I have a friend suffering from discontent.
He doesn’t feel good about his life. He wants more than he has. No success in his ministry is ever enough.
Like many afflicted by this malady, my friend admits he has no objective reason to feel as he does: “I have a fine family, three grown sons, a healthy wife. I’m not rich, but I’ve planned well for retirement.”
He is successful, having achieved the top rank in his ministry/profession. Nobody does it better. And he is one of those rare individuals who has been able to advance without creating enemies. In fact, he has more genuine friends than anyone I know.
So why the discontent?
That’s what he asked me over lunch several weeks ago. I didn’t have very good answers.
I stumbled and mumbled, talking about normal highs and lows of the spiritual life, reminding him that King David and Job were all-time sufferers who eventually worked through their problems. I reminded him of Paul’s comments about contentment.
But we both led the lunch dissatisfied; his discontent probably grew, and I had some created by my inability to help.
I thought about my friend for many days after that. I wanted to help him and realized I hadn’t. The more I thought about it, the more I suspected that he was suffering a special kind of discontent that afflicts well-meaning, perfectionistic Christians-the ones who do most of the work in the body of Christ. They are the ones who have taken the teachings of the Beatitudes to heart, have chosen to live with humility, meekness, and mercy. Righteousness is the primary thirst they have tried to slake, and they have rejoiced in the scorn of the world, especially when aimed at their dedication to ministry.
These leaders operate behind the scenes, choosing to promote others ahead of themselves. Among their favorite books are Thomas … Kempis’s Imitation of Christ and Oswald Chambers’s My Utmost for His Highest. They eschew opportunities to grab the brass ring of fame and popularity because they would have to compromise some small, shadowed corner of their value system.
Their susceptibility to this special kind of discontent arises from an inability to appreciate the real law of the harvest. Although they have taken seriously the biblical teachings about how to live, they have not fully understood the teachings about the rewards of such a life. The Bible teaches that exemplary deeds are not necessarily rewarded here and now. Not only will the world scorn such dedication, but members of our own Christian community are liable to scorn it as well. Only in the next life are our accounts fully settled.
The very personalities that enable some to live so selflessly seem unusually vulnerable to a mental block about the crazy reward system of modern culture-the system that pays athletes millions and puts mushy thinkers on talk show pedestals.
The true law of the harvest-that earthly limelight may be weak and the rewards empty-is one of the hardest lessons of a fruitful Christian life. And it has been the stumbling block of many Christian leaders. In extreme cases we see them succumb to the temptations of fame and wealth. They throw over the vision and principles that put them in power. The rationalizations are easy. The leader, looking back at years of self-denial, tells himself he has “paid his dues.”
More often, however, the law of the harvest teaches its lesson in the form of discontent, dissatisfaction, and doubt.
I sketched out some questions to ask my friend, to help him understand the implications of this law of the harvest. Here’s what I came up with:
1. Why did you choose to forgo the “great educational degree hunt”? Did you realize the consequences would be prejudice and suspicion about your qualifications?
2. Why did you choose not to write books? Did you realize the consequences of people thinking (wrongly) that you had nothing to say?
3. Why did you choose not to play the power politics that would make you well known? Did you realize the consequences of being passed over for major leadership jobs?
4. Aren’t you just now reaping the fruit of those decisions? Some of it is very good fruit: integrity, productivity, love of friends, the power of having lived the truth. But some of it is very bitter fruit: misunderstanding, anonymity, lack of respect.
I looked at my list of questions. I thought how prepared I would be the next time my friend brought up the subject.
Then I realized I didn’t understand the law of the harvest any better than he did. I realized I still hold out hopes for wealth, fame, and popularity-all thrust on me by acclamation, of course. I realized that I needed to make up a list of questions for myself.
Knowing my own weakness, perhaps I could now give my friend some help. At least we could stumble forward together, remembering Wilberforce’s comment in Real Christianity:
“The Scriptures instruct us that mankind is liable to error, and therefore that the world makes mistakes with its commendations. … They also remind us that its judgment is darkened and its heart depraved: thus its applauses and contempt will, for the most part, be systematically misdirected.
[“The follower of Christ] should encourage a holy jealousy and a suspicion of himself when the world lavishly and generously bestows praise on him. Since we should set our affections on heavenly things and converse about heavenly objects, then it follows that the love of human applause must be unhealthy. … Since it is impure, we should view it with suspicion.”
Terry C. Muck is editor of LEADERSHIP.
Copyright © 1986 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
