Susan LW McLaughlin
St. Faustina Writing Group
A man and his son are waiting at the foot of a mountain, desperate for Jesus’s return from the summit where he has been with three of his Apostles. An evil spirit has kept the boy from speaking or hearing since he was a child. It continually threatens his life. Waiting with the two are the other nine Apostles, a large crowd, and some religious leaders. They are arguing.
Imagine the scene from the boy’s perspective. It might look something like this:
Unable to hear or to speak for as long as he can remember, the boy tugs on his father’s robe and points toward the mountain, its summit bathed in a cloud of white light. Jesus and three of his Apostles cut a striking silhouette as they approach from a distance. The boy turns to see his father wave his arms, trying to get the crowd’s attention to tell them the rabbi draws near. Locked in rancor, no one notices.
Amidst the silent clamor, the boy knows they are shouting. He can see it in the contortion of their faces, the spray of saliva accompanying angry words. He knows it’s about him. It’s always about him. Holy men like the scribes will not tolerate demons, and everyone says that’s what he is.
As Jesus advances toward this unruly knot of humanity, Scripture tells us, the awestruck crowd runs to greet him. Perhaps they had heard that this itinerant rabbi is a miracle-worker who changed water into wine at a wedding, that he provided food to thousands with only a young boy’s picnic of five loaves and two fish. Did they know that Jesus touched a leper? That he heals the sick? Is it true that demons flee from him? Some say he raises the dead.
When Jesus asks about the argument, the father answers from the crowd that it’s about his son. An evil spirit has been trying to kill the boy since he was a child. The Apostles, the man explains, could not cast it out. When Jesus hears of the demon-possessed child, he is overcome. “You faithless generation,” Jesus laments, “how much longer must I be among you? How much longer must I put up with you? Bring him to me” (Mark 9:19).
Scripture doesn’t tell us how the father reacted to Jesus’s outburst. Perhaps he stepped back, startled, possibly even afraid. Even so, the passage affirms that the father persists in seeking Jesus’s help. When the boy is brought to Jesus, the demon throws the child around like a rag. The boy’s father begs Jesus for help, even as he qualifies his entreaty: “But if you are able to do anything,” he begins, “have pity on us and help us” (Mark 9:22).
“If you are able!” Jesus replies. “—All things can be done for the one who believes” (Mark 9:23).
Believes? Believes what? Believes how? In whom? How much faith is required?
With Jesus’s earlier lament, “You faithless generation,” still hanging in the air, the father immediately blurts out what Jesus said is necessary.
“I believe” (Mark 9:24).
In the face of uncertainty and a desperate need to hope, the man continues without pause:
“Help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24).
With those words—“I believe; help my unbelief!”— the boy’s father seems to fling his meager faith toward the healer, hoping, trusting, that, in Jesus’s loving hands, it is enough.
And it is.
Scripture tells us that Jesus rebukes the evil spirit, commands it to come out of the child and never enter him again. It convulses the boy violently and leaves him as dead. Jesus takes the boy by the hand and raises him up, whole, healed.
Imagine the boy clear-eyed, clear-headed, ears unstopped, tongue unstuck, brand-new, returning Jesus’s gaze of love. Do they speak? Is Jesus’s voice the first thing the boy hears? Scripture doesn’t say, but we can imagine the father weeping for joy. He, too, is new.
How much faith is enough?
Faith is a slippery thing. It can be elusive. Questions and doubt may bring us to our knees in anguish, searching for answers. Or it may bring us to gaze on the face of Jesus, listening for his voice, trusting in his love.
I believe; help my unbelief! It is enough. Let Jesus do the rest.