I believe. I don't believe. Help.

In Francis Chan's Crazy Love, Chan suggests that most of us are not living any differently than we would be if we didn't believe in God. He recalls a college professor asking the class, "What are you doing right now that requires faith?"

I thought of that question as I journaled this morning about the story in the 9th chapter of Mark concerning the man who brought his demon-possessed son to Jesus for healing. You remember the exchange:

The father: If you can heal my son, please do so.

Jesus: 'If I can! Why, anything is possible for one who believes!

Father: Lord, I believe. But help my unbelief (by healing my son!).

I love it. These have been for me, it sometimes seems, the most precious words not spoken by Jesus in the entire Bible. They encapsulate with breathtaking urgency the attitude of David throughout the Psalms. I believe. I don't believe. Help.

There are some popular "worship songs" out there that encourage us to see ourselves as only bringing the best of ourselves to God. What hogwash. I imagine God saying, in such a case, "Don't kid yourself, chump. You're no better than your ancestors Adam and Eve with their silly fig leaves. Get real!"

It's not as if Jesus is God's faith-proctor, administering a cosmic faith-exam that we are required to pass in order to merit his help, with some "anointed ones" passing with flying colors, the rest of needing to go back to the books and study hard, hoping we don't die before the next scheduled exam comes around.

In reality, like the father in Mark's story, our faith is accompanied by unfaith. For most of us, a little faith, a lot of unfaith. What had Jesus said just prior to this episode? "How long must I bear with this faithless generation?"

Every generation between Adam & Eve's exclusion from the intimate presence of God in His "good" world and the future gathering of the saints in the new creation-encompassing restored garden-world called in the Book of Revelation the New Jerusalem at the end of this age . . . as I say, every generation between these two perfections has been a faithless generation. As the word generation implies, it's bred in the bone.

And yet, the father in the story did say, "I believe." What stirred this foreign inclination in the man's heart? Since I am running long here, I will answer briefly. In a word, weakness. An extreme poverty of resources that led him to admit his helplessness in the face of his son's terrible ordeal. Absolute need. Helplessness. Desperation. And then, also, in the midst of this helplessness, the presence of Jesus.

Lord, I believe. I don't believe. I'm a saint. I'm a sinner. I love you, I turn from you frequently to go my own way. What a mess I am. Most of the time I don't think I am, but I am. I bring it all to you and beg you, heal my unbelief. Help me to walk by faith. I need you more than I know.