Living by the Hidden Life

Matthew 6:3 has been sitting with me this morning. Not as a reprimand, but as a quiet invitation. The contrast is sharp: the world amplifies its gestures, inflates the gift to secure recognition. But the kingdom way is quieter. If I give a hundred dollars, it’s better that only a dime is seen. Not because I’m hiding, but because the act isn’t the point—the life behind it is.
This kind of giving doesn’t come naturally. My instinct still wants to be seen, to be affirmed. But the divine life doesn’t need an audience. It moves in secret, not out of shame, but out of alignment with the Father’s nature. That’s the tension I’m naming today: the pull between visibility and hiddenness, between natural impulse and divine rhythm.
I’ve known saints who live this way. Their service is quiet, their generosity unannounced. They don’t need credit. Their lives bear the imprint of the Father’s hidden life—steady, sincere, unperformed.
I want to live like that. Not just in moments of giving, but in the whole rhythm of my presence. Less display. More substance. Less reaction. More rootedness. I’m not there yet, but I’m listening.