As the world turns to darkness
And light no longer gleams,
As burning rays of hope die out
And all is lost it seems.

There’s a course that I must conquer—
A mission marked for me;
I’m weak, I’m scared, I’m unprepared
To be what I must be.

Still, I remember something
To which I clinging hold—
From the heated, fiery furnace
Comes the purity of gold.

So, while some would call it folly
And others say naïve,
I still find there’s power
To bended-knee believe.

---

Do you ever feel overwhelmed?  Perhaps it is with the everyday stresses of life.  Maybe it is with young children, rebellious teenagers, singleness, loneliness, or age.  Maybe it is with an illness, accident, or handicap you are enduring or maybe it is in caring for someone who is suffering with one of these.  Perhaps it is with personal wandering, sin, or temptation.  Perhaps it is with a new calling, feelings of inadequacy, or plain old doubt.  Whatever may be the cause, I think we can find help and hope in the following account.  I am adding hypothetical details to the story we know very little about. 

Picture with me a couple living in a small village in Judea at the time of Christ.  They long for a child but are unable to have one.  Then the wonderful news—they are expecting!  I can only imagine the joyful anticipation as the parents await the baby’s arrival.  Will it be a boy?  Will he follow his father’s vocation?  Will he one day become a righteous father?  Or will it be a girl?  Will she one day become a mother and raise children in Israel? 

And then the time comes and the baby is born.  A boy!  Time passes and the child begins to grow.  We do not know when or how, maybe it was the foaming at the mouth or the child throwing himself into the fire or trying to drown himself, but soon the parents become convinced he is possessed by a devil.  Can you imagine the despair, the hurt, the disappointment, the anger, the doubt?  Can you imagine the questions, “Why me, why my child, my ONLY child, why now?”  Can you imagine the shattered dreams, the tiring and wearying and ever-watchful care such a child would require?  Imagine the pleadings to heaven, the sleepless nights, the tears shed, and perhaps, even the creeping bitterness towards God? 

And then to this small village comes a rumor.  Perhaps it was the mother who overheard the women talking at the well of a preacher from Galilee.  Maybe it was the father who heard men speaking in hushed tones at the synagogue of a man from Nazareth who claimed to be the Messiah.  Aaahhh—another man who says he is the Messiah.  There have been many that have made that claim before and there will no doubt be others after.  “But,” some whisper, “this one seems different.”  “This one,” they say, “does miracles.”  Some say he turned water into wine, others say he fed thousands with five loaves of bread, some even say . . . he casts out devils. 

Can you imagine the glimmer of hope?  Can you imagine not wanting to get your hopes up and yet wanting to believe?  And so it is decided that the father will take his child to see if this Jesus can really heal him.  At last the man finds the Master and, pushing through the multitude, falls on his knees before him.  At the sight of Jesus, the scriptures say the devil took hold of the child and “straightway the [devil] tare him; and [the child] fell on the ground, and wallowed foaming.”  At this point the father in heart-wrenching anguish exclaims “. . . if thou canst do anything, have compassion on us . . .” 

Notice the plural form of the word, “have compassion on us”.  And “Jesus said unto him, if thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.  And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe . . . .”  In my mind’s eye I picture the Master pause and with tenderness and love look deep into this man’s eyes and perhaps wordlessly whisper “But do you?”  The look, the question, the self-introspection, and then the sincere and humble reply “. . . help thou mine unbelief.” 

And so it was done. 

I believe there were two miracles that happened that day.  Yes, the child was healed; but even more powerfully than that, I think that a certain father had eyes that began to see, ears that began to hear, and a heart that began to understand.  (See Mark 9 for the full scriptural account.)

So to each of us who feel overwhelmed, insecure, inadequate, rolled through the fire, broken, or burdened, who feel like we just can’t go on for one more day, let us fall at the feet of the Master and exclaim “. . . if thou canst do anything, have compassion on us . . . .”  Let us find ourselves saying, “Lord I believe” and mean it.  Let us believe in Him as the Almighty Son of the Almighty God.  But more than that, let us believe Him.  Let us believe that He can and will lift our lives, heal our hearts, and sanctify our souls.  May His call through the centuries give courage to our souls: “be not faithless, but believing” (John 20:27).

And, for those times when we find our faith faltering, let us reach out to Him still, as did a father long ago and plead, in all humility, “Help thou mine unbelief.”

Written: December 10, 2017