I Believe…..Help My Unbelief!

Mark 9:14:29

We thought we had chosen a clear day to take the little train to the top of Snowdon.

It was lovely and sunny down in the foothills and as we climbed there were some wonderful views looking back down into the valley.

But as the little train chugged ever slower up the ever steeper gradient, so the clouds began to descend, the wind began to blow and the rain in the air became a steady drizzle.

It was not turning out to be a good day for climbing mountains. Not even by railway.

Just once or twice, a sudden shaft of sunlight appeared to give us hope, but the reality was, the higher we climbed the more the murk came down.

At the summit  you could scarcely see a thing, beyond picking out the colourful kagools worn by fellow travellers sitting disconsolately amongst the rocks.

Into the café for a bowl of soup and then back down on the first available train.

That was about the measure of it.

Just like faith sometimes.

It entices us with its possibilities.

But the higher you climb the more the murk comes down.

There are times, early times, when God is tangible and bright and we can see the ways that the light of his love makes a difference.

Then it all somehow gets caught up in cloud.

What once was promise seems to evaporate into gloom – and we cry with the Father in our Gospel reading:

“I believe..help my unbelief”

Our reading finds Jesus surrounded by people with half a faith.

They were unsure about Jesus and unsure about themselves.

Three of the disciples had just had a momentous experience.

They had been to the top of the mountain with Jesus and the mist did not descend.

Far from it.

The light blazed and the glory of the Lord which they had previously only seen in snatches became for them a prolonged dazzle.

On the mountain top it was easy to believe and so they called for three shelters, you remember, one of Jesus, one for Moses and one for Elijah.

To preserve the moment forever if possible.

But that was just half a faith.

Down in the valley is where we pick up the story.

The other disciples are having trouble healing an epileptic boy.

They cannot affect a cure and the boy’s Father is hovering on the sidelines anxious that something be done.

The disciples can’t think what to do. The father is beginning to doubt.

“Do something , if you can!” he seems to snap in a tone which appears to rile Jesus for a second.

“What do you mean…..if I can” he cries.

Then he remembers that the people have but half a faith.

The father sees to the truth of his situation and blurts out in a spirit of repentance

“I do believe…..but belief is so hard when you see what’s happening to someone you love  …he could have added…….help my unbelief”

It’s as if Jesus seizes hold of this breakthrough of honesty and he brings about healing

The disciples however are still lost in contemplating their own shortcomings so instead of rejoicing in the miracle they fret as to why they had been unable to achieve it.

Jesus tells them that only prayer can affect the cure.

What he might have meant is something like this.

Prayer draws us all closer to God.

Prayer finds the point of our half faith – where the sunlight of the foothills turns into the mist of the mountainside.

Prayer tears us away from ourselves and gives us the mind of Christ.

Where faith falters – we acknowledge that faltering – and make room for his grace to work.

Somewhere in all this is the heart of the healing ministry.

We come to this service with the things we can’t fathom out on our own.

The reality of suffering and the ways is strikes us and those we love.

We come with half a faith – with sight that has become blinded by the onset of inclement weather.

We come wondering if God can or will do anything about it – for we suspect that it’s us that’s getting things wrong.

We come to the point where we blurt out with the floundering Father

“I believe….help my unbelief”

Perhaps that can only ever be the honest extent of our prayer – a cry for help

But we learn that this is enough for God, enough for his grace.

Till at last we look and there, amidst the mist – is a shaft of sunlight again, in the place we never expected to find it.

RH 12.10.08