Returning from the magnificent spiritual experience high on the Mount of Transfiguration where He was shrouded in glory and heard the voice of His Father say, “This is my beloved son: hear him” (Mark 9:7), Jesus was understandably dismayed when He came upon a group of His disciples and local scribes arguing and striving with one another in a hostile way.
Responding to the Savior's inquiry as to the cause of this contention, a man stepped forward, the father of an afflicted child who said that the self-destructive spirit afflicting his son, an infirmity the boy had since childhood, was getting increasingly more dangerous. Initially the father had approached Jesus' disciples for a blessing, a cure of some kind, but they could not provide it—apparently prompting the shouting match now in full force. With the boy gnashing his teeth and foaming from the mouth as he wallowed on the ground before them, the father said to Jesus in something of a weary, last-resort tone of voice:
“If thou canst do any thing, have compassion on us, and help us.
“Jesus said unto him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.
“And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief” (Mark 9:14–24).
This is one of the greatest New Testament accounts we have probing the complexity of faith and the degrees one experiences in its development. The man's initial faith, by his own admission, is limited. But he has some faith. He did, after all, approach the disciples but, of course, met disappointment there. With whatever remaining faith he has, he turns to Jesus and says, “If thou canst do any thing,” please help us, hoping perhaps Jesus might be able to succeed where all others have failed.
Christ, ever the teacher, seizes on the man's very language and limited faith and turns it back on him “ If thou canst believe, ” Christ says, “all things are possible to him that believeth.” In that very instant, in the length of time it takes to have that two-sentence exchange, this man's understanding begins to be enlightened. The look in the Savior's eye or the tone of His voice or the majesty of His bearing or simply the words He spoke—something touches this man spiritually and an inexorable change begins. Up to that moment he had thought that everything depended on others—doctors, soothsayers, priests, the disciples, or, here at the very last, Jesus. Only now, in this exchange, does he grasp that a great deal of the answer to his quest rests upon his own shoulders, or, more accurately, in his own soul.
So here, almost before our very eyes, we see a man address the issue of faith and we see the seed of faith begin to grow. “Straightaway” the scripture says, not slowly or skeptically or cynically but “straightaway” the father of the child cries out and sheds parental tears. After all, this is bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. This is as close to home as it can get. This is a father pleading for his son. This is new faith versus old fear in a fistfight, a fear perhaps only parents of struggling children can ever know. He cries, literally, “Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.” And of course we know the miraculous blessing that then comes as a result of such an honest, earnest assertion.
May I suggest several possible lessons embedded in this tender scriptural text.
First let me note in this painful, personal drama that the father asserts his strength first, and only then acknowledges his lack. His initial declaration is affirmative, unwavering, even inspiring. In wanting to meet his responsibility in this matter he declares what faith he has—apparently without hesitation: “Lord, I believe!”
I would ask all of us, in moments of fear or doubt or troubling times, to hold the ground we have already won even if that ground is limited and under attack. In the course of life, problems are going to come, questions are going to arise, some spiritual equivalent of this foaming and gnashing loved one is going to face us. Remember, it wasn't just “trouble” Hamlet felt he had to fight, it was a “sea of troubles.”1 That is the way life goes sometimes. In fact, that is one of the purposes of life.
When you are confronted with challenges that are difficult to conquer or have questions arise, the answers to which you do not know, hold fast to the things you do know. Hang on to your firmest foundation, however limited that may be, and from that position of strength face the unknown. When questions of history or science or philosophy arise, when sorrow or disappointment or despair seem to stalk you, do what this father did—assert all the faith you do have, and everybody has some! If we can do just that much we will learn the truthfulness of Jesus' promise—that even mustard-seed-sized faith will ultimately move any mountain. “All things are possible to him that believeth.”
The converse of this counsel to you obviously follows. When the pressure is on, when crunch time hits, don't make your first declaration one of unbelief. That is the wrong end of the lance with which to approach a problem. Someone has said, “The first rule of holes is, when you are in one, stop digging.” Surely the first rule of fueling faith is not to start by saying how much of it you don't have. You've got more than you think, and if you will assert that first, limited as it is, the miracle of it will lead you on, step by step, across your void of mystery or dread. If you will do this, Jesus will take you by the hand, just as He did this afflicted young man in the story, and you will be “lifted up,” you will “arise” in the timetable of the Lord—to health and happiness and brighter days ahead, all the brighter because your faith has been increased in the process.
Second, may I say that this father's faith is not the only faith being probed and prodded here. It is the faith of the entire audience, then and now, the whole field of onlookers—the disciples who could not provide a miracle because their faith (and in this case their fasting) was insufficient, the scribes who were so delighted to jeer the disciples' failure, the entire multitude who were shouting about and exploiting the situation toward no end at all.
It is to the whole audience, to every one of them, to every one of us that Jesus says in some disappointment, “O faithless generation, how long shall I suffer you?” (Mark 9:19).
It is not just to this frantic father, it is to you and me and every other living soul that Christ says, “If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.” In this broader application of the scripture, wouldn't it be interesting to know if the father in this story had you and me in mind, as well as his son and himself, when he said to Jesus (notice the pronoun): “Have compassion on us, help us.” In any case, he knew itwasn't only his child who needed help, he needed it too. And we do as well. Yes, unfortunately, men and women in all ages, including our own, stand condemned under the indictment, “O faithless generation.” In at least some aspects of our life, you and I, even believers that we are, need to be more willing to humble ourselves, to bow our heads, and to lower our voices, saying, “Lord, help thou mine unbelief.”
Any weakness, any uncertainty, any wavering—that will never be in God. Take my word for it. We do not need to waste any breath inquiring haltingly of Him, “If thou canst do any thing . . .” Trust me, or rather trustHim—He can not only do anything, he can do everything. No, the challenge is always with us. As one scholar said in a different context, “When the infinite fullness is poured forth, it is not the oil's fault if there is loss. It will only be the fault of the vessels that fail to contain it.”2
I testify to you that God, “the Infinite Fullness” as mentioned here, will not fail us. I pray that we will not fail Him. I testify of His love, His mercy, His compassion and forgiveness. He wants to bless us, far more than our limited minds or experience can comprehend, and He wants us to keep His commandments. Let us constantly, repeatedly affirm our belief, even as we wrestle with unbelief. And let us be the very best living examples of our religion's virtues and values as we try to do so. “All things are possible to him that believeth.”
Notes From an address given at Chapman University, April 26, 2005.
1 William Shakespeare, Hamlet, act III, scene i.
2 Frederic W. Farrar, The Life of Christ (New York: E. P. Dutton and Company, 1883).
