Jesus’ Enduring Questions: What Do You Want?

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As a church, we want to live in God's unfolding story, being transformed by Jesus, learning to belong to each other across our differences, as God invites us into freedom, joy, and boundless generosity.

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In the garden, when Adam was hiding in shame, God did not thunder condemnation from a distance. God moved toward him and asked a question: "Where are you?" Not because God lacked information—but because Adam lacked honesty. The question was an invitation. An invitation to come out of hiding. To tell the truth. To return.

Today we are launching our Lenten sermon series, and throughout this season, we plan to sit with the questions of Jesus. Not to extract answers. Not to perform spiritually. But to let Jesus ask us what he asks—because Jesus does not question in order to trap us. He questions in order to restore us.

We're about ten days into Lent now. Maybe you've already broken your Lent promise. Maybe you never made one to begin with. Maybe you're wondering if this whole thing is just spiritual gymnastics that doesn't really change anything.

But what if Lent isn't about subtraction—it's about exposure? What if it's about letting Jesus ask us the question that cuts through our performances and gets to the heart of what we actually want?

In John chapter one, two disciples begin trailing behind Jesus. They are curious. Hungry. Searching. And Jesus turns, sees them following him, and asks a question that is both simple and disarming: "What do you want?" That is the first recorded question Jesus asks in John's Gospel. Not "What do you believe?" Not "Are you morally qualified?" Not "Do you understand the Trinity?" He asks, "What do you want?" Discipleship begins in desire.

Many of us were taught to distrust our desires. We were warned that desire is dangerous, that holiness means suppressing what we want. But Jesus does not shame their desire; he surfaces it. Desire is not the enemy of the spiritual life. Disordered desire is. Beneath our surface wants—success, comfort, security, influence—there is a deeper ache: to be seen, to be known, to belong, to matter, to be loved. The question is not whether you desire. The question is what you believe will satisfy you.

If Jesus stood in front of you this morning and asked, "What do you want?" how would you answer? Would you give the church answer? "I want to grow." "I want to be closer to God." But if we're honest, sometimes what we want is control. Sometimes we want to win. Sometimes we want to preserve our way of life. Sometimes we want safety more than we want surrender. Sometimes we want to be right more than we want to be loving. Lent is the courage to let that surface without pretending.

The disciples' response is interesting. They don't articulate their desire directly. They say, "Rabbi, where are you staying?" It's almost indirect, almost shy. And Jesus responds, "Come and see." He does not give them a lecture. He offers proximity. "Come and see." And John tells us they went and stayed with him that day. The beginning of transformation is not information; it is staying. Lent is an invitation to stay. To slow down long enough to notice what actually drives us. To resist numbing ourselves. To pay attention.

Here's the thing about Jesus's question: it's not meant to be answered immediately. It's meant to work on us, to follow us home, to sit with us in the quiet moments, to surface in our prayers and our conversations with friends. "What do you want?" is not a question you answer once and move on. It reshapes as you grow, deepens as you mature, reveals new layers as God strips away old ones. This is why Lent is forty days, not four. The questions that matter can't be rushed.

After Andrew spends the day with Jesus, the first thing he does is go find his brother Simon and say, "We have found the Messiah." When you encounter something real, you share it. Not out of obligation, but out of overflow. Desire clarified becomes witness. If we allow Jesus to reorder our desires this Lent, it will shape how we show up in our homes, in our relationships, in our neighborhoods, in this city. We will not show up driven by fear or scarcity. We will show up as people who have found something better. And people who have found something better are not defensive; they are generous.

And then something remarkable happens. When Andrew brings Simon to Jesus, Jesus immediately speaks identity over him: "You are to be called Cephas"—Peter, the rock. Jesus sees who Simon will become before Simon even knows who he is right now. He calls him by a name he hasn't earned, toward a future he can't imagine. The name is a promise, not an instant transformation. It will take years of walking with Jesus—years of failure and forgiveness—before Simon grows into the name Peter.

But this begins with honesty. Some of us have followed Jesus for years without ever answering this question truthfully. We followed for belonging. We followed because it was expected. We followed because it was culturally stable. We followed because we were afraid not to. Lent is not about shame; it is about courage. The courage to say, "Jesus, I want you—but I also want comfort." "I want your kingdom—but I also want control." "I want love—but I also want to win." And the good news is this: when you tell the truth, Jesus does not recoil. He says, "Come and see.”

In a few minutes, we're going to come to the communion table. And I want you to hear Jesus asking his question here too: "What do you want?" God is a God of the Real, not the Ideal. Don't come to this table with spiritual performance. Come with your actual hunger, your real questions, your half-understood desires.

As we begin this series, we will sit with Jesus's enduring questions. Why are you so afraid? How many loaves do you have? Who do you say I am? Why do you call me Lord and not do what I say? Do you love me? These are not abstract theological puzzles. They are diagnostic questions. They expose fear, scarcity, loyalty, hypocrisy, love. And if we let them—if we allow Jesus to ask us these questions in their context and answer them honestly—they will shape how we show up in our daily lives and neighborhoods. They will make us a transformed people.

So today, we begin here. Jesus turns toward you. He sees you. And he asks, "What do you want?" Not what should you want. Not what do you think I want you to say. What do you want? Let that question linger this week. Pay attention to when you feel most alive and when you feel life draining out of you. That will reveal something about your desires. And then bring it into the light. Because the same God who moved toward Adam in the garden is moving toward you now—not to condemn, but to restore. Not to shame, but to invite. And the invitation is simple: come and see.

Amen.