Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
“The man said to Jesus, “But if
you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.” And Jesus said, “’If
you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.” Immediately, the
father of the child cried out and said, “I believe; help my unbelief.”
These words from this father echo
through the centuries into this very chancel today. You have heard them from
the mouths of friends and family members. You have probably heard them from
your own throat. I have heard them rumble from my own throat more often than I
care to count. Those five words, “I believe; help my unbelief,” perfectly
describe the human condition as a child of God this side of heaven, living in
faith, under the cross of Jesus. With our eyes, we see the improbable, the
impossible. With eyes of faith, we see God and His promises for us in Christ as
His beloved and baptized children. I call it the crossroads of faith and life.
Sometimes, those are congruent, in perfect parallel to each other in copacetic
harmony. But, other times, there is a terrible collision of faith and life at
those crossroads in ways that seem to be not only incongruous but diametrically
opposed.
"I believe; help my
unbelief." I suspect that every Christian prays this at one point or
another during their lifetime. I want you to know that this is not a sin to
feel this way. This does not make you a lesser quality Christian. It does not relegate
you to the church’s minor-team. You should not feel ashamed that you are
letting Jesus down, or your church down, or have failed in your Baptismal
promises. This is an honest confession of both faith in Christ as Lord and
Savior while also acknowledging that our faith, this side of heaven, is far
from perfect and not like we wish it could be.
I said it is not a sin to feel
this way, but the devil loves to make us think it is. He seeks to condemn us or
make us feel condemned even where God does not. “If you are a ‘real’
Christian,” he intones, “you wouldn’t have to add ‘help my unbelief.’ You would
simply believe – no ifs, ands, or buts." And he throws that in your face.
He shines the light on our heroes of faith in the Bible – Ruth or David, Paul
or Dorcas – so you can see your own failed reflection against them. Then he
points to those around you who don’t ever seem to struggle with their faith –
your wife, your husband, your dad, your grannie, the older couple across the
aisle, the young couple a few pews in front of you, your best friend. They all
seem to roll along as if nothing ever phases them. “But you” – and here, the
devil shakes his head – “you call yourself a Christian…tsk, tsk, tsk…” This
leads you into greater despair. You actually start to believe it. “You know, if
I were a better Christian…if I had more faith…then I wouldn’t be tempted this
way.”
The Christian faith is grounded
in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. You confessed it a moment ago in the
Apostle’s Creed. It acknowledges we are sinners and Christ, to fulfill the
Father’s will, became man so He could live perfectly and fulfill the Law of God
for us. He also had to be man so He could die, the perfect sacrifice for
sinners. The Christian faith proclaims Christ’s sacrifice was accepted as the
full atonement for sinners because of the Easter resurrection, demonstrating
the Father’s wrath against sinners was satisfied. We believe this to be true
because the Scriptures testify to this. This is the Christian faith.
But faith also has a personal
aspect. You said this a moment ago, also, when you confessed the Creed: “I
believe in God the Father Almighty…” And, because you believe this Faith that confesses
Jesus as Savior, you are saved by God’s grace: your sins are forgiven by Jesus,
and they are no longer held against you. This is called saving faith. I think
for most of us, this is relatively constant in our day-to-day living under the
cross of Jesus. It’s that sense of what we feel, what we trust, where we set
our affections. This idea of faith – that which is within me, what I believe;
that is, this is my faith - is not wrong. It is the Spirit-given gift
that lets us say “I believe.” But that faith is constantly in flux. Sometimes,
the Christian’s faith is a strong, certain and sure as can be, and the
confession, “I believe,” is as large as the massive live oak tree out front of
the church and rings out like our large, brass bell chiming across the Mission
Valley community on a Sunday morning. But, other times, especially when the
Christian’s faith is rocked, stunned, battered and bruised. In moments like
that, it is tempting to think that if only we had faith the size of a mustard
seed, if only our faith was as warm as a smoldering wick, if only it was as
strong as a bruised reed it would be an improvement.
This happens when our loved ones
are critically ill. It happens when our checking account is empty and the
credit card is declined. It happens when the boss says, “I’m sorry….business
hasn’t picked up to meet our costs…”, when the doctor says, “I’m sorry; we used
all our capabilities…”, when the spouse declares, “I don’t love you anymore….” It
happens when we find ourself guilty of a terrible sin against God and against
our neighbor and we are left wondering if we are even lovable anymore. It
happens at the grave-side of a loved one who died in faith, and you say, “Yes,
I believe…” but staring at that grave… It happens when we least expect it. And when life crashes in and when faith is
shaken and rocked and stunned and silenced, and we cannot see how this will
end, we find ourselves standing arm-in-arm with the father in this morning’s
text: Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.
