Listen

16 Pentecost 16.21 “Helping Unbelief” Mark 9:14-29

This is a tricky one, this Gospel. It raises a lot of uncomfortable questions—about faith healing and faith itself.

At first glance, it looks like the typical faith healing template from modern fundamentalist/prosperity gospels. If you have enough faith (defined as correct information about God in your head/heard which you then use to manipulate him into giving you exactly what your Grinchy little heart desires) then you will prosper, have health, wealth, and earthly happiness now, and a crown of pure gold in heaven…

This Gospel can look like that template. But I think there’s something almost exactly the opposite going on here. And, spoiler alert! I may ruin a much loved and oft-quoted bible verse for you. But I’ll give you an ear muff warning just before we get there…

My old teacher Hans Frei very helpfully (well, it’s been enormously helpful to me) once said “to get the point of the Bible, you have to have some notion of what kind of book it is. A detective story? A love story? Perhaps it is a science book filled with information, or maybe it’s a self-help manual with advice on how best to get what we want? Maybe it’s a marketing manual, or a text of systematic theology/philosophy?” And then Frei, at his twinkle-eyed best, dismissed all those popular answers, and said: “It seems to me the Bible is a loosely organized non-fiction novel.” And when I started reading it that way, all kinds of things I could never fit together fell into place, beautifully…

When we read the bible as a story, a loosely organized non-fiction novel, we ask different questions of each episode in the series. Instead of looking for information, clues, juicy gossip, scientific and psychological truth, or tips for succeeding in life, business, and love, we’ll start asking different (and I think better) questions about the characters in the story. We’ll start trying on different ways of being in the world, ourselves…

And one of the first questions we’ll ask is about the crowd gathered around Jesus today in our Gospel: is it a friendly, faithful crowd seeking only Jesus and his love? Or, is it a hostile, hard-hearted crowd of unbelieving cynics trying to trip Jesus up and guilt him into giving them what their greedy little hearts conceive as gain?

Having heard and read many takes on this pericope, I can say with confidence: about 90% of readers go with the first option—these are friendly, faith-filled seekers of Jesus and his love, especially that poor, poor man with the lunatic son. Bless his heart! What a fine and friendly man! Doesn’t your heart go out to him? His only son is possessed by a terrible demonic spirit that makes him mute and foam at the mouth, grind his teeth, have seizures that convulse him horribly, and throws him into the fire (sometimes) to destroy him. Imagine living with such a profoundly disabled child! It moves you nearly to tears…

So, when Jesus comes down (from the mountain where he was just transfigured before Moses, Elijah, Peter, James, and John) he finds a large crowd and scribes gathered around his 9 apostles who got left behind (we’ll talk about that another time)—he finds them… arguing. Jesus asks “what are you arguing about?” And that poor, poor man shouts out: “Teacher, I brought my son to you, for he has a mute spirit, seizures, etc. So, I asked your disciples to cast it out, and they were not able.”

Which isn’t the most straight-forward answer to Jesus’ question. But, probably, our sympathies are with the distraught father. We’re wondering why the apostles couldn’t or wouldn’t help the poor, sick, bubble boy. Who would hurt the bubble boy!? Who wouldn’t move heaven and earth to help him?!

When the boy is brought to Jesus, he is convulsed by the evil spirit, rolls around, foams at the mouth. Jesus goes: “Whoa! That looks real bad…” The man replies, “It is! It’s really bad! If you can do anything, help us!” And Jesus goes: “if you can? All things are possible for one who believes.” And the man goes, “I believe; help my unbelief!” OK, ear muff alert!—if you love that verse—I’m maybe going to spoil it for you…

What do you hear in this man’s plea? A faithful, hurting heart, pleading for mercy from Jesus? Or do you hear a hard-case huckster, plucking heart strings to get his $50 of gas money so he can [supposedly!] visit his poor, sick mother in Arkansas? Well, I hear the latter… Maybe I just like Seinfeld’s bubble boy episode too much? (YouTube it)!

But, maybe I hear the man as hostile because I’m just reading the story carefully. I admit, it’s a tone of voice thing: does the man say [sincerely] “I brought my son to you and your disciples couldn’t help, but I beg you, Jesus…”? Or is it [cynical] “Hey, yeah; brought my boy to your whiz bang super apostles and they couldn’t do a thing! But maybe you, the Messiah can….?” I’d say the way Jesus answers makes the 2nd option preferable…

Jesus responds to the man’s accusation of apostolic incompetence not like some schmarmy, groveling maitre’d, promising to comp the meal to make the customer happy, but with this: “O, faithless generation! How long do I have to put up with you!?” And when the boy is convulsed and Jesus goes, “Wow. How long has this been going on?” The man says “Long time! If you can do anything…?” and Jesus goes, with some energy, some heat: “If you can? All things are possible for one who believes!” This is not a friendly conversation with a faith-filled crowd. It’s an argument with an angry mob with pitchforks who think if you don’t give the bubble boy what he demands, concede the moops question, you deserve the violence they will inflict upon you!

You learn as much or more from a negative example as a positive. But to learn the lesson, you need to know which is which. I see three ways this man is an example of what not to do and you can judge for yourself.

1) The man insists that he is a believer! But W.H. Auden said, I think, quite wisely: “Indeed, it is almost the definition of a Christian that he is somebody who knows he isn’t one, either in faith or morals.”

So, lesson 1: don’t assume faith. Assume unbelief and ask Jesus to help you believe! ‘Cause asking to help you disbelieve as this guy does you just might get what you want…

Lesson 2) Don’t assume you know what you need! Just throw your troubles and Jesus feet and ask him to do as he pleases. Because, if our deepest desires are sinful, if deep down we’re all pretty shallow…? Well then we should pray as St. Augustine: “Command what you will, Lord, and make me love what you command.

Lesson 3) Faith seeks God’s glory not our own immediate benefit. Faith is, I think, as C.S. Lewis said: “…something very like adoration, some kind of quite disinterested self-abandonment to an object which securely claims this by simply being the object it is… as if we owe God more thanks for being what He necessarily is than for any particular benefit He confers upon us.”

The Lord’s prayer asks for God’s kingdom, will, and holiness. And whatever daily bread God might think is good for us—forgiveness! Deliverance! It’s not a good idea suggesting Jesus can’t do something or or doesn’t know best. If he thinks cross and trial and shame and loss are best, then we’ll take that!

So if this guy has it all exactly backwards, then if we turn the prayer around: “I disbelieve, always. Help me, Lord, [finally!] to believe.”? Would grant Peace, surpassing all understanding, guarding our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.