him against the lies that satisfaction is found in consumption, security in accumulation, and identity in applause.

Lent is not about appearing more religious. It is about becoming more real.

This Lent, let us ask the Lord to purify not only what we do, but why we do it. Let Him move us from surface obedience to interior transformation.

🪶Fr James Abraham