Desperate Parents Stories

 

Mark 9:14-27 (NKJV) Also see Matthew 17:14-21 and Luke 9:37-42.

14 And when He came to the disciples, He saw a great multitude around them, and scribes disputing with them. 15 Immediately, when they saw Him, all the people were greatly amazed, and running to Him, greeted Him. 16 And He asked the scribes, ​“What are you discussing with them?”

17 Then one of the crowd answered and said, “Teacher, I brought You my son, who has a mute spirit. 18 And wherever it seizes him, it throws him down; he foams at the mouth, gnashes his teeth, and becomes rigid. So I spoke to Your disciples, that they should cast it out, but they could not.”

19 He answered him and said, ​“O faithless generation, how long shall I be with you? How long shall I bear with you? Bring him to Me.”​ 20 Then they brought him to Him. And when he saw Him, immediately the spirit convulsed him, and he fell on the ground and wallowed, foaming at the mouth.

21 So He asked his father, ​“How long has this been happening to him?”
And he said, “From childhood. 22 And often he has thrown him both into the fire and into the water to destroy him. But if You can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.”

23 Jesus said to him, ​“If you can believe, all things are possible to him who believes.”

24 Immediately the father of the child cried out and said with tears, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!”

25 When Jesus saw that the people came running together, He rebuked the unclean spirit, saying to it, ​“Deaf and dumb spirit, I command you, come out of him and enter him no more!”​ 26 Then the spirit cried out, convulsed him greatly, and came out of him. And he became as one dead, so that many said, “He is dead.” 27 But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he arose.

The Man with the Epileptic Son’s Story Imagined

Chaos surrounded him. On his right a group of Jesus’ disciples shouted arguments and shook their fists. On his left, several scribes wagged fingers, and shouted louder. A growing crowd of gawkers pressed in with ears cocked and opinions flying. He retreated into is mind, replaying the events that brought him here.

This mess was his fault. It started this morning when he went looking for Jesus. No wait ... his troubles started about a decade ago–when his wife died giving birth to their only child, a son. As an only son himself, and the fourth generation to carry on his family’s pottery business, he looked forward to the day he could start training his son to master the clay.

That dream faltered when his son was a toddler. The child started having seizures and lost his ability to speak. He consulted his rabbi. The rabbi prayed over the child and recommended a pilgrimage to Jerusalem to offer proper sacrifices. With hopes high he made the trip with his boy and earnestly presented his gifts at the temple. But when the boy failed to improve the rabbi declared the child was demon-possessed and banned them from the synagogue.

The verdict was a blow to his faith–and his business. Who wanted to buy pottery from a cursed family? It was a struggle but eventually the quality of his work (and his willingness to do business with the gentiles in the nearby city of Caesarea Philippi) allowed him to make a living.

He kept his boy close as he worked, but a potter’s shop is a dangerous place, with sharp tools, broken pots, and a fiery kiln. As if the flames of hell were reaching out to claim his son, an attack seized him every time he was near a fire. Burn scars on his hands and face bore the evidence.

Now, as the boy approached adolescence his size and strength made it increasingly difficult to keep him safe. “I’m doing my best,” he told himself. “I can’t hover over my son every moment. I must eat, sleep, and work sometimes.” The hollow argument did nothing to ease his guilt. So he buried it alongside his hope and joy.

Which brought him to the present. This morning he heard that a healing rabbi was in the area. Though he had no real hope that it could change anything, neither did he have anything to lose by asking. He gathered his son and went looking for Jesus.

Instead, he found Jesus’ disciples–nine of them–preaching to travelers on the road outside the village. Apparently Jesus and three of his followers had gone mountain climbing. No one knew exactly where they were or when they would be back. So he presented his son to the disciples, explained his condition, and asked them to heal him. Then he stood back with arms crossed to see what would happen.

The disciples surrounded the boy. Some of the men placed their hands on the child, others raised hands to heaven. They began to pray loudly and with confidence. They claimed his healing in the name of Jesus. They attracted an audience.

He was impressed by the forceful prayers. Maybe this could actually work. Eventually the disciples grew quiet and stepped back from his son. There was silence for a long moment. Then the boy’s eyes rolled back in his head. His back arched unnaturally as he fell to the ground. His head took the impact of the fall with a sickening thud. He ran to his son and wrapped his arms around his rigid body, and wrestled the powerful spasms. After a few minutes the attack passed, leaving them in a dusty heap. He looked at his son’s face. Bluish flesh showed through a veil of dust. Foam, tinged pink with blood, bubbled out from between his clenched lips. He looked grim–like death–but he knew the boy was only unconscious with a bitten tongue. Soon his color would return and he would waken. Yes, he was embarrassed. Yes, he was anguished. He was even mildly disappointed. But those were all feelings he was used to ignoring. Today was no different than any other day, there were just more people watching.

