If deed done isn’t posted on social media, did it really occur? If an act of generosity isn’t caught on camera and never goes viral, was it a worthwhile gesture? These questions, facetious as they appear, indicate something I’ve observed in my very own life: a deep desire to display my goodness to others. There’s even a contemporary term for it: virtue signaling.
According to Jesus, that is an ancient struggle, a primal temptation. We long to be known and seen, but when we aren’t careful, this longing can result in a sort of performativity that corrodes the soul.
In Matthew 6—the middle of the Sermon on the Mount—Jesus flips showy spirituality on its head: “Be careful to not practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen. … But whenever you give to the needy, don’t let your left hand know what your right hand is doing” (vv. 1, 3). Jesus reveals a key characteristic of his narrow path: hiddenness.
That is a crucial word for individuals who, like me, intuitively strive to be noticed. Can you relate? Social media has created (or perhaps revealed) the hunger inside us to be seen. As some have aptly said, the present generation of young adults—and emerging ones—will be described as “Generation Notification.”
Each time we get notifications—those coveted red or blue circles with a number in them—dopamine releases in our brains. The cycle is tough to interrupt. Even if a comment is negative, receiving one continues to be addicting because being seen is healthier than remaining invisible.
To be known and seen is one among our deepest longings. But left to our own devices (pun intended), we get stuck in a never-ending cycle of performative spirituality, where we seek to get from others what will be given only by God.
Jesus’ warning to us, then, isn’t just good spirituality; it’s good psychology. To be his disciple requires being an entire person, not merely doing religious things. What often stands in the way in which is an absence of self-awareness—not knowing our inner selves. How will we overcome this?
To combat the unrelenting desire to be seen by others, we’re called by Jesus to hiddenness. Once again, the paradox of the dominion of God is obvious. The narrow path of Jesus says that if we wish to be strong, we have to be weak; if we wish to be first, we have to be last; if we wish to be great, we have to be least. It’s the identical pattern here: To be truly seen, we have to be hidden.
This hiddenness is difficult because Jesus doesn’t primarily mean hiddenness from the world; he means hiddenness from ourselves. To higher understand this, it is likely to be helpful to contrast good self-awareness with bad self-awareness.
Good self-awareness sees areas of our lives which might be constraining us. It helps us name the forces that keep us from living free, full, and loving lives. Good self-awareness focuses on our reactions and triggers. It reflects on the things we’ve done, and the things left undone. Good self-awareness results in humility and invites us right into a strategy of growth.
When Jesus says, “Do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing” (Matt. 6:3), he invites you right into a “holy unawareness.”
Which leads me to the temptation of bad self-awareness. Self-awareness becomes damaging when the main focus is on our righteousness, after we’re caught up in our own goodness, living a self-congratulatory existence. Bad self-awareness fixates on our deeds and exaggerates our spiritual growth. There have been over and over once I’ve obsessed over my progress.
When I exercise, I are likely to look within the mirror way greater than I would like to. After 25 pushups, my chest appears like that of an expert bodybuilder, so I’m going to the mirror to verify my suspicions (and am sorely disillusioned every time). My tendency to document my growth roots me in despair or pride, depending on the day. In all this, I’ve discovered that essentially the most mature people are usually not consumed with their fruitfulness, nor do they wallow of their failures.
It’s exhausting to live a lifetime of performance. Jesus offers a greater way. Aren’t you uninterested in at all times having to be “on”? Isn’t it draining to work for constant approval? Do you ever feel as if God can be disillusioned when you don’t have all the pieces so as?
Jesus doesn’t lead us right into a scrupulous spirituality by which we agonize over every decision. Rather, he calls us to look at the bottom from which our good deeds grow. Why? So we don’t entrap ourselves in self-righteousness or idolatry: self-righteousness because our goodness can cloud the grace of God; idolatrous because, without knowing it, we worship acclaim from others as an alternative of from God.
When our deeds are practiced in front of others, we forfeit the rewards we’ll receive from the Father. Instead of receiving commendation from God, we accept admiration from people. Of course, Jesus isn’t saying that every one recognition and reward is incongruent with life in the dominion. He’s clarifying that to live for it’s folly. Applause from others, social media likes—all of it fades quickly. Only the affirming word of the Father can fill our hearts.
What does this hiddenness appear like in real life? Because Jesus embodied it perfectly, let’s consider his life for guidance.
