I have learned to be content with whatever I have.—Philippians 4:11
The apostle says he has learned to be content. For all the radical rhetoric generated by North American twentysomethings in recent decades, no new statement is as deeply countercultural or as necessary as this ancient one.
Our culture encourages us to hunger unceasingly for control, wealth, and acclaim in a manner that is spiritually, environmentally, and physically unsustainable. In a society dominated by social competition and economic acquisition, the ability to learn contentment poses the single greatest threat to this consumptive status quo.
The suburban wealth "American Dream" of many of our parents and grandparents has become a nightmare of stress-filled competition, leaving many without time, energy, or resources to devote to God, society, and family. Most of the media-hyped voices of "Generation X" embrace consumption rather than contentment and are simply demanding a larger portion of the luxuries that environmental destruction and economic oppression offered to our parents.
The apostle Paul tells us we can learn to replace our North American dreams with kingdom visions. In our generation, people of faith need to be part of a new counterculture unwilling to sacrifice our souls for social, political, or financial gain. The apostle does not necessarily call our generation away from suburbia, activism, or the marketplace. Instead he, like the author of Ecclesiastes, reminds us that consistent contentment—the step beyond groping—cannot ultimately be found in earthbound effort.
This contentment is a far cry from apathy or self-indulgence. It is learned, slowly, as we recognize that our relationship with God, and only our relationship with God, is fully able to satisfy the hungers loose in our souls.
What would happen if even a fraction of us learn to live in the biblical assurance of a God who loves us and calls us to faithful love for others? Could we dare to dream of a time when we are released from our craving for human acclaim and its tragic consequences? Could we cease this needy earthly clutching, open our hands to receive God's grace-full sustenance, and recklessly offer God to others? Could we, oh so hesitantly, respond to the call to become inconspicuous saints?
There are people who have succeeded in responding to that call. We can find them most often in the generations that precede us (sainthood, it seems, takes years of practice). Their lives offer proof that when our hungry souls are satisfied, and our hearts are freed from distractions, we are able to embrace the gift of contentment and offer ourselves to others. We need to look to, learn from, and respect these unsung mentors.
These are not people who spend the savings from their simple lifestyles on self-promotion or who shoulder a desperate need to fix our world as an assurance they are desperately needed. These saints love mercy, do justice, and live lives of humble contentment before their God. Their quiet sacrifices are the loaves and fishes of the kingdom which, in God's hands, have an impact on our society and on their souls far beyond expectation.
When this article appeared, Josh Horner was a 28-year-old academic counselor at Merritt College in Oakland, California, and publisher of the newsletter Sustenance (4830 Walnut St., Oakland, CA 94619). He was a new generation representative at the evangelical Chicago Declaration II gathering in April 1994.

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