“[Jesus] answered them ‘You faithless generation, how much longer must I be among you? How much longer must I put up with you? Bring him to me.’ And they brought the boy to him. When the spirit saw him, immediately it convulsed the boy, and he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth. Jesus asked the father, ‘How long as this been happening to him?’ And he said, ‘From childhood. It has often cast him into the fire and into the water, to destroy him; but if you are able to do anything, have pity on us and help us.’ Jesus said to him, ‘If you are able!—All things can be done for the one who believes.’ Immediately the father of the child cried out, ‘I believe; help my unbelief!’” [Mark 9:19-24]
This man, this father’s, name was Steve. I am sure of it. I am him.
And he bears your name, too.
Each of us has been in that place of tension in between doubt and faith, of belief and unbelief at the same time. Maybe, to be honest, we live most of our lives there, in that space of believing unbelief in the power of God. And maybe, when we know we are deeply beloved by God, we are also able to be honest enough to tell God that we struggle with that doubt. When you know you are loved you can quit pretending and trust that it is safe to be honest with the One who loves you.
That’s what this man’s exclamation really is, too—a statement of utter honesty. “I believe; help my unbelief!” It could be our daily prayer each morning, except that most of the time we are too chicken to be so honest and forthright with God.
We believe—we do—in the living God. We believe that this God we have come to know is faithful, and good, and generous, and merciful, and gracious, and truthful, and powerful. We have a long list of other adjectives to describe what we believe about God, and we have an even longer list of facts and propositions we have been taught about God: that God created the universe, or that God freed a nation of slaves from Pharaoh, or that God came among us in Jesus, or that God can raise the dead. And we really do believe these things about God.
But we also struggle, too.
We believe (so we say) that God made the universe and made it good… while at the same time acting like we own it all, and that all of creation is there for our exploitation, and we have a way of refusing to see the image of God in whatever subset of human beings we don't happen to like.
We believe (so we say) that God set the slaves free in Egypt… while at the same time finding it hard to believe that God really does care about other injustices that seem to go uncorrected, since we see so much wrong with the world and so many people stepped on in life. Or worse yet, we refuse to even acknowledge the ongoing injustices in the world around us, because we are complicit in so much of its rottenness, and we don't want to have to hear the truth about ourselves.
We believe (so we say) that God came among us in Jesus, and classically, Christians have believed it is right to call Jesus as "Lord"… and yet we listen more closely sometimes to the voice of our other lords: the loud voice of Caesar and modern-day demagogues, the tea-leaves to be read about the market, the bank balance, the television commercials and internet ads telling us we need more.
We believe (so we say) that God can raise the dead… and yet we let our spirits be paralyzed with the fear of dying, and we allow that fear to make us see others around us as enemies to be fought and threats to be stopped, rather than neighbors whom God has sent across our path.
We believe, and we doubt.
We trust, and we question. Let us just be honest about that, at least as honest as the father in these verses.
We can dare to be so honest because—as we are learning from this story, and will see even more clearly by its conclusion—it is safe to tell the truth around Jesus. Even when the truth means admitting we have had flimsy faith. Doubt does not stop Jesus. His miracle-working power is not fueled by our faith like gasoline, and he does not need a certain percentage of pure faith, of high-octane belief, in order to complete his divine mission.
Jesus--and we must be absolutely clear about this--is not Tinker Bell. He does not need us to clap and say, “I do believe in pixies!” in order for his abilities to be effective. He is not an engine that runs on our faith. Jesus' power doesn't come from us--not from our believing hard enough or correctly enough, not from our achievements or charitable donations, and not from selling out for more political influence or campaign contributions. If anything, Jesus is a generator that makes our trusting him possible. And that means Jesus is not waiting around for us to believe hard enough, or strongly enough, or well enough, or accurately enough in order to then unleash his divine healing. Jesus can work with doubt-and-faith. Jesus can handle someone who comes to him saying, “I believe; help my unbelief!” Jesus can work with that kind of honesty—it’s the self-deceived religious pretenders who don’t give Jesus anything he can work with. If anything, it's the ones who can admit their doubts who are showing a deep enough trust in him that they can speak those doubts and struggles out loud. Almost like when your kid is polite and civil around strangers but can lash out at you with their rawest emotions, it can actually be a sign that they feel comfortable enough around you to vent while they don't feel that way around others. Jesus' enduring love for us makes it possible for us to be honest with him about our unbelief in a way that lets us set aside our religious pretensions.
Today, let us be honest with Jesus… and with ourselves. We come before Jesus—as we always do—with faith that is still fearful, with belief that is still bashful, with courage that is still more than a little cowardly. We are fickle trusters, and we are often half-hearted beleivers. But because Jesus is supremely faithful to us and does not flake out on us, despite our doubting, we have hope. We know we are beloved, even if there's not a lot more we are confident in. The moment we start looking at ourselves, and at the quality (or lack thereof) of our faith in God, we are going to be disappointed. But the moment we are looking at Jesus, even with a look of caution and doubt in our eyes when we do it, there is hope, because Jesus is faithful, no matter what we bring to the table.
The power is in Jesus. It does not hang on our contributions, which also means that Jesus is not beholden to us for the favors we do for him, the prayers we offer him, or the things we offer him.
The more we come to experience that unrelenting, unwavering trust-worthiness of Jesus, the more we may discover our unbelief giving way to an honest and sturdy trust in him.
Today, what if we did not spend energy or time thinking we could hide our doubts from God, and instead, if we dared to trust that God is strong enough to take them, and gracious enough to bear with them? What would happen if we realized that we do not factor into the equation for where Jesus' power comes from?
What if we let the father’s words about his son be our prayer? Let us find out.
Lord Jesus, we believe. Help our unbelief.
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