On Having "Not Enough Faith" But Still Having Jesus - Mark 9:14-29

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief. I suspect that is often the prayer of the troubled, burdened Christian. It’s not a denial of faith, regardless what satan tries to tell you, that if you had enough faith you wouldn’t be saying such a thing; that if you had enough faith, you wouldn’t have to add a qualifier “If you are able, Lord.” Oh, no…faith – Christian faith - knows, believes, trusts and relies on Christ and Christ alone. It’s the very hallmark of the child of God, that just as a child knows, believes, trusts, and relies that her dad will care for her, that his mom will care for him, so also the child of God likewise has an even greater confidence in God’s Fatherly goodness and mercy.

We use faith in two ways. The first is faith as a noun, as in the Christian Faith. This is the faith as revealed in the Scriptures, confessed in the Creeds, and taught in our Lutheran Confessions. We confessed the faith a few moments ago. This is the faith that teaches we are saved by God’s grace through faith in Christ Jesus. This is the faith that reveals that Jesus became man, according to the will of the Father, to become the perfect, vicarious substitute for a sin-filled, sin-stained world and lost and condemned creatures like us; that His death would be the atoning sacrifice for us, the consummation of the Heilsgeschichte, God’s plan of salvation. This is the faith that proclaims Christ’s resurrection as the Lord of Life and that those who believe in Him will also live eternally. Most importantly, the empty grave demonstrates the Father accepted the Son’s payment on our behalf and it is the prelude of our own resurrection when He returns. This faith is objective: it is steadfast and true and does not change like shifting shadows. Men and women have died confessing it at the hands of heathens, they have spoken it on their death-beds, they have lived in this faith through days of joy and struggle.

And then there is faith as trusting and believing. By the power of the Holy Spirit, we are enabled to say, “I believe these sure and certain promises of God.” Spirit-given faith, even the size of a mustard seed, is saving faith because it trusts Christ alone as the source of our salvation. This enables the Christian to confess “I believe” what the Creeds say, “This is the Christian faith.” This faith is personal. It is God’s gift to His children. This faith, this act of believing, is always grounded in the sure and certain faithfulness of Jesus. This faith takes the objective faith, we are saved by grace through faith, and in that personal, subjective believing, Christ’s faithfulness becomes ours.  

While this faith is Spirit-given, it nevertheless dwells within us. There are days when this faith is rock-solid as a mountain, or to use a more Biblical metaphor, a faith that is so strong that it can move mountains. Come what may, we are able to say “Yes, I believe.” When everything is running along smooth as can be, when life is good, when health is strong, when relationships are healthy, when the weather is clear and it seems the report is ceiling and visibility unlimited, it is easy to have faith like that. It is as if the Spirit Himself is stoking the fires of faith within our chests and that faith is hot as the boiler on the Union Pacific Big Boy #4014 and, if demanded of us, we would charge hell armed only with a half-bucket of baptismal water. Ask Peter about faith like this, standing safely in the boat, or on the Mount of Transfiguration, or outside of Jerusalem, “I would rather die than deny.”

But, then there are moments in the Christian’s life where faith is tested. It often catches us off guard. It’s almost as if the Spirit has made a hasty retreat leaving us to tend our faith by ourselves, and we find ourselves lacking and unable to hang on. The teenager suddenly and unexpectedly announces that she is running off with her boyfriend and there’s nothing you can do about it, Dad. You come home from a difficult day at work to find your spouse sitting in the living room, packed suitcase sitting nearby, and announces, “I’m done. My lawyer will be in touch. I just wanted to tell you in person.” Your body, once strong and lithe, grows weary from constantly hurting and pain management isn’t managing anything. The company where you have worked, sweated, and struggled to help make a success suddenly hires a new manager who seems to have it in for you, and no matter what you do, it’s never good enough. Your parents come into you room and tell you that Dad has gotten some bad news from the doctor and he’s going to have to have a very risky surgery. Your child lays in a hospital bed, hooked up to hoses and tubes and machines and the doctor says, “It’s in the Lord’s hands now.”

No! This isn’t supposed to be happening! As Christians, life isn’t supposed to be like this! You carry these things to the Lord in prayer, knowing, believing, trusting, relying that God, in His grace, hears your supplications. You pray fervently, earnestly, morning, noon and night. Your family, your friends, also pray for you and with you. What began as a confident “I know the Lord will answer me,” is slowly ebbing into hope – and, not the sure, confident hope of the “Amen!”, but the hope of the helpless, one-in-a-million chance – then maybe and, finally if. If only, Jesus…if only.

