What Do You Want?

On the question Jesus asks that he already knows the answer to

[Note: I’m going to be undertaking a two-month-long devotional series through the month of July on the topic of “desire” and “longing” in concert with my recent book on the topic. During this series, I’ll be riffing on some of the broader themes and ideas that have percolated since its publication—with cool stuff from the biblical text. Also, thank you to all of you who prayed for and encouraged me last week as finals concluded and grades were finished at the University. Your words and prayers boldened my spirit.]

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One of the more helpful little books on Christian formation and prayer I’ve read in recent years is entitled Armchair Mystic by Mark Thibodeaux.¹ Thibodeaux, a Catholic, has published a variety of insightful volumes on how one can tap into a real and vibrant life with God—many of which I’d commend. The heart of Armchair Mystic, in part, is that we are transformed and renewed simply by being with God. Just being. Part of this journey, he contends, is that we will all go through seasons of dryness and boredom in our conversational life with God, which are the themes of ch. 13-14. These two chapters, in my opinion, are worth the price of the book. Thibodeaux’s honest description of the down-to-earth difficulties of a real prayer life offers the reader a helpful and steady hand in their pursuit of a flourishing communion with God.

For any who have dared to try, one frustrating aspect of cultivating a prayer life with God is experiencing a distinct sense that God is withholding communicating his desires with the one who is praying. We may seek out guidance or direction only to be met with perplexing silence and quiet. In one section, Thibodeaux discusses one particular season of dryness in his prayers as he sought God’s direction on a personal topic. Time and again, he asked God to hear what God wanted. But time and time again, he received no direction from the One he was petitioning. Then came a breakthrough. Thibodeaux describes the experience:

[T]he wind still blew. And in it, I heard God’s counter-question to me, “Mark, what is it that you desire?” It was the same question Jesus asked the two disciples when they followed him home one day (Jn 1.35-39). It was the same question he asked the blind man, Bartimaeus (see Mk 10.46-52), and the lame man at the pool (Jn 5.1-9). Now God was asking me.²

As the author narrates through the story of his own experience, what began as a desire to seek and hear from God about what God wanted would soon be mysteriously reversed. The tables were turned. And God seemed to be the one turning them. This is one of the mysterious realities of prayer. We may fervently seek to know God’s desire on a matter only to quickly discover he is questioning us about our own.

Photo by László D. on Unsplash

The truth is that we cannot love God fully and vulnerably and expect him to remain uninterested and involved in our desires, wants, and longings. As I write in my recent book, The Gift of Thorns, this is a fairly significant theme throughout the gospel narratives. The question “what do you want?” is found most often on the lips of Jesus. So significant for Jesus was this question that of the 307 questions he’s recorded as asking, it’s one of the most repeated in the gospels. Luke records Jesus’s first words as a child to Joseph in the temple courts: “why are you looking for me?” (Lk 2.49) John later records Jesus’s first adult words as two of John the Baptist’s followers investigate him, saying, “What do you want?” (Jn 1.38) In both inaugural statements as child and adult, Jesus interrogates the desires of those before him. John caps this off by recording Jesus’s first post-resurrection words to Mary: “why are you searching for me?”(Jn 20.15) 

Jesus posed questions like these because he knew (and knows) that almost nothing shapes our lives more than our wants, desires, and longings. And the importance of these questions continues today—because they remain as important to our lives as it did theirs. Years ago, I stumbled upon a little book by a Christian philosopher named Gil Bailie who highlighted the importance of these questions posed by Jesus in the gospels. “What do you want” isn’t some throw-away question Jesus used to provoke good dialogue. It is the question he continues to ask and with which we must reckon. Bailie brilliantly writes:

It can hardly be dismissed that the first words spoken by Jesus in the gospels are: “What do you want?” It would not be too much to say that Jesus came into the world to help humanity come to grips with that question. We spend much or all of our lives wanting, punctuated only momentarily by fleeting moments of satisfaction, rarely pondering the implications of this gigantic fact of our existence or realizing that it is what defines our species.³

Our lives are made in the shadow of our desires. Little shapes us more. Desire frames everything about our existence—from our politics to our sexual lives to our career choices to how and what we have prepared for lunch. Despite the fact that Jesus’ question may feel a little awkward to the modern reader. I remember the first few times I read the gospels and noticed Jesus asking the unwell, sick, and paralyzed these questions. Why, I wondered, would Jesus ask a question with such an obvious answer?

Jesus, of course, knew what people wanted. For a while, I found myself almost offended by Jesus’s questions. Then it dawned on me upon reading Bailie’s insightful aside that Jesus never did ask a question out of ignorance. Jesus asked questions like these because the answers would be revelatory for us. Jesus knows what we want. It is we who are out of touch with what we want. He was helping them name and be real about their desires. And he is still helping us get in touch with the longings that shape our hearts. God never asks a question so he could be more informed. God asks questions so that we can see something.

