August 25, 2024
When they came to the disciples, they saw a great
crowd around them, and some scribes arguing with them. When the whole crowd saw Jesus, they
were immediately overcome with awe, and they ran forward to greet him. He asked them, “What are you arguing
about with them?”
Someone from the crowd answered him, “Teacher, I
brought you my son; he has a spirit that makes him unable to speak; and whenever it seizes him, it dashes
him down; and he foams and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid; and I asked your
disciples to cast it out, but they could not do so.” He 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 has
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!”
When Jesus saw that a crowd came running together, he
rebuked the unclean spirit, saying to it, “You spirit that keeps this boy from
speaking and hearing, I command you, come out of him, and never enter him
again!” After crying out and
convulsing him terribly, it came out, and the boy was like a corpse, so that
most of them said, “He is dead.” But
Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he was able to stand.
When he had entered the house, his disciples asked
him privately, “Why could we not cast it out?” He said to them, “This kind can come
out only through prayer.”
Well, there he goes again. Jesus gives a little kick to his twelve disciples, reminding them once again of their spiritual ineptness. In the Gospel of Mark, he is something like a drill sergeant, instructing them on the way to the cross, and barking out rebukes when they get it wrong.
Here, Jesus contends with his followers who cannot perform a healing. Back in chapter six, he gave them power to cast out the forces of evil that cripple human lives. He sent them out with the authority to do what he has been doing, to confront the array of destructive powers at work in the world. Jesus delegates his power to the twelve disciples. He empowers them to take on his work and to extend it.
That was chapter six. By chapter nine, they have lost their juice.
We hear of a little boy in a lot of trouble. He cannot speak. He cannot hear. He has seizures at unpredictable times. He is a threat to himself. His family must protect him when he stands too close to the fire pit or near open water. They never know when he will start shaking, or foaming at the mouth, or stiffening up and falling over. How frightening that was!
Those of you who have known a child with epilepsy, or a similar disorder can imagine what that family was going through. They never knew when the malady would strike. They never knew what it would do. There was no way to ever rest, no way to ever leave the boy alone. They had to always watch him, always vigilant, always on edge, if only to keep him from further harm.
It’s no wonder the father brings the boy to Jesus. No wonder at all. If there’s any help, it’s going to come from the powerful Galilean who can make people well. And since Jesus wasn’t right there, since he was up on the mountain with Peter, James, and John, the father takes the boy to the remaining nine disciples. “Here he is. Can you do anything to help?” They try to help, but it does not work. That’s how the story begins. Or at least I thought that’s how the story begins.
Fact is, there’s this curious little detail at the outset. As Jesus and three disciples approach, there’s an argument going on. Some religious leaders, the Bible scribes, are squabbling with the other nine disciples. They are having a noisy disagreement. Jesus says, “What are you arguing about?” Did you notice? Nobody answered him. They never tell him about the argument.
That is when the boy’s father speaks up about his son. “I’ll tell you what is going on. I brought my son to you. You weren’t here, so I asked your disciples to help him. They couldn’t do it.”
No doubt this annoys the Lord. Yet it does not explain the squabble. There’s a sick kid in need of life-giving help, and some religious people was bickering about something – God knows what. Religious people are experts at bickering – but meanwhile, there’s a child in need and the religious people are bickering. That’s a curious little detail, isn’t it?
And then, there’s the little interchange before the healing. The father brings his kid to Jesus, and says, “If you can do something, can you help us?” Jesus says, “IF?! Did you say, IF?! All kinds of things can be done for those who believe.” All right, believe what? Believe that something can be done, that God can do something, that God in Christ wants something to happen. It is that kind of belief – an active belief, a compelling belief, an open and intentional belief: I believe that God is right here and can do something for this child!
In the power of that father’s belief, Jesus heals the son by hurling out the oppressive powers and making him well. So, the disciples pull him into a house and say, “How did you do that? How come we couldn’t do that?” He looks at them and goes, “Well?” And with just the right amount of sass, he says, “Those kinds of demons only come out through prayer.”
We know we have an interesting story when it spins in all kinds of directions. For me, that seems to be the point. There is the squabble between Jesus’ followers and the religious leaders. We never learn what they are bickering about it, and it’s a distraction that keeps childish adults from the needs of a kid. It helps me understand the frustration of Jesus in this story.
Then there is the uselessness of the disciples. Remember the Three Stooges? Jesus had twelve of them, or at least Mark thinks so. They cannot do anything right. Maybe they thought they couldn’t do the exorcism because they held their hands the wrong way, or ran out of holy water, or goofed up the magic formula. Perhaps they were distracted by all the flak from the religious leaders.
Jesus tells them that hard work of confronting evil is not a matter of mechanics or procedures. It is primarily a matter of prayer. It is a spiritual matter. Constant prayer is staying close to God. It opens us to God’s purposes. It beckons us to God’s work in the world. It puts the mission of God before every personal agenda. We pray “Thy will be done” – and then we do God’s will. We pray “deliver us from evil” – and then we confront the evil. Prayer is our primal weapon. Prayer is the tactical force of God’s kingdom. Prayer calls on God to come and make good on the promise that Jesus is saving the world. It is the business of the Spirit.
