This is what I want

This is what I want. This is what I seek, this is what I desire with all my heart.

Francis had heard while attending Mass a reading from Chapter 10 of Matthew’s Gospel in which Jesus instructs his disciples to go out and preach. “You received without payment, give without payment. Take no gold, silver or copper in your belts, no bag for the journey, or two tunics, or sandals or staff.”

I am amazed that he had not heard this passage before. The story reminds me that the declaration of the Gospels in Church was likely the way in which Francis got to know the scriptures. He did not carry a copy of the Gospel with him. There was no bible study group, no YouTube channel, no copy of the catechism. His encounter with the message of Christ was within the Mass. He heard the Word proclaimed.

I am jealous of his seemingly totally fresh approach, to a fresh message, to something living, immediate, and new.

To know what I want is not the most difficult thing. I can make a list. In fact, I think I try to keep my list inclusive and comprehensive, I try to arbitrate among competing desires and hopes, to balance out the various goods which make up my life, any life. But Francis does not do that here. He is able to desire something “with all my heart”, he is able to use the word this, rather than these. He has experienced singularity, focus, totality, and responds completely to something totally new. How do I continue to stand in front of reality and see and hear things as something new?

This theme of single mindedness or focus is also present in the story of Jesus visiting Mary and Martha. ( Luke 10 38-42) Martha is described as “worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed.” There is a reality within Mary’s focus that corresponds to the heart, a focus which, by narrowing itself, opens something new.

Francis’ response to hearing Matthew 10 is to recognise an invitation which corresponds to him, which he recognises as truly himself. He knows his own heart well enough to recognise the thing which makes his heart soar. My encounter with Christ lacks this abandon. In spiritual terms I tend to consequentialism. Something is good, if the outcome from it is good. Something has value, if the consequences are valuable. I try to think where a pursuit of my heart’s desire may lead, or will lead. I balance duties, responsibilities, and expectations. Prudence and temperance, and wisdom are invoked. But my heart recognises in Francis’ heart that which I desire: a freedom to respond to that which itself corresponds to my heart, a recognition that my life contains an encounter which I can pursue above all others, which can end the equivocation, doubt, and hesitation.