Belief And Unbelief

“Immediately the father of the child cried out [with tears] and said, ‘I believe; help my unbelief!’” – Mark 9:24

In a faint echo of Moses coming down from Mt. Sinai, Jesus descends from the mountain here to find confusion and chaos: the scribes arguing, the disciples trying and failing to cast out a spirit due to lack of prayer. It’s difficult to have a child and not feel the pain of the father in this story, and when he first comes to Jesus, you get the sense he sees Jesus as another in a long line of attempts. His speech reminds me of what any patient walking into a clinic room would say. But in verse 24, there’s a shift of tone, focus, manner. He cries out from the heart. He believes. He doesn’t say, “I believe, help my child!” He sees that the issue is not Jesus’ willingness or ability, or even the situation his child is in: the issue is his own unbelief.

Spurgeon said, “Is it not a very singular thing that as soon as ever he had a little faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, he discovers the great abyss of his unbelief? … Until a man gets faith, he may think he has got it; but when he has real faith in Jesus Christ, then he shudders as he thinks how long he has lived in unbelief, and realizes how much of unbelief is still mixed in with his belief.” It’s true: whenever I read this story, I realize how much my struggles stem from a lack of belief in God’s power. My diligence veers into anxiety because I don’t really believe God has the power to control every detail of every situation. I over-process with myself or others because I don’t actually believe that God has the power to hear and respond to every word of prayer. I complain because I don’t actually believe in the power of God’s sovereignty to work every situation for eternal good and Christlikeness. 

But despite the presence of some measure of unbelief, Jesus heals the child. This is a piercing encouragement to me: that Jesus works in my life despite and into my areas of unbelief. Faith is not a state of psychological certainty or complete lack of functional doubts. It is a confession, a decision to believe and obey despite doubts and fears. It is a willingness to bring ourselves and our situations before him. It is being an attentive witness.

In the end, the father’s quest to find healing for his child led to healing for himself. That’s another thing I love about this story. Lately, as I’ve been reciting the verses in Matthew 7 about the speck of dust and the log, I’ve been thinking about parenting. I’ve been asking myself, how do the issues my children struggle with point to similar areas God needs to work in me? How must I come to Jesus to find my own healing before I can see clearly to help my children? The father’s recounting of his child’s issues ultimately led to his own confession. And that led to watching as his child rose up to new life through the power of the word of Christ. That must have been something to see.