22 And it has often cast him into fire and into water, to destroy him. But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.” 23 And Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.” 24 Immediately the father of the child cried out and said, “I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:22-24)
Lately, the only prayer I can muster is “help”.
I keep a prayer section in my journal, which is much less impressive than it sounds. After years of responding to requests with “I’ll pray for you”, I decided to keep a running list of those who need intercession. It has been my belief that there is never a lack of people and issues to bring before the Lord. In undertaking this, I have found different seasons in the prayer life of the saint. While many moments are rich and alive with the “wholly other” that moves in waves washing over our meager faith, many are the exact opposite. You have a request, you have it written down below you, but your words fall apart. It feels like whatever part of your body that is responsible for prayer is broken. This is a blessed place to be, if no other reason than it brings us to the ends of ourself and the beginnings of our Father.
This passage in Mark has always resounded with me. We see a man who’s son is suffering. He knows he should at least ask this radical teacher for help – he is desperate. While many of us would possibly try to impress Jesus with lofty faith, this man wrecks any notion of faithfulness and simply pleads with groanings too deep for polished oral discourse; “help my unbelief!” Oh the beauty of short prayers. The theology is deep in these few words. It shows the identity of man as someone who struggles with the divine while showing Christ as the one who can help bring shalom. It shows a desperation that jumps off the page and clings to the doubts of the reader.
Today, pray in poignant utterances. God’s movement is not trapped by syntax and oration, but magnified in brokenness and desperation.
Lord, help.
Matt simon blog 