A few years ago, Pope Francis was speaking to university students about the calling of Matthew (recounted in Matthew 9:9), and said, “If you have time, go see the picture that Caravaggio painted of this scene.”

The painting is truly magnificent. Standing about 11 by 11 feet, it depicts Jesus, who seems to have burst into the room on the far right, pointing his finger to Matthew. Scholars are divided about which of the figures actually is Matthew. Is he the man seated on the far left, face down and toying with his coins? Is he the bearded man pointing lightly at his chest, as if to say “Who, me?” A third figure is a young man, whose face is illumined by the full light of Jesus, and who is looking back at him.

While I was discerning my vocation to consecrated life, this painting, which hangs in St. Luigi dei Francesi church in Rome, both frightened and fascinated me. I saw myself mirrored in all the figures. At first, I really wanted to ignore Christ. Then I was in a kind of stunned denial at the words I was hearing. And finally I looked back. His words “Follow me” had resounded indisputably in my heart.

The prospect of the life of the vows at first appears as an impossible sacrifice. Poverty, chastity and obedience seem like negations that fly in the face of normal human flourishing. But after looking back at Jesus, and making an assent in faith, the world of those vows opens up. They become love-generating, life-giving, and infinitely valuable. The beauty of the stained glass can often be seen only after walking into the cathedral.

Jesus makes the first move, but we can ready our hearts. “Real love is opening yourselves to the love that wants to come to you, which causes surprise in you. God is a God of surprises,” the Pope said. Jesus was simply “passing by” when he “saw” Matthew in his tax office. In a similar way, Jesus “saw” Simon and Andrew and the sons of Zebedee. The Gospels do not say what Jesus saw, or why called these people to leave their homes, families and jobs, and dedicate themselves exclusively to his company and service. Only that he saw them and called them. There is a great mystery here.

In consecrated life, we know we are not the likeliest of candidates. But we have all had our “Matthew moment”. We have met him somewhere — perhaps in Gethsemane, or as a guest in our home, or simply along the Galilean way — and there he looked at us.

Some six years ago, at the end of my novitiate, I was in the “Gesu”, the Jesuit church in Montreal, about to profess perpetual vows before the Eucharist, which was being held up before me in the hands of my provincial superior. I felt a bit overwhelmed by the immensity of what I was about to do. But I spoke the words and returned to my pew. There I looked at the Lord and prayed: “That was all quite beyond me. My life now is really in your hands.” The response I heard was something like this: “Of course. That is the whole point, is it not?” Then I realized that I had gotten up and was following him.