Let’s back up for a second. If
you are being tempted to focus on the “help my unbelief” part, remember this:
those three words are a testimony of faith. Without faith in Jesus, they could
not be prayed, cried, or whispered. They are the words of the faithful,
baptized Child of God calling out to the Heavenly Father, through faith in
Jesus, to come to your aid in the midst of struggle and temptation. It’s
admission that you cannot do this yourself. You are confessing your weakness of
faith, yes, but it’s also trust in Jesus that He will rescue and save.
When you do this, you are in good
company. You can start with the father in this morning’s Gospel reading, one of
my personal Biblical heroes because I often find myself standing under his
shadow. But don’t stop there. Look through the Scriptures and you see hero
after hero of faith whose faith was anything but perfect. We think of Gideon as
the brave man who led Israel against the Philistines, shattering jars of clay
and shouting “The sword of the Lord and the sword of Gideon!” but we forget
that he was so frightened that he hid in a olive press and had to be shown,
time and time again, that God was with him before he ever stepped onto the
battle field. How about John the Baptizer? Here was a man who called the
pharisees “Broods of vipers,” preached repentance, baptized countless
Israelites, and then stood against Herod and condemned his adulterous affair,
but when in prison, sent letters to Jesus saying, “Are you really the one, or
is there someone else?” Peter – now there’s a candidate for faithfulness,
right? We think of his Pentecost sermon or his standing up against those who
demanded that Gentiles first had to be bound under the Law of Moses, true. But
don’t forget his sinking into the depths of the sea when he saw the wind, or
his running away into the darkness when Jesus was arrested, or his three-fold
denial of Jesus when quizzed by a servant girl.
Isn’t it funny – I called all of
these so-called heroes of faith --- perhaps more accurately called antiheroes
of faith --- as “good company.” How can I call these examples of lack of faith
to be good?
Faith is never the sum and
substance of itself. Faith always has an object – something it clings to.
So, the Christian faith is never about the strength of your faith, or the
quantity of it. Our Lord never measures our faith with a level to make
sure it’s true, or a ruler to make sure it will go the distance, or a scale to
see if it’s weighty enough, or a vial to see it it’s full enough. He never uses
a grading system to determine if your faith is pass or fail. He never
compares your faith to that of your spouse, or your parent, or your pastor.
What a disaster this would be! How unfortunate we would be if our
"faithfulness" was what saved! Could you imagine, having to hope
Jesus would give a curve? But He doesn’t…He never scores on a curve. Instead,
Jesus scores faith with His cross.
His cross is where true faith is
measured and tested and found perfect. Not yours; His. Out of His great
faithfulness to the Father and the Father’s plan of salvation, Christ died for
you. This morning’s Old Testament reading from Isaiah, one of the
Suffering Servant readings, foretold what Jesus would do, actively and
passively fulfilling God’s will for Him:
The Lord God has opened
my ear, and I was not rebellious; I turned not backward. 6 I gave my back
to those who strike, and my cheeks to those who pull out the beard; I hid not
my face from disgrace and spitting.
Baptized into Christ, clothed in
Christ, you are wrapped in His faithfulness. Your belief and your unbelief are
made perfect in Christ, so that God sees you as filled with the faith of Jesus,
faith without failure or doubt. He sees your faithfulness through the lens of
the cross. Your cross-marked faith is perfect in every way.
The English poet, Robert Browning
once wrote, “You call for faith, I give you doubt to prove that faith exists.
The greater the doubt the stronger the faith, I say, if faith overcomes doubt.”
He was right; but, he was also wrong. The blessing of doubt, in this case, is not
that our faith overcomes doubt, but that it turns us from ourselves to Jesus,
from our weakness to His strength, from our doubts to His faithfulness, from
our shortcoming to His fulness.
I want you to know something
about this sermon. It was written for you, but it is especially written for the
person whom I continue to write in prison. I told you about this individual
this summer, if you recall. This individual did something and the conscience is
so burdened and guilty that it feels as if they are now outside God’s grace,
unforgiven, unloved, unredeemed. One letter I received was signed with these
very words, “I believe; help my unbelief.” I will be mailing a copy of this
sermon Monday. Please join me in praying that it is received; that the Spirit
can penetrate into a stubborn heart; that the smoldering wick is able to be
stirred into flame and the bruised reed of faith a strengthened stem.
The next time life comes at you
hard and you pray, “Lord I believe, help my unbelief,” do so with confidence,
not fear; hope, not shame. Romans 8:1 reminds us, “Now there is no
condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” God does not look at you in
disappointment. Rather He sees you in love, through the cross of Jesus, and
acts in His compassion for you. “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief,” is a
faith-filled call of hope to the one Whose faith is perfect for me.
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