He was living in the most unfair turmoil a person could know. His son, an innocent child born with the anticipation of all a new life brings, suffered with a disease that turned mind and body against itself. The fits, convulsions would throw the boy violently to the ground, and the demon in the condition wouldn’t even leave him with the ability to speak, to call out “Daddy” or say his own name. His young body would freeze, and foam would choke his mouth. All a parent could do was wait and see if the seizure would pass before death could claim him. Likely, the man wondered what he should pray for.

The stories he’d heard likely were told with amazement. More than once people raved about how this teacher/rabbi had delivered persons of evil spirits who racked bodies with similar fits, how the paralyzed walked again and how people born with deformities were healed by his spoken words, how others could see and hear again with just his touch. The story that grabbed the man’s soul though could have been of the little girl who had been in the same grips of possession. Accordingly, all that was needed for her restoration was assurance from the rabbi that it was done, not even in her presence and only with his say-so. Could the man get his son to him before the seizures robbed whatever was left in this young frail body?

It took a lot. 

Crowds always surrounded Jesus. Throngs of people brought their own sick ones, ones with every kind of illness or disease. Then there were his disciples who acted like gatekeepers around the miracle maker. They were known to keep away even parents with little ones only asking for a blessing. Would they let him through with a kid as unpredictable as his, a kid known for outbursts and dramatic scenes?

The desperate father tried it. What did he have to lose? But the disciples were like a wall. They claimed they had authority straight from the Messiah himself; they could handle this on their own. They shouted out the right words, but the fits only increased and mocked them. Furious for how they blocked him and his son, the man started shouting and it got loud. Even the religious leaders got in on it. The combination of heated emotion and protective passion were perfect for a riot.

Jesus appears; some say he’s been praying on the mountain. One glimpse and the people make a charge for him. Collectively, they see him as the Fixer, the one who is going to save them from themselves by making all things right. He will feed them, he will heal them, and he will tell them stories that promise the Kingdom of God. No Romans in heaven, that’s for sure. So give me Jesus, and all will be well.

For all the praying he may have done, Jesus doesn’t seem to be in a good mood. First, he demands to know what they are arguing about. The man speaks up. It’s his chance. He explains how his son suffers. He tells Jesus how his own disciples were impotent in the face of this demon. Jesus momentarily forgets mercy. He calls out the crowd as faithless people. “How long must I put up with you?” He’s definitely annoyed.

But at least he does want to see the boy. Whatever it was that chained this child did not want to be near Jesus. The convulsions take over showing Jesus their power. It’s bad, real bad, as bad as it’s ever been. The child is writhing in the dust at Jesus’ feet. For a second, there is some kind of compassion from Jesus. He asks, “How long has this been happening?”

The father tries to hold on to himself, but his own words wind up setting him off. “Since he was very small. The evil spirit often makes him fall into the fire or the water, trying to kill him.” The he lets out his plea, “Have mercy on us and help us. Do something if you can.”

Jesus swings on him. “What do you mean, ‘if I can’? Anything is possible if a person believes.” 

If a person believes… He’d spoken words, touched the sick, told people to go home and they would find their healing. But in all cases what was most required was a certainty it could be done. “Your faith has made you well,” he had said. (Luke 8:48) Even the little girl who had been healed had a mother who didn’t just ask but begged for his help. Beggars know those whom they approach have that which they want; all it requires for them to receive help is for it to be given. She believed it could be given. (Mark 7:24-30)

Do you believe? You have nowhere else to go, no one else to whom to turn. But do you believe that I can do this for you? Not just do you believe I did this for someone else, but do you believe I will do it for you? Do you believe?

In probably the most honest, candid, and revealing declaration of faith ever made, this desperate father instantly cries out, “I believe; help my unbelief!”

Yes, I do believe! I have every confidence and conviction that you have the power to do this. I know it’s a truth to the bottom of my heart. But, dear Lord, understand I have been to hell and back with this trial. I’ve seen things that no parent should have to ever endure seeing in his own flesh and blood. It has made my faith weak and stretched beyond itself. It has infected my soul with that which shouldn’t be there. I need more than a hopeful trust. I need this to be made true.

So the one who called the little ones to be next to him, who required faith like a child’s in order to enter the Kingdom of God, in a spiritual body slam commands the sickness to leave this man’s son. It doesn’t go quietly or easily. Like a resistant protest, another convulsion shakes the boy and finally leaves him. There is a stillness upon him like that of death. Jesus takes his hand and helps him to stand. 

Just maybe, Jesus whispered, “Your father’s faith healed you, healed your body and healed his soul.” (Mark 9:14-27)