The silence was broken by a judgemental voice. “Let that be a lesson to all of you. These Jesus-followers have no power–unless it is power from the evil one.” A respected scribe from the local synagogue cast the words at the disciples like stones. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.

One of the disciples accused the scribe of standing in the way of the Lord. The scribe’s face reddened. He sputtered about the audacity of hinting that Jesus was the Lord. And just like that, sides were drawn and the shouting match began. The father moved his son outside the crowd, leaned him against some large rocks, then returned to see what would happen.

The argument was intensifying when the people began to chatter and shift. A path materialized through the crowd. Looking through the space, the boy’s father saw four men approaching from the mountain road. He heard someone say the name Jesus. He glanced at the disciples and saw recognition in their eyes. But they shuffled uncomfortably as they waited for their leader to approach.

The man who must be Jesus strode into the center of the crowd, scowled at his disciples, then turned to look intently at the group of scribes. Finally he looked unblinkingly at him until he dropped his eyes to the ground. Turning back to his disciples Jesus said, ​“What are you arguing about with the teachers of the law?”​ No one answered so the father tried to summarize the situation. ​“Teacher, I beg you to look at my son, for he is my only child. A spirit seizes him and he suddenly screams; it throws him into convulsions so that he foams at the mouth. It scarcely ever leaves him and is destroying him. I begged your disciples to drive it out, but they could not.”

That didn’t really answer his question, but Jesus did not ask for clarification. Shaking his head he said, ​“You people today don’t believe! How long must I stay with you? How long must I be patient with you? Bring the boy to me!”​ The disciples went to gather the boy. He was conscious again and walked between the men as they guided him toward their master. The child looked to his father in bewilderment. He nodded to his son with more assurance than he felt.

When they were just a few steps from Jesus, as if in reaction to his proximity, a fit seized him with unusual violence. As the boy hit the ground he started to move to his aid. But Jesus held up a hand to stop him. He obeyed and stared helplessly at his son. Jesus reclaimed the father’s attention saying ​“How long has this been happening to him?”

He looked at Jesus in surprise. No one ever asked his story. As their eyes locked the crowd seemed to blur into the background. The noise faded to a dull buzz. It was just the two of them, and Jesus’ look showed genuine interest and sympathy. Though he had the impression Jesus already knew the answer, he responded. ​“Since he was very young. ... ​If​ you can do anything, please have pity on us and help us.”

Jesus’ eyes narrowed slightly and he said, ​“Why did you say ‘​if​ you can’? All things are possible for the one who believes.”​ Those words struck his heart like a bolt of lightning. Hope surged through him with a physical force. He had been disappointed so many times he fought against hope like an enemy. But this time it felt irrepressible. He longed to embrace it.

In one impulsive burst he let down his guard and shouted, ​“Lord, I believe;”​ But immediately caught himself. Maybe that wasn’t entirely true. He knew instinctively that there was no point being less than truthful with Jesus. So he amended his statement to a request, ​“help my unbelief!”​

Jesus smiled and the jostling crowd came back into focus. Jesus turned to the boy who was still rolling on the ground and spoke in a voice that resonated off the surrounding rocks, ​“You evil spirit that makes this boy deaf and stops him from talking—I command you to come out of him and never enter him again!”

A scream came out of the boy that could not be human. His body arched as if it would break in half then shook violently for a long moment before collapsing into utter stillness. Not even breath moved his chest. Someone in the crowd voiced what he was thinking. “He is dead!” But Jesus stepped over to the boy, took hold of his hand and helped him stand up. Jesus tenderly wiped the dust and spit from his face and turned the boy toward his father. The boy spoke one of the last words he heard him say so many years ago. “Abba!” Daddy. With that word he felt the shell of his soul fill up and overflow with all the emotion he had banished.

He had come to Jesus to ask for healing for his son–not even expecting it to happen. But Jesus also healed his own dead spirit with such generosity that he had excess to share. His gratitude, joy, faith ... and so much more he could not define, was too much to keep to himself. He looked at his son with intensified love. He would pour into his son. And, he thought as he looked at the amazed faces around them, anyone else willing to listen.