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When Jesus stood on a Galilean hillside and taught His disciples to pray, He did more than adjust a few religious techniques—He flipped the whole scoreboard that people use to measure spiritual success. In Red Letters, Pastor Scott Wiens guides us through Matthew 6:5-18 and shows how Jesus moves prayer and fasting out of the public arena and back into the family living room. The contrast He draws could not be sharper: will we come to God as a boarder who rents space and negotiates terms, or as a child who belongs, trusts, and rests?

Scott begins by highlighting Jesus’ opening warning: “Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people to be seen by them.” First-century Pharisees timed their prayers for the busiest street corners and disfigured their faces on fast days so everyone would notice. Two thousand years later, we face the same temptation—posting long prayers on social media, dropping hints about our latest juice cleanse, or letting disappointment turn to bitterness when God doesn’t answer on our timetable. Jesus calls that entire approach below thinking—a life lived for horizontal applause. By contrast, He points us above, into a secret room where only the Father’s eyes matter.

From there Scott unpacks the boarder-versus-child analogy. A boarder operates on a business contract: “I pay the rent; you fix the leaky faucet.” If the faucet stays broken, frustration sets in. In spiritual terms, that sounds like, “I served in church; God owes me a promotion,” or “I’ve prayed perfectly; He must heal my friend.” The problem is obvious—when prayers go unanswered, we conclude that God has broken His side of the deal. That transactional faith collapses under pressure and can lead to anger or even abandonment of belief.

A child, however, approaches a father from a place of belonging. Romans 8:14-16 reminds us we have received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry, “Abba, Father.” Children never earn household privileges; they live in them. One of Scott’s slides pictures this beautifully: only a son or daughter can bang on the palace door at 3 a.m. and ask the king for a cup of water—no credentials required. Jesus invites us to that kind of audacity when He teaches us to begin with, “Our Father in heaven.”

The famous Lord’s Prayer that follows is more than a liturgy; it is a template for child-like dependence. We speak His name as holy, surrender our agendas to His kingdom, trust Him daily for bread, receive pardon and extend it to others, and ask for deliverance from evil. None of these petitions operate on a merit system; all assume a Father who already knows what His children need (v. 8) yet delights in the relationship created by conversation.

Scott then turns to fasting, another discipline vulnerable to public performance. Jesus commands that it be done in secret—washed face, anointed head, no pity-party posts. Fasting is not self-punishment but focused hunger for God. It dislodges lesser cravings and creates space where the Spirit can remind us, as Psalm 103 : 13 declares, “As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear Him.”

Across the message run four sturdy rails Jesus lays down:
1. Warning – Don’t do spiritual activities for human praise.
2. Guarantee – If you ignore the warning, human praise is all you’ll ever get.
3. Instruction – Pray and fast in secret, from the heart of a child.
4. Assurance – “Your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”

That reward is not a cosmic vending-machine payout; it is deeper intimacy with God, shaping us to look like Him. Scott closes with the story of an elderly man who pictured an empty chair beside him as he prayed—imagining Jesus there. When the man passed away, his daughter found him with his head resting on that chair. It is a poignant snapshot of a life that finished exactly as Jesus taught: a child at rest in the Father’s presence.

So how do we move from boarder to child? Scott offers three simple steps:
• Start in the secret place. Five unfiltered minutes with God in silence will remodel your motives faster than any public platform.
• Speak honestly, briefly, and often. Children don’t draft speeches for their parents; they talk. Drop the performance language and tell God what is really in your heart.
• Let fasting reset your appetites. Skip a meal, skip a scroll session, skip a show; use the emptiness to remember your dependence on Him.

As you practice these rhythms, expect two transformations: your prayers will grow bolder, and your fasting will grow quieter. Both will lead you away from striving and toward resting in the unshakeable truth that you are, before anything else, a beloved child of God. And that is the heart of true righteousness—relationship, not religion.