Unseen Righteousness

Whooda thunk it? This sets up one of the lesser followed statements recorded in the so-called Sermon on the Mount. (It was first given this title by St Augustine about 392 CE). It concerns the oft ignored concept of undetectable fasting. The Galilean tells us

“When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” (Mathew 6:16 NIV-17)

During the Sermon, he shifts between the indicative form and the imperative. The indicative mood is a verb form that makes a statement or asks a question. (See: The Beatitudes). The imperative mood is a grammatical mood that forms a command or request.

Here he is commanding, not illustrating. Does that mean he was particularly adamant, or simply illustrating a path to, as opposed to a standard for, righteousness? This forms a dilemma for us in these troubled days. Is it more proper, in the face of social injustice, to be seen on the streets as a supporter of good, or to be alone with our thoughts of how we might bring about  one act of righteousness to those deserving of our love?

The Galilean may not tell us. Those who truly believe he walked this planet some 2,000 years ago must rely on his words then, as recorded. Or will he speak to us in our solitude and contemplation? Who knows? One may hope, but one must also look.

I remember reading once, years ago in my formative years, the account of a man who died in a town somewhere in America. He was not famous. He was not part of society. He had never received awards of public accolades. He had no family and no apparent friends who came to “hang out” with him. He was just a speck on the Mount Everest of history.

Then a strange thing happened. At his funeral, people began to arrive, first as singles, then as couples, then as droves. The Church became filled and officials had to change the arrangement. It seemed to those present that every adult in town came to the last rites of this nondescript brother. The whole affair appeared bizarre at best.

Then those there started talking to one another. It became apparent that this simple and unassuming man had accomplished at least one act of kindness to everyone with whom he came in contact. Moreover, the acts occurred in private and without a sharing. Unseen and unknown they were. Are mowing yards, fixing faucets, comforting the bereaved, a friendly word to a lonely person, an act of social acceptance—all these and more—acts of humanitarian fasting, even if no one is watching?

Yes. I think the Galilean speaks to us if we listen. One can almost hear his voice echoing through the halls of time, perhaps in a modern indicative parlance, as he watched this gathering of the unaware: “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”