Back to Thibodeaux. As we saw, sensing that God was asking him what he desired is by no means out of line with what and who Jesus was during his earthly ministry. But sensing this question brought great revelation to his understanding of God. Again, Thibodeaux reflects:

God's question, “What do you want?” was not the move of a manipulative mother using guilt to get her child to do some unpleasant task. No, God really wanted me to do exactly what I desired to do. He wanted no more than what I wanted. It was as though his sole purpose was to fulfill my deepest desires. “I release you,” he seemed to be saying, "from whatever obligations you feel you have to accomplish for me. I promise to love you always—even if you never turn your face toward me again.” 

I will be candid—reading that last paragraph made me feel exceedingly uncomfortable. This is largely due to the fact that I’ve had the sad privilege of observing first-hand the disastrous results of individuals who envision the God of the Bible as a convenience store out of which they get to grab each and every one of their wants and wishes. Which, of course, is not how God operates. Nor is it what Thibodeaux is saying. God would never desire to give one of his beloved creations over to sin, evil, abuse, self-harm, or anything of the sort. Jesus asking “what do you want” isn’t some ancient form of Freudian wish fulfillment. 

My discomfort also goes to another level. That paragraph makes me equally uncomfortable (again, to be totally honest) because the worst thing for me (and I suspect most of us) is to actually get everything our hearts want. Our desires are very complicated. And our hearts want many things God would be wise not to give us. Speaking for myself, a good deal of what I want on a daily basis would (if I actually received it) be imminently destructive to me, my family, and those I serve and care for. I don’t want Jesus to give me everything I want. It would not be a loving thing for God to do so. Because what I want isn’t always aligned with the good, the beautiful, and the true. And yet, knowing this, I wonder if Jesus still asks you and I the question:

What do you want? 

How we answer this question reveals so much about where our hearts are. For God, even a question reveals. It exposes the times in our lives when our desires are out of step with the way of Jesus—and he wants us to see them. There are times when he asks us what we want, and the answer is simply not good. I want to harm that person. I want to flee this marriage. I want to stop being generous. These are real desires. And we all have them from time to time.

But, that is okay. Jesus still wants to know about it. Jesus is holding up a mirror for us so we can see where our hearts have gone. The sign that God has a voice in our lives is when he is given space to expose our false and evil desires. Still, when he asks, actually tell him what you want. Just because you say, it does not mean you will get it. Nor can we lie to God. In fact, to say what you really want can actually be the very thing that restrains its power. Jesus often asks us what we desire because he wants us to see the underlying reality that motivates our being.

Then, there will be times when we are asked what we want, and we will find ourselves surprised by the answer. Surprised to find that our deepest desire is actually to know, be in communion with, and enjoy God. In these moments, we get to revel in the work of God taking place in our lives. Thibodeaux, in the end, experienced this very thing: 

I was rocked even more by the response that was slowly forming inside me. “I want to be with you, God. I want to be at your side.” I did not consciously choose to answer this way. It seemed to rise naturally from someplace deep inside me, from below the surface of my superficial emotions.

To arrive at this place is the goal of the work of God in our lives. God is seeking to create in us the kinds of people who, when they are asked what they want, can say with a straight face that it’s the One who asked the question is the very One that they want. May it be that this becomes—over time—the knee-jerk response of our hearts. That when Christ asks, “what do you want,” our response would supernaturally be “you.” This, at its core, is the basis of a prayer life. It is two people who are seeking and loving and desiring each other in increasing fashion into the dawn of eternity. 

But may it also be an invitation from God to actually know our desires. To be in touch with our deepest selves. I am developing a new practice. Throughout the day, I am learning to pause and simply reflect on how I’d respond if Jesus asked, “A.J., what do you want?” The practice is revealing. It helps me gauge throughout the day where my heart is. And as a discipline, I am learning to say, no matter what my feelings may say:

Honest to God, Jesus, I just want you.

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Thanks for reading my work. As always, you can always find me wasting time on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Or you can listen to my podcast, Slow Theology. If you found this content helpful to your journey, yay! Consider enjoying my most recent book The Gift of Thorns: Jesus, the Flesh, and the War for our Wants, which was released with Zondervan in February of 2024. Within, I explore what the topic of human desire from the perspective of Scripture, theology, and experience—with particular interest to how we can be formed into the image of Christ through our desires. In short, it’s about why our cultural mandate to “you do you” is so profoundly unhelpful to the follower of Jesus. You can support my work by reading it! And sharing with me about your experience. Click on the image below to get yourself a copy.

1. Mark Thibodeaux, Armchair Mystic: Easing Into Contemplative Prayer (Cincinnati, OH: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2001).

2. In quoting Thibodeaux’s work, I’ve interchangeably mixed his use of the word “desire” into “want” to flow with what I’m trying to do here.

3. Gil Bailie, God’s Gamble: The Gravitational Power of Crucified Love (Kettering, OH: Angelico Press, 2016), 155. The quote is shortened for length. James K.A. Smith points out this very thing and notes that Jesus didn’t ask “what do you know?” or “what do you believe?” What one wants is integrally tied to the realm of discipleship. James K.A. Smith, You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos, 2016), 1–2.