An Iffy Father
As a first-time father who had just heard the diagnosis that his son was an epileptic I began searching the Scripture for any word of encouragement I could find. I found such a verse in Matthew 17:15. Here, a dad approaches Jesus on behalf of his distressed son and says, ““Lord, have mercy on my son, he has seizures and is suffering greatly.” I wrote the reference down and stuck it almost everywhere. In fact, if you were to walk into my classroom then, I had that reference strategically written on a whiteboard so I could always see it. A few years later, I realized that this verse and my son’s condition had very little in common. The illness of that son had to do with demon possession. My son’s condition was epilepsy. Fast forward even a few more years and I’ve begun to realize just how much I have in common with the father in this passage.
This healing miracle of Jesus is covered in all three synoptic gospels (Matt. 17:14-18, Mk. 9:14-27, and Lk. 9:37-42). Mark’s account is the most detailed. According to Mark, Jesus, Peter, James, and John have just come down from the Mount of Transfiguration and come upon a chaotic scene of a failed exorcism, religious leaders who sense an opportunity, and a desperate father. A debate between the other nine disciples and the religious leaders is now in full tilt as Jesus and the three get there. Given the disciples failed attempt at casting out a demon, I would imagine that debate had to do with their failure, their lack of authority, and the significance of these two issues on the reputation of Jesus as a Rabbi and teacher. Jesus jumps into the debate with the question, “Why are you talking to them?” Who the questioned is posed to is not clear. Neither the disciples nor the religious leaders get a chance to answer. Instead, the father of a demon possessed boy provides an answer that helps us understand what is going on. This desperate father sought healing and instead experienced yet another failed cure. Jesus will eventually start a conversation with the father about his son. This discussion culminates with the father uttering one of the more memorable statements in the Gospels. He says to Jesus, ““I do believe, but help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mk. 9:24). Altogether, this father says three things to Jesus. It is the three statements made by the father that I am routinely drawn to as they remind me that I am just like him.
Unmet Expectations
Mark tells us that this father’s first words to Jesus were, “Teacher, I brought my son so you could heal him. He is possessed by an evil spirit that won’t let him talk. And whenever this spirit seizes him, it throws him violently to the ground. Then he foams at the mouth and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid. So I asked your disciples to cast out the evil spirit, but they couldn’t do it.” (Mk. 9:17-18).
Notice what the father said to Jesus. “I brought my son so you…So I asked your disciples…but they couldn’t do it.” The desperate dad brings his sick son to Jesus. He is the healer. He is the helper. He is his hope. But, Jesus isn’t there. He’s left the nine and taken Peter, James, and John with him to go up a mountain. With Jesus not available, the disciples try their hand and fail. Keep in mind that according to Mk 6:7, Jesus had previously sent them out to do something similar and they were successful. Now the father finds himself with one more failed cure and the heartbreaking reality of unmet expectations. Jesus could heal his boy. Jesus could make it better. Jesus wasn’t there, his disciples were. But his boy is no better.
One of the persistent challenges of being the father of a child with a disability are the unmet expectations. It seems that with every milestone my son reaches more unmet expectations come with that milestone. I grew up playing hockey. It is a sport that I love and something that I could not wait to share with my son. I could not wait to be that 6am practice-hanging out at the rink-watching my son-hockey dad. In fact, my wife’s first words to me when we found out we were having a boy were, “You have yourself a hockey player.” To this day my son has never played a minute in a hockey game or, for that matter, even laced up a pair of skates. Unmet expectations. My son will never graduate from high school, go on a first date, or drive a car. The older he gets the more unmet expectations pile up. In fact, my wife reminded me of another one the other night when she said, “You know, we will never be Grandpa or Grandma.” Unmet expectations are soul crushing and heart breaking.