Let this blow your mind: Jesus spent 30 of his 33 years on earth (about 90 percent of his life) in relative obscurity. As someone who usually leads and speaks in front of plenty of people, I find this so difficult. Ron Rolheiser explained how we are able to follow Jesus’ example: “Ordinary life will be enough for us, but provided that we first undergo the martyrdom of obscurity and enter Christ’s hidden life.”
To value hiddenness doesn’t mean we must change into members of a monastery, tucked away from the world. Rather, hiddenness is freedom from the shallow praise of the world.
In the Gospels, Jesus is continuously swarmed by admirers of his teaching and miracles, yet he refuses to capitalize on it. In modern terms, he doesn’t post selfies (#LeperBeClean). On one occasion, when individuals are amazed at his miracles, here’s how Jesus responds: “While he was in Jerusalem on the Passover Festival, many individuals saw the signs he was performing and believed in his name. But Jesus wouldn’t entrust himself to them” (John 2:23–24).
Even when people have the desire to make him a star, Jesus holds back. He’s not wooed by platform. Even in his resurrection, Jesus prizes hiddenness. If it were me, I’d show up at the house of those that crucified me to scare them to death and exhibit my power over all things. Jesus, nevertheless, simply finds his friends and, quite than storming the world, tells them to share the excellent news.
To live this fashion is difficult, especially for those of us who use social media. It lures us into believing the primordial lie of the serpent: You will be like God (Gen. 3:5). Social media creates the illusion that we are able to know all things, be in all places, and use our words for the sake of power. It’s the seductive lie that we will be omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent.
What’s stunning about God’s kingdom is that regardless that he’s all-powerful, all-knowing, and everywhere-present, his presence and activity are sometimes centered in places removed from the masses:
In the fifteenth yr of the reign of Tiberius Caesar—when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, Herod tetrarch of Galilee, his brother Philip tetrarch of Iturea and Traconitis, and Lysanias tetrarch of Abilene—through the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God got here to John son of Zechariah within the wilderness. (Luke 3:1–2)
Luke lists all of the political and spiritual leaders in power, then surprisingly highlights how the word of God bypassed them and got here to John within the wilderness. The locus of God’s presence and activity isn’t present in the corridors of great power. The Gospels tell of a God who shows up in surprising places. His biggest place of motion is hidden from the eyes of the socially powerful. His reach touches all the pieces, but the middle of it’s hidden.
One of Jesus’ best lessons on the importance of hiddenness is something he says concerning the Holy Spirit. It’s easy to miss when you’re not on the lookout for it, so let’s decelerate and have a look.
While wrapping up his time together with his disciples before going to the cross, he utters this poignant line concerning the Holy Spirit: “When he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he’ll guide you into all the reality. He won’t speak on his own; he’ll speak only what he hears, and he’ll let you know what’s yet to come back” (John 16:13). Eugene Peterson paraphrased Jesus’ words, saying the Spirit “won’t draw attention to himself” (MSG). That is why some people confer with him because the “Hidden Spirit.”
The Holy Spirit shows deference to Jesus. His inclination is to highlight one other quite than hog the limelight, delighting in making the Son central. Jesus says, “He will glorify me since it is from me that he’ll receive what he’ll divulge to you” (v. 14).
Within the Trinity, there isn’t any jockeying for position. The three individuals are radically other-focused. Just take a look at how their interaction is recorded in Scripture. The Father affirms the Son. “This is my Son, whom I really like; with him I’m well pleased. Listen to him!” (Matt. 17:5). The Son is at all times pointing to the Father. Jesus says things like, The Father is larger than all. I do only what I see my Father doing (John 5:19, 14:28). And the Spirit at all times points to the Son.
Here’s the principal idea: If the Spirit is secure within the love of the Trinity and if the Spirit lives inside you, he desires to make you secure too. He desires to remind you that you simply are loved by God. You are accepted by God. But ordering life around that theological truth requires concrete, counter-instinctual practices. We must remind ourselves what it looks wish to live an anti-performance life like Christ—and to get off the treadmill of limitless posturing.
Excerpted from The Narrow Path by Rich Villodas. Copyright © 2024 by Richard A. Villodas. All rights reserved. No a part of this excerpt could also be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Rich Villodas is the best-selling writer of The Deeply Formed Life (winner of the Christianity Today Book Award) and Good and Beautiful and Kind. He is the lead pastor of New Life Fellowship, a big multiracial church with greater than 75 countries represented, in Elmhurst, Queens, and Long Island, New York.
