The Land of Unknowing

Welcome to Scattered Moments. I've spent a considerable amount of my Christian life in a place called Unknowing. You've probably been there. It's not on Google Maps. There are no welcome centers, although there probably should be. The state motto would simply be, We'll see. The weather is unpredictable, visibility is generally poor, and cell service is terrible. I visited Unknowing when waiting on test results. I've been there when somebody I love was hurting and I couldn't fix it. I've wandered around there when money didn't seem to add up, when a prayer seemed to go unanswered, when a door is closed, when somebody disappointed me, and when God seemed unusually quiet. I don't like unknowing. I prefer the town called Certainty. Certainty has paved roads, certainty has streetlights, certainty has a five-year plan, a fully funded emergency account, good lab results, healthy children, answered prayers, and a detailed explanation from God about what he is doing and why. Unfortunately, I haven't spent much time there. Most of my life with God has been lived somewhere on the border between faith and unknowing. And apparently I'm not alone. There was a father in Mark 9 who found himself there. His son was suffering terribly. He had watched it happen again and again, helpless to stop it. He brought his boy to Jesus' disciples, hoping they could do something about it. They couldn't. By the time Jesus came down from the Mount of Transfiguration, he walked straight into a mess. There was a crowd, there was an argument, there were embarrassed disciples. And of course there were the religious leaders. I mean, face it, they're omnipresent. There was a hurting boy, and standing somewhere in the middle of all of it was a father who had run out of options. He was at his wit's end. He said to Jesus, If you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us. If you can. Those three words tell you something about where this man was. He wanted to believe. He had probably believed before. After all, why else would he have brought his son to the disciples? But disappointment has a way of putting an if in front of things we once believed without hesitation. If God will provide, if God will heal, if God has a plan, if this prayer still matters, if anything is going to change, if God is here. Jesus catches those words. If you can. The question was never whether Jesus could. The question was whether this desperate father could place what little faith he had in the hands of the one who could. And suddenly the father blurts out what may be one of the most honest prayers anybody has ever prayed. I believe, help my unbelief. I love that prayer. Because he doesn't clean it up, he he doesn't pretend, he doesn't say, Lord, my faith is strong, my theology is impeccable, I have absolutely no doubt about what you're able to do. No. He essentially says, Jesus, part of me believes you, and part of me is scared to death that nothing is going to happen, and Jesus doesn't scold him. He doesn't hand him a book about having more faith. He doesn't tell him to come back when he reaches 100%. Jesus meets him there, right on the border between faith and unknowing. That matters to me. Because sometimes we imagine faith means eliminating every question. But biblical faith isn't the absence of uncertainty. Maybe faith is deciding where to lean when you are uncertain. The father still had doubts. But notice what he did with him. He brought his unbelief to Jesus. And that may be the most important thing in this entire story. He didn't allow his unbelief to drive him away from Christ. He allowed it to drive him toward Christ. Help my unbelief. In other words, Jesus, I can't manufacture what I don't have. I can't talk myself into certainty. I can't see tomorrow. I don't know how this whole thing turns out. I don't even know if I have enough faith. But I'm here. And sometimes that is faith. Faith isn't always standing on a mountaintop shouting, I believe. Sometimes faith is sitting in the dark whispering, I want to. Sometimes faith is taking one more step when you cannot see the staircase. Sometimes faith is praying again after the last prayer seemed unanswered. Sometimes faith is opening your hands when everything inside you wants to clench your fists. Sometimes faith is simply refusing to walk away. And here's something else I love about the story. The father's faith wasn't the hero. Jesus was. The miracle didn't happen because the father finally achieved some heroic level of belief. He openly admitted that his faith was mixed with doubt. The power was never in the strength of the father's faith. The power was in the strength of the one in whom he placed it. And maybe that's where you are today. One foot in faith, one foot in the land of unknowing. You believe God is good, but you don't understand what he's doing. You believe he hears prayers, but there's one prayer you've prayed so long that you're getting tired of hearing yourself pray it. You believe God provides, but you've done the math. You believe he heals, but you've also seen the scan. You believe God restores relationships, but the phone still hasn't run. You believe, and you struggle to believe. So, welcome to the borderland. Saints have lived there for centuries. Abraham lived here, waiting for a son. Job lived here, sitting among the ashes. David lived here, hiding in the caves. Elijah lived here, under a broom tree. Thomas lived here, staring at the testimony of his friends. Even John the Baptist, who once pointed at Jesus and declared, Behold, the Lamb of God later sent messengers asking, Are you the one? Faith and unknowing are closer neighbors than we sometimes want to admit. So today you don't need to manufacture certainty. Perhaps you still need to pray the prayer of a desperate father, Lord, I believe, help my unbelief. And then put whatever faith you have, strong faith, weak faith, trembling faith, exhausted faith, into the hand of Jesus. Because the good news isn't that your faith is strong enough to hold on to him. The good news is that he is strong enough to hold you. And that's today's scattered moment. Until next time, take heart. Notice the scattered moments and share the grace.