This Ignatian Life

“What do you want?” This is one of the most basic questions in Ignatian spirituality, but also, at times, one of the most difficult to answer. In my pre-Ignatian days, I used to think that, when faced with choices about a possible course of action, God would probably want me to pick the harder one, or the one that seemed less appealing, or the one the seemed “more spiritual” in whatever way I happened to be thinking “more spiritual” meant. It was something of a liberation to learn from my Jesuit spiritual director that what I wanted, deep down, was what God wanted for me. According to this way of thinking, the best way to know God’s will is to know my own heart.

The problem is that we often don’t know our own hearts and that our desires can be really messed up. A short vignette from Matthew’s gospel instructs. In chapter 20, the Mother of James and John comes with her sons in tow to Jesus and he says to her “what do you want?” She answers that she wants her sons to sit at Jesus’ right hand when he comes into his kingdom. Jesus replies “you do not know what you are asking.” The story makes clear that what James and John (and their mother) think they want is glory and honor as a reward for their discipleship. Thus, a disordered desire (power) is at the heart of their motivation, but it masquerades as a holy desire (discipleship). However, a few lines later Jesus transforms their desire by explaining that true discipleship is servanthood. What’s cool about this story is that James and John, because they stick with Jesus, eventually figure out that what they really want is to follow Jesus no matter what, and they come to recognize the seductive deception of their first desire. Following a disordered desire is the source of all bad discernment, and it inevitably leads us away from God.

I recently was invited to apply for a job that would require a cross country move. If I were to get it, it would mean more responsibility, more opportunity for leadership, more money, and closer proximity to extended family, all of which, in some strong ways, I want. But, it would also mean moving my youngest child from the high school he loves, leaving a community that has taken years to establish, leaving the work I am currently doing and enjoy, and leaving a property for which I have deep affection, all of which I do not want.

Given that I am an American male, I felt a certain amount of interior pressure — even desire — to respond to the items on the first list, especially those offering more power and money. In my discernment temptations loomed: “besides,” I could say, “this opportunity is really about getting back to extended family, and my son is young: he’ll bounce back.” I also reasoned that we could make new friends and, more perversely, I found myself speculating that our friends would probably leave anyway. But ignatian practice pulled me back from that. I took the time to listen to my heart, and when I listened it was clear that the deeper desire was for stability and relationship even if the price was for now, and maybe forever, not to have the other things. It took a few weeks, but I chose not to apply. I think in this case I did a good discernment.

Responding to God honestly when God asks “what do you want” is one of the great challenges of the Christian life.

Photo: “What do you want?” by “Elton Lin” from Flickr (Used under Creative Commons license)

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