Rev. Rob Jones
February 9, 2026

Mark 9:17-24
Someone from the crowd answered him, “Teacher, I brought you my son; he has a spirit that makes him unable to speak, 18 and whenever it seizes him, it dashes him down, and he foams and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid, and I asked your disciples to cast it out, but they could not do so.” 19 He answered them, “You faithless generation, how much longer must I be with you? How much longer must I put up with you? Bring him to me.” 20 And they brought the boy to him. When the spirit saw him, immediately, it convulsed the boy, and he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth. 21 Jesus asked the father, “How long has this been happening to him?” And he said, “From childhood. 22 It has often cast him into the fire and into the water, to destroy him; but if you are able to do anything, help us! Have compassion on us!” 23 Jesus said to him, “If you are able! All things can be done for the one who believes.” 24 Immediately, the father of the child cried out, “I believe; help my unbelief!”

Our gospel lesson from Mark brings us to one of the most honest prayers in all of Scripture: “I believe; help my unbelief!” It is a cry that could have come from any of our own hearts.

A desperate father brings his afflicted son to Jesus. He has tried everything. The disciples could not help. The religious system has not healed him. His own faith feels thin and fragile. And yet, he still comes. He says to Jesus, “If you are able to do anything, have pity on us and help us.” Jesus answers, “All things can be done for the one who believes.” And then the father speaks that, honest, grace‑leaning prayer: “I believe; help my unbelief!”

In Reformed language, we might say: this father knows that even faith itself is a gift of God’s grace. He comes to Jesus not with a strong, polished faith, but with a needy, dependent faith. He doesn’t boast in his believing; he confesses the weakness of it and begs Christ to supply what he lacks.

1. Faith as Trust in the Character of God

Notice that the question in this story is not just, “Can Jesus do this?” The deeper question is, “What sort of God do we have?”Is God willing to meet us in our weakness? Is Christ patient with our doubts?

We do not come to God on the strength of our faith, but on the strength of God’s covenant faithfulness. The father’s faith is not a heroic achievement; it is a trembling hand reaching out to a strong Savior.

Think of a child learning to swim. The parent stands in the shallow water, arms open, saying, “Jump. I’ve got you.” The child’s jump is not perfect, courageous, or confident. It is uncertain, wobbly, half‑terrified. But the power of that moment is not in the child’s leap; it is in the parent’s arms.

So it is with us. Our faith is often wobbly. But Christ’s arms are strong.

2. From Control to Surrender: A Reformed Story

There was a woman in a small congregation who had carried a silent burden for years—an adult son struggling with addiction. She prayed, she advised, she lectured, she worried. She tried to manage every detail of his recovery. When he relapsed again, she sat in the church parking lot and quietly talked to God, “I don’t even know how to pray anymore.”

She later described what happened next not as a great spiritual victory, but as a simple surrender. She prayed, “Lord, I believe you are good, but I don’t know what to do. I’m tired. I bring you my son, and I bring you my unbelief.”

Nothing changed overnight. But, somehow, if by the miracle of transforming grace, she began to live differently—less driven by fear, more anchored in God’s sovereignty. She moved from trying to be her own savior, from trying to be her son’s savior, to resting in God’s saving work, trusting that God’s covenant mercy is wider and deeper than her own efforts.

That is what this father in Mark 9 does: he stops trying to fix everything by his own strength and brings his helplessness to the strong hands of Christ.

3. The Thread Back to Abraham (Genesis 12:1–8)

This isn’t the first time we see a fragile, obedient faith leaning on a faithful God. In Genesis 12, the Lord says to Abram: “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” And Abram goes. He doesn’t get the whole map, just a promise. He steps out not because he is naturally brave, but because God has spoken.

At each altar Abram builds (as we read in Genesis 12:7–8), he is confessing: “God has called me. God has promised. I will trust God—even when I cannot yet see.” His obedience is imperfect. His courage wavers. Yet the covenant stands because it rests on God’s initiative, God’s promise, God’s steadfast love.

Abraham’s journey and the father in Mark 9 share this same pattern: God calls, God promises, and fragile people respond with imperfect faith. In both stories, the real hero is not Abraham or the father—it is the God who keeps covenant and shows mercy to the weak.

4. Honest Faith in a Hurting World

Mark’s gospel often shows us a world full of suffering, confusion, and spiritual struggle. It is not a sanitized world. And in that real world, Jesus does not demand cleaned‑up, flawless believers. He receives the desperate, the doubtful, the worn‑out.

We are “simul justus et peccator”—at the same time justified and yet still sinners. We can say with this father: “I do trust you, Lord, yet I also know how quickly I fear, how easily I doubt.” The good news is that Christ does not turn away from such a confession. He meets it with compassion and power.

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I remember when this church used to plant trees in the yard each year—a visible sign of hope. The soil, down in front of the manse, is hard; the weather in SC can be unpredictable, and some in our congregation wondered if those trees would ever take root. Year after year, they grew slowly. In some seasons, they look dry and fragile; in others, they have blossomed. But deep beneath the surface, their roots were constantly seeking water.

I remember having a conversation with Mike Clark, many of you will remember him, and I asked why we plant a tree each year. He made a remark about the landscape, the soil, giving back to the environment, and God.  As I think about it, our faith is like one of those trees. We don’t always look strong. But the roots aren’t in us—they’re in the living water of God’s grace.

Our faith may look small on the surface, but our hope lies in the One into whom we are rooted—Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, the faithful Son who never wavers in his obedience and trust.

5. A Call to Reflective Action

So, what might it mean for us, in this very week, to live out the prayer, “I believe; help my unbelief”?

Briefly, three invitations:

1. Name your need honestly. Where, today, do you feel like that father—at the end of your strength? Name it before God. Reformed faith is not pretending to be strong; it is confessing our weakness before a strong Savior.

2. Bring both your faith and your doubts to Christ. Do not wait until you feel “more spiritual” to come to Jesus. Come as you are. Pray that same prayer: “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” That prayer itself is an act of grace at work in you.

3. Take one small step of obedience. Like Abraham setting out without the full map, ask: what is one concrete, faithful step I can take this week—toward reconciliation, toward service, toward generosity, toward prayer—even if I don’t yet see the whole picture?

Closing Invitation to Prayer

Let us turn this into a time of quiet reflection and prayer.

I invite you, in the silence of your heart, to bring to Christ the place where you feel most helpless, most uncertain, most afraid. Picture yourself, like that father, standing before Jesus and saying, “Lord, here is my child, here is my grief, here is my burden, here is my doubt.” And then pray:

Lord Jesus Christ, I believe; help my unbelief. You are my light and my salvation. You are faithful when I am fragile, steadfast when I am wavering. As you called Abraham to go, call me to trust you today. Take my fear, my questions, my weakness, and root me more deeply in your grace. Strengthen my faith, guide my steps, and use even my fragile trust to bear witness to your steadfast love.

In your strong and merciful name, I pray. Amen.

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