Illustration by Courtney Granner

The Islamic call to prayer blasted from the neighborhood mosque at 4:00 A.M., ending my vain attempt to sleep.

The winter monsoon rains of Java pummeled our house with such cacophonous force that even the scratchy blaring of the loudspeaker struggled to compete. After groping for my Bible, I crept through the darkened house to the back veranda where I normally spent the morning interceding for the souls of the four million Muslims in my city. For the past several weeks, however, I had sensed a growing artificiality in my appeals.

Dodging streams of water pouring through the sagging, saturated roof, I made my way to the solitary dry spot. Usually, the wailing of the mosque filled me with a longing to see my neighbors come to Christ. Today, it failed to rouse my heart. It was as if the gray dankness of the incessant rain was seeping into my soul, threatening to extinguish any ember of passion that remained. What was wrong with me?

Later, during our high school chapel, I stood before the sea of students wondering how I ever came to believe that God had called me to this place. I pushed the words of my devotion toward them. Those who were awake fidgeted with pens and shoelaces or stared out the windows at the relentless deluge. When the bell mercifully rang, the students fled the auditorium, and I stood alone among the empty chairs.

"What's wrong with me, Lord?" I prayed aloud. "Why am I so unhappy? A seminary degree and eight years on the mission field—isn't that enough? Shouldn't I be satisfied with that? Shouldn't I be content?"

And then the Lord touched my heart: That is the problem. You are content.

The Crisis of the Contented Heart

Contentment is desirable—even a virtue—isn't it? Yes, when properly understood. But for a believer, a wrong understanding of contentment can have serious negative effects. Too often, we mistake complacency for contentment.

According to Scripture, contentment is appropriate in the area of material possessions. When we are admonished to be content in the New Testament, the focus is on God's material provision for our lives (Lk. 3:14, 1 Tim. 6:8, Heb. 13:5).

However, throughout the New Testament, we can find examples of those who were too easily satisfied with a limited understanding of God. Peter implores believers,

The writer of Hebrews longed to explain the mature things of Christ to Jewish converts, but he found it difficult because they were "in a settled state of sluggishness" (Heb. 5:11, Wuest). They should have been teachers but instead were content to be milk fed. Similarly, Paul chastised the believers in Corinth for their casual acceptance of spiritual immaturity (1 Cor. 3:1–3), and James warned quarrelsome believers scattered among the nations that they did not receive things from God because they were simply too self-sufficient to ask (Jas. 4:1–3).

This wrong understanding of contentment can rob believers of their passion for Christ and the lost. Discontent with God's promise to provide for our physical needs, we focus our energy on temporal things and become complacent about our limited concern for the eternal.

That was what had happened to me. Even though I awakened each morning in a country of 200 million Muslims who need Christ, my heart had grown increasingly unmoved by their plight. Instead, I was discontent with the temporal—incessant rain, leaky ceilings, and physical discomfort—rather than the eternal—my neighbors' lostness. I needed a good dose of holy discontent.

Holy discontent demands completion.

Nowhere does the Apostle Paul use such warm expressions of love as he does in the book of Philippians. It is the only one of his letters to the churches that does not contain some rebuke among its many commendations. Yet, in the midst of telling the Philippian believers how thankful he is for their continued fellowship and participation in the ministry of the gospel "from the first day until now" (Phil. 1:3–5), Paul is careful to remind them that the task is not yet finished. He encourages them onward with the settled confidence that "he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus" (Phil. 1:6).

Three weeks ago, a friend of mine stood before the leadership board of our church. His ministry team had just verified that 300 Muslims on a remote island had accepted Christ. We were ecstatic with joy yet stunned as the man began to weep. When we asked him why he was crying, he said, "Because there are two million more who are still lost." We were content with the three hundred. He was not. It is his holy discontent that impassions him to keep reaching just one more until the job is done. Paul shared a similar passion:

Although Jewish leaders relentlessly persecuted him, Paul was not content to see them perish in a Christless eternity. He would trade his own salvation to see his brothers saved.