The man in this morning’s Gospel lesson is the hero of “if only” faith. There is nothing right – his son is possessed by a demon that has made his son mute and throws the boy onto the ground in a mouth-foaming, body-convulsing, teeth-grinding fit. The father is powerless – as a father, I can only imagine the pain at watching his son be tossed into a fire or a creek: on the one hand, if our son would die, he would no longer be in constant agony, but on the other, he is our son!  Even Jesus’ disciples, whom he asks to help, even they are powerless against this demon. Jesus, if only you could help us, if only you would help my son. Jesus, I want to believe more, I want to believe with my whole being, I want to have the absolute certainty that Peter showed but, Jesus…help my unbelief.

Too often we look at Christians who seem to have extra measure of faith, extra-ordinary faith, faith that can be measured, not by mustard seeds but by mountain peaks, and we look at them and admire how faithful they are. I will forever admire a woman named Kathy who, when diagnosed with cancer, literally laughed out loud and said, “Devil…my Jesus has you whipped, so just get ready for the ride.” And, they are heroes of faith for the confession they share.

But, remember: the strength of faith is not in the one confessing. Faith’s strength isn’t in your ability or my ability to believe. If that were the case, I would be in terrible shape. I do not have that gift of extra-ordinary faith. Some of you do; I do not. It’s not that I don’t believe, that I don’t have faith in Christ Jesus, in His conquering satan, and sickness, and brokenness, and even the grave in His own death and grave. But there are days when my faith, my faith, is weak. In those moments, I find myself praying, “If you are able; help my unbelief” more times than I care to imagine. I’ve prayed it in my vocation as a son, as a father, as a husband, as a neighbor, as a friend and, yes, as a pastor. It’s one thing to preach “this is the faith” from the pulpit. It’s a whole ‘nother thing when it’s your dad who suddenly died, or your son whom the doctor says has a lump in his hip and we need to do a biopsy before we can say what it is, or your friend’s wife who is in the hospital for the fifth – or is it sixth – time in six weeks. You know - I could neve be a chaplain at Dell Children’s Hospital in Austin. I don’t know that I have the faith to be able to stand with a parent and child who has an incurable, 5-syllable disease.

But what I do have, what you have, what this father has, is faith in Jesus. Jesus’ strength is made perfect in our weakness. We have nothing to bring, nothing to offer. In our weakness, we cling all the more tightly to the One whose faithfulness is perfect, enabling Him to go to the cross on our behalf. His faithfulness allowed Him to pray, “Not my will, but yours be done, Father.” His faithfulness allowed Him to suffer silently while Pilate and Herod and their soldiers laughed, spat, and whipped. His faithfulness allowed Him to speak words of forgiveness to those who had no idea what they were doing. His faithfulness allowed Him to speak a Word of promise to a penitent, dying thief. His faithfulness allowed Him to commend His spirit to His silent Father.

For every cry of the child of God that is prefaced with “if,” is Jesus’ faith-filled declaration, “It is finished” rings to the Father’s ears on our behalf. Your faith, no matter how if-laden it may be, how if-weakened it may be, how if-but it might be, your faith is made perfect in the faithfulness of Jesus. His faithfulness enabled Him to rise from the grave and to stand behind the weeping Mary who was probably praying her own, “I believe, but help my unbelief.” His faithfulness allowed Him to appear behind locked doors to a man who said “I will never believe.” To him, Jesus would simply say, “Stop unbelieving and believe.”

Jesus is a Savior who has come to save. A bruised reed, He will not break. A smoldering wick, He will not snuff out. A weak faith, He will not deny. Jesus has come to die for all people; those who are strong in faith and those who are weak in faith and those who have no faith at all. When Jesus dies on the cross, He dies for the sin of unbelief so that, when He rises, He brings forgiveness to all.

Seen that way, “I believe, help my unbelief” with all of it’s weakness, becomes the most faith-rich prayer that the child of God has to offer. It confesses that we have nothing except Christ alone. Faith is never about how tightly you cling to Jesus, but how tightly He clings to you.  Christ has accomplished all for us. Faith that trusts Jesus, even in the midst of uncertainty, even if it seems that it is shaken and in danger of being overwhelmed, it is faith that places itself a the foot of the cross of Jesus.