Naming Our Longings

“And when he came near, he asked him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ He said, ‘Lord, let me recover my sight.’ And Jesus said to him, ‘Recover your sight; your faith has made you well.’” – Luke 18:40-42

Jesus’ question to the blind roadside beggar seems obvious. Why in the world does he ask it?

In our consumeristic society, we think about what we want people to do for us all the time on a superficial level: customize our coffee a certain way, give a certain gift or bonus, provide a particular service at a particular time. But that is not what Jesus is asking. The blind man did not make a public disturbance for a trivial reason. This is in some ways the most important question of all. It is the same one Jesus asks us when we are brought into his presence, because it forces us to confront our true desires, the ones so easily masked by superficial attainments. It invites us to peel back layers of pretense to expose what is truest about us, to face our vulnerability and need. It invites spiritual hunger and honest reflection. It legitimizes desire. God asks us this, and it’s okay to answer it. 

“Jesus doesn’t grant requests like a genie in a bottle,” writes Ruth Haley Barton. “He works with people allowing their desires to draw him into the core conversations of life… Why did Jesus ask such pointed and personal questions? Perhaps because he knew that such questions open up a world of possibility—the possibility of actually making choices that are congruent with what we say we really want.  He seemed to understand that being in touch with our true desire can be catalytic for one’s spiritual life because it is the most powerful motivator for a life lived consistently with intentionality and focus.”

Psalm 86 was also on our reading list for the same day, and it struck me that the entire Psalm is an answer to this very question. The entire Psalm presupposes this question was asked, and is itself a litany of expressed desires and longings that pierce through to the deepest longings of the Psalmist’s heart. “Incline your ear to me, O Lord, and answer me, for I am poor and needy,” he begins. Preserve my life. Be gracious to me. Gladden the soul of your servant. Give ear, O Lord, to my prayer. Teach me your way. Turn to me. Be gracious to me. Show me a sign of your favor. But mingled in are descriptions of God himself. There is none like you. All shall worship you. You do wondrous things. You alone are God. Great is your steadfast love toward me. You have delivered my soul. You are merciful and gracious. You abound in faithfulness. You have helped me and comforted me. Within the very answering of this question, he encounters God. That’s the difference between asking this question of ourselves without God’s presence, and hearing God ask it to us within his presence. It’s the difference between self-help and true healing.

In the end, I think our longings are what motivates us on our spiritual journey, far more than duty or obligation. And our encounters with God are what heals and changes us in those very places of longing. What do you want Jesus to do for you?