A Wounded Plea
The man’s second statement to Jesus comes in the form of a wounded plea. Jesus has asked that the boy be brought to Him. The spirit overtakes the child right in front of Jesus. As the father recounts the painful extent and duration of his son’s illness he says to Jesus, “But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.” (Mk. 9:22). These are the words of a wounded father. He is still hanging around even though his faith has been wounded by the ones he thought could help. He is asking for compassion. But not just any kind of compassion. The word for compassion here literally means “his gut moved.” It carries the idea that one is moved so deeply by something that they feel it down to the pit of their stomach. Today, we might say something like, “My heart hurts for you.” So, this father is pressing Jesus at the “heart-hurt” level. He is asking for compassion. “Jesus, if you can do anything, please help. Please show gut-wrenching, heart-hurting compassion.”
But notice that his request is for mercy on “us” and not mercy on “him.” The years of torment and torture have not just taken its toll on his son but on him and presumable, the family as well. This man is doubly wounded. Yes, he’s wounded by the failure of Jesus’ disciples. Their failure has, in his mind, called into question the ability of Jesus. So, his plea is for compassion or mercy, if Jesus can. However, he is also wounded by the years of worry and concern for his son’s life. Is it any wonder why some translation record that the man’s next statement, his third and final statement was made in tears as he cried out to Jesus.
I understand what the father experienced here. I have been on the receiving end of well-meaning words by fellow Christians. Words that they felt were designed for healing but instead brought pain and wounds. Those who did not know the full scope of the situation and so what they said only brought more suffering and changed my “if” to an all caps “IF.” I understand how the pain and suffering of a child so readily becomes your pain so that the “him” becomes an “us.” The enveloping nature of this hurt and pain is one reason that disability ministry must be family ministry.
An Honest Confession
The father’s final statement to Jesus is an honest confession. Jesus challenges the dad’s “if you can” statement. This challenge results in the father confessing to Jesus, “I do believe, but help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mk. 9:24). This man is honest. He admits that he is a mixture of belief and unbelief, of faith and doubt, of hope and fear. He is fully aware of his condition and this has caused him to be forthright with Jesus. He needs Jesus’ help. He is confessing not that he is strong but that he is weak. He is confessing not that he can do it but that he cannot do it. He appeals to Jesus for help. In a literal sense, he is saying something like, “Be helping and continue to help my unbelief.” He does not need a quick shot of faith or a single dose of heavenly adrenaline. He knows that he continuously needs the aid of Jesus.
In a contemporary culture that gives trophies to DIY success and prizes the self-made individual, this father’s honest confession stands as a challenge. This challenge is one that is not foreign to fathers of children with disabilities. We often double-down on our individual efforts. “I got this,” we tell ourselves. It is very easy for us to look internally for the support and strength we need for the daily tasks of parenting a child with a disability. Yet, it is precisely when we admit that we are weak rather than pretending we have it altogether that we find the strength of the weak. Jesus meets us in our weakness not in our presumed strength.
I know better than to say, “I have been this father.” For, I know that “I am this father.” I live a life that is constantly within a stones throw of soul crushing and heart breaking unmet expectations. I know how easy it is for me to come to Jesus with a prayer that begins with “if.” When I look in the mirror, I see a father who, on one hand will quickly blurt out, “I believe” but will follow it up just as quickly with, “please don’t ever stop helping me with my unbelief.” But, if that’s what I know about me, here’s what I know about Him. Jesus is compassionate. He is gut-wrenchingly merciful in steadfast love. Like the Psalmist, I have learned to say, “Once God has spoken; twice have I heard this: that power belongs to God, and that to you, O Lord, belongs steadfast love.” (Ps. 62:11-12). He meets my unmet expectations, wounded pleas, and honest confession with His steadfast love. It is his power that triumphs in and over my weakness. My tearful cry for help amidst my unbelief is met not with a divine head shake and waging heavenly finger but with arms that infold me in gut-wrenching, heart-hurting compassion and faithful love.
Chris Hulshof serves as a Board Member for The Banquet Network and is also an associate professor and department chair for Liberty University’s School of Divinity where he teaches Old Testament Survey, Inductive Bible Study, and a Theology of Suffering and Disability. For more stories like this one, go to our blog page, or click to connect, learn or donate to the mission of The Banquet Network.