But the presence of unbelief in us is often subtle. We don’t always see it clearly. It has roots in our unique experiences and in our unique temperaments, which make us uniquely vulnerable to its deceitfulness. Our doubts can seem to us understandable, even justifiable. But like all sin and fallenness, unbelief is spiritually dangerous. What we really need, even though we might prefer to avoid it, is for Jesus to mercifully help us see our unbelief, even if it means his momentarily painful discipline.
“I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24). This plea — this prayer — of a desperate father, who was interceding to Jesus on behalf of his afflicted child, expresses in five simple words a profound, difficult, confusing, and common experience. All followers of Jesus have both belief and unbelief, both faith and doubt, present in us at the same time.
We see this paradoxical presence elsewhere in Scripture. We see it in Peter, who walked on water only to start sinking when unbelief set in (Matthew 14:28–31). We see it in Thomas, who declared, “I will never believe” without physical proof of Jesus’s resurrection, while still believing enough to stay with the other disciples until Jesus finally appeared to him (John 20:25–26). We see it laced through the Psalms, like Psalm 73, where saints wrestle out loud with their unbelief. And we see it all too frequently in ourselves, which is why we identify with the desperate father’s prayer. Unbelief is a “common to man” temptation for believers (1 Corinthians 10:13).
But though it is a common temptation (and often a subtle temptation), it is a spiritually dangerous one, one that can lead us “to fall away from the living God” (Hebrews 3:12). It is an enemy we must fight vigorously.
We each fight unique battles against this enemy, because each of us has unique experiences and unique temperaments that make us uniquely vulnerable to certain forms of unbelief. Getting help to see our vulnerabilities to unbelief is crucial to winning our battles. And it is something Jesus is happy to help us with, if we ask him.
Desperate and Vulnerable Father
The father of the afflicted boy in Mark 9:14–29 surely had a unique vulnerability to unbelief. And it’s not difficult to understand why. Just imagine what his experience had been like up to the point when he encountered Jesus.
He had spent a number of years, likely doing everything he could, in order to help his son (Mark 9:21). The terrible affliction had a demonic source, which had tormented the boy since early childhood, causing violent seizures and preventing him from speaking (Mark 9:17–18). The father, and no doubt his wife, had saved their precious child — their only begotten son (Luke 9:38) — from death numerous times, rescuing him out of fire and water (Mark 9:22). Which means they lived with the daily dread that they might not be there in time to save him the next time. And they lived with the future dread of what would become of him when one or both were no longer there to save him.
They also likely lived with a deep fatigue brought on by continual vigilance night and day. They may have endured a kind of recurring relational strain on their marriage that often accompanies stressful and painful parenting situations. They likely lived with the numerous ways their son’s affliction affected them financially, from the direct costs of seeking out help for him, to the indirect costs of having less time devoted to earning a living. And on top of all that, they likely lived with the shame that perhaps they, or their child, had somehow sinned and brought this curse upon the boy — a shame compounded by knowing that others likely wondered the same thing (as in John 9:1–2).
Unique Battles in a Common War
Surely this beleaguered father had prayed often for his priceless son, but with no visible results. Surely he had previously sought out other spiritual leaders or exorcists to drive the devil out, but to no avail.
Hearing stories of Jesus’s power over disease and demons stirred in him enough hope that he brought his child to see Jesus. Not finding the famous rabbi, he pleaded with Jesus’s disciples for help. But they were no more effective than anyone else had been (Mark 9:18). We can understand why his hope, and therefore his faith, seemed to be ebbing low when Jesus showed up.
The reason I say all this is to show how this father was very much like us. His unbelief had roots in his unique experience. So does ours. His fears and disappointments shaped his expectations. So do ours. He was vulnerable, in deeply personal places, to losing the fight for faith. So are we. We can sympathize with this man when he pleaded with Jesus, “If you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us” (Mark 9:22), because we’ve probably prayed or thought similar things.
