As a young person, called to minister in some form or function in the church of the early 21^st century, I found myself constantly wanting more. When I was in Bible college I wanted to be on staff somewhere, when I was on staff as an intern youth minister I wanted to be a part time youth minister. When I was a part time youth minister I wanted to be an associate minister. When I was an associate/youth minister I wanted to be a senior minister. Now that I’m a senior minister, could it be that the pinnacle has been reached? My desires say “No.” There is always a higher perch, a bigger “market,” and a more comfortable package.

Is it that I don’t love those who I try to teach and shepherd on a regular basis? No, it has nothing to do with “occupational” happiness. It is the humanity that I have to bear—it is that drive that exists in our broken vessels and constantly seeks to expose itself in the most powerful and pervasive form. Our shallow humanity can never be satisfied. Period. I’m talking about contentment. The joy and understanding of staying put is something that is a holistic challenge to all of us who want to follow Christ. Whether it is material advancement or ministry advancement, in some way or another we all battle or succumb to ourselves on the issue of contentment. I look at my life and see the glaring inconsistencies: why did I always seek to be something else and ignore the divine opportunity to just “be”? Is it not enough that we are “new creations” (2 Cor. 5:17)? Is being the imago dei in progress so light of a challenge that we have to seek out new horizons through books like “Your Best Life Now” or “The Prayer of Jabez”?

The search seems to be oriented toward becoming anything but who we are at this point in time. I can’t say I disagree in some cases—if we are addicts we want to get clean, if we are broken we want to become whole—none of these things are objectionable. It is when “whole” people can’t live out their wholeness—when free people can’t stay still long enough to experience freedom—when the grace of God is merely a starting point for the grace of us—that is when I think the roots of discipleship and spiritual formation must return to the concept of contentment. How can we ever be followers if we never own what it means to follow? How can we be disciples if discipleship is a step on the ladder to somewhere else? I understand this is an attitude of heart and intention, but all the same the heart and the intention are the seats of contentment in humanity.

Searching the Gospel, searching my own experience, and watching the American landscape unfold I can see the emergence of contentment as the capstone issue for discipleship. The reason for contentment to be placed at the forefront of discipleship is that it hinges on an American concept that is as destructive as it is constructive—choice. Watching “The Matrix: Reloaded” we see that choice is the crisis around which the plot of three movies is developed. The choices we are given are to choose more and more without consequence—as a matter of fact it is applauded when the option to expand is exercised. We choose our leadership, our local politics, our status in life, and even our perspective on God. Democracy has planted seeds of a better world, but it has also planted seeds of discontent. If you have trouble with that statement just ask yourself this question: Will there ever be a president in America who people do not object to? The answer is no because there will always be some comfort issue that is not properly addressed.

The statement from God has always been “You didn’t choose me, I chose you. Is that not enough?” Is it possible that all self-help and self-actualization resources could be trashed if humanity chose to be content with just “being”? If the only place where discontent was allowed to flourish was in our desire to imitate and follow Christ, and in all other areas we chose not what we desired but what the God of wisdom chose for us, what would the landscape look like? If we chose less materially for ourselves, doesn’t it free us to give materially to those who have nothing at all?

I guess I must choose as well: do I choose to be content with who I am in Christ, or do I constantly seek to be in a different position in a different town with different people? It is the choice of any and all who follow Christ through the materialistic landscape of the 21^st century. I enter this search as a recovering addict, not as a trailblazer or guide. I must simply be chosen, and from that decision come to terms with my own identity as one chosen and called by the Trailblazer himself—the guide and only path to contentment.