Here we have another healing story. Jesus has been approached by the father of boy who’s had a spirit that dashes him to the ground, and makes him convulse and foam at the mouth. The man has asked the disciples to heal the boy, but they apparently were unable, so the man finds Jesus. He begs Jesus to help his son, saying, “If you are able to do anything, have pity on us and help us”.
Jesus is angered by the man’s wavering faith, with the conditional ‘if you are able’. Jesus repeats, seemingly incredulously, “If you are able?!” He adds that all things can be done for the one who believes.
With my sick loved one, I continue to struggle with the stories of Jesus that seem to imply that if I just had faith, all illness will be made well. So for a while, as that head-on lesson is illusive for me, I will skirt around the healing stories with the other parts I can digest.
Today, I am struck by the father’s response to Jesus’ comments – all things can be done for the one who believes. The man simply says, “I believe; help my unbelief”. From a place of unknowing and uncertainty, he appeals to Jesus to shore up his belief.
It’s one thing to talk about belief, about appealing to God when what’s at stake is the fringe of your life, or academic statements of faith – like various lines from the Nicene Creed. But this man is appealing to Jesus to heal his child, after Jesus’ own disciples were unable to do so. One last-ditch effort. And out of desperation, the man claims to believe. More than that, he appeals to Jesus to help his unbelief, effectively acknowledging a gap between his two statements. I believe. I have unbelief.
Clearly the man doesn’t entirely believe, or he wouldn’t have offered the second part of his confession – help my unbelief. So what are we to take from these contradictory and actually mutually exclusive phrases?
I’ve always felt comfortable with personal statements of faith. I believe. And clearly there’s some part of me that is full of the unbelief, expressed to Jesus by the worried parent in the story. I’m actually less comfortable with a profession of my unbelief; it feels vulnerable, unknown, unfixable. It’s easier to staunchly commit to faith.
Today, I will think about my unbelief. Where it shows up, and how my blithe statements of belief can cover all of the uncertainty that really exists. I can explore these areas without fear, because I genuinely do believe God is good, loving and merciful. Lord, help my unbelief.
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