Yet there is the father’s concern, the father’s initiative, the father’s incomplete faith that prompts him to say, “I believe; help my unbelief.” That Bible verse speaks for all of us.
Let’s just say it: our faith is always unfinished. If we have a sick kid, we are bound to be shaken. If our world is shattered by a loved one in pain, we wonder if it will ever get better. If we fear what may happen tomorrow, it is difficult to get dressed to face the fears of today. There is no shortage of unbelief. We worry, we fret, we lose sleep. We hear stories of help from heaven and wonder if any of that help is going to come for us. We hear ancient stories like the one today and wonder what they have to do with us. “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.”
Should we pull Jesus aside and get his attention, he will most likely say what he said to the twelve: “These kinds only get driven out through prayer.” Through prayer. How much are we praying? How much are we chasing after God? How much are we hungering and thirsting for righteousness? How much are we grounding our shaken souls in the life-giving, evil-confronting work of Jesus? The Gospel of Mark says this is the mission of God to the world. We access it at a spiritual level. It is a matter of prayer.
Kathleen Norris is a writer, a Presbyterian lay preacher. She also became a widow. A week after burying her husband David, she took her sister for chemotherapy. She was numb. In her memoir, she writes, “I had no idea how I would inhabit that devastating word, widow. s for prayer, I was not surprised that (a) mocking spirit was alive within me, or that when I most needed the consolation that prayer can bring, I was unable to pray.”[1] Lord, I believe; help my unbelief
She says, “When I missed David most acutely, I would remind myself that I could not wish for him back, because that would mean his having to endure more suffering. All of that was over for him, the gasping for breath, the pain of that accursed cracked shoulder. I did not know what to hope for, but I knew that I needed to pray again.”
As she stumbled through the loss, as all of us stumble, she found a book of prayers. David had been a part-time Episcopalian, and it was his Episcopalian Book of Common Prayer. Thumbing through it, Kathleen found a prayer for herself:
This is another day, O Lord. I know not what it will bring forth, but make me ready, Lord, for whatever it may be. If I am to stand up, help me to stand bravely. If I am to sit still, help me to sit quietly. If I am to lie low, help me to do it patiently. And if I am to do nothing, let me do it gallantly. Make these words more than words, and give me the Spirit of Jesus. Amen.
The words were helpful. She prayed the prayers. She prayed the Psalms, especially the realistic ones and the sad ones. She kept at it, discovering a prayer from Gregory of Nyssa, one of the ancient Fathers of the church. Writing about the phrase, “Give us this day our daily bread,” he wrote, “We can, each of us, only call the present time our own… Our Lord tells us to pray for today, and he prevents us from tormenting ourselves about tomorrow.” There is enough bread for today. There is sufficient light to get through the shadows. Keep praying. Stay close to God.
As somebody puts it, “What is unbelief but the despair, dictated by the dominant powers that nothing can really change, a despair that renders revolutionary vision and practice impotent. The disciples are instructed to battle this impotence, this temptation to resignation, through prayer.”[2] They are taught once again what matters more than their own inadequacy.
For this is the good news according to the Gospel of Mark: this present order of things has been punctured. The recurring storm system of pain, suffering, and loss has been broken open. The assumption that nothing can ever be done is cracked open. Mark says it began when Jesus appeared. The gloomy sky was ripped apart from the other side. The power of heaven came down like a gentle dove. The same Voice that sang the world into existence declared, “This is my child, my Beloved.” And then God got to work as Jesus got to work.
That’s the Good News: God is alive, Jesus is his agent, the Holy Spirit keeps blowing. But maybe we’re wondering why he hasn’t gotten to us yet. It’s a legitimate complaint. We have needs. Our children have needs. Goodness knows, the world has needs. As we wait, anxiety creeps in. We worry we are stuck in the same old patterns of pain. Our temptation is to cling to the pain rather than to turn that pain into a prayer. Because we can do that. We can flip the essence of our distress by placing it in the hands of God – that can be our prayer.
“Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” That is a pretty good prayer. And it’s a reminder that faith is not an idea in our heads. It’s not a concept for our intellects. It’s not a proposition to discuss. Faith is a muscle in our hearts. Like any muscle, it gets stronger through exercise. And the best exercise is to pray.
Let us pray: Holy God, you have not left us to ourselves.
You have not abandoned us to our greatest fears, nor have you turned us over to
our worst impulses. No, you have come to us in Jesus Christ. You have
interrupted the works of evil. You have broken the power of death. So, teach us
to trust you in all things. Keep us always close to your heart. Rescue us and
those you love. We ask this, in belief and unbelief, through Jesus Christ, our
Lord.
(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
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