What about us? Are we content with the way things are? Holy discontent will not allow us to sit idly by in a perishing world. Holy discontent brings with it God's very own passion and promise of completion.

Holy discontent demands growth.

Three years ago the international Christian school where I teach enrolled several students who had failed nearly every high school class they had attempted. As we began to work with them, we discovered their intelligence quotients to be quite high, yet they continued to fail quizzes and tests. After nearly four months of building relationships and gaining their trust, we discovered an unsettling fact: They accepted failure as a natural part of their lives.

It was not until these students came to Christ that they became discontent with substandard grades. But even then, the teachers had to urge them on to keep them from being satisfied with average grades.

Paul understood the human tendency toward spiritual complacency—a complacency that can prevent a believer from developing into a mature, fruit-bearing member of the kingdom of God. As a result, he warned the compassionate and informed Philippians not to be content with their current level of spiritual development.

Holy discontent prevents believers from thinking they have ever spiritually arrived. Jesus made it clear that the people who would experience true righteousness are those who hungered and thirsted for it (Mt. 5:6). Holy discontent impassions us to press on in all areas of our Christian walk. Oh, that we might cry out daily, "My soul thirsts for God, for the living God" (Ps. 42:2).

This year our formerly struggling students are now seniors. All of them will graduate and head off to U.S. universities, some with academic scholarships. As they walk across the stage to receive their diplomas, I will say aloud the scripture that has been a challenge to them over the past three years:

Rescued by God from their stagnant contentment, they will soon become collegiate witnesses, ever straining for the greater spiritual growth that lies ahead.

Holy discontent demands commitment.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German theologian known for his outspoken resistance to Nazi attempts to impose antiSemitism on the church and society, wrote,

Bonhoeffer's vocal discontent with the unnatural situation in Nazi Germany resulted in his death by hanging in a concentration camp on April 9, 1945. What makes his death so moving is that it was not necessary to sacrifice his life in order to protest publicly the plight of Jewish people in Nazi Germany. He could have pastored his congregation of German believers in England and avoided physical harm, but he would not stand on the sidelines. Holy discontent demands commitment.

There is perhaps no more beautiful expression of this kind of sacrificial commitment than Paul's description of Christ's humble and obedient descent into human form and criminal crucifixion (Phil. 2:6–8). "Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus," Paul reminds the Philippians. Christ was not so enamored with His position in heaven that He would ignore our need for salvation. His loving discontent with the unredeemed state of His creation compelled Him to act.

What about us? Do we, too, long for everyone to come to repentance, not wanting anyone to perish? Are we willing to leave the sidelines and commit to the race?

Living in Discontent

The day after my soggy morning chapel service, I spent several hours repenting and asking God to renew my passion for Him and the lost students in the school. For two months I continued to ask God not to allow me to be content with the things I had seen and done. I challenged my believing students to do the same.

It was not long before we saw a change. Impromptu prayer meetings occurred during and after school, accompanied by a fresh wave of evangelistic outreach. Three of our most outspoken and resistant high school students were profoundly affected by the love and concern of their classmates. Two of the students, both Buddhists, trusted Christ and gave their testimonies in front of the entire high school.

Paul's passion for the unsaved emanated from a deep discontent about their lostness. His passion for Christ arose from a heart not content to take lightly the grace extended to him on a dusty Damascus road. A passion for Christ results in a passion for the lost, and vice versa. The two are inexorably linked.

Paul's holy discontent led to a longing for completion, a striving for growth, and a commitment about which he minced no words: "Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize" (v. 24).

Bring to the Lord a heart wholly discontent with standing still, and He will make you a runner worthy of the prize.

Jamie Winship is an English literature teacher and chaplain at the Bandung Alliance International School in Java. He says, "Discontent is often what drives us forward in ministry. If I have six unsaved friends, and I'm content with the salvation of two of them, I am also content that four are still lost."