(ref. Mk 9:14–29)
How should we respond when we feel powerless in the face of humanity’s tragedies? Even on the journey of faith, at a certain point along the way we feel an irrepressible need to transform ourselves.
We want to realise our full potential and do good, even for others. It is an innate impulse.
The need for life does not arise from reasoning: it springs up spontaneously, so that new situations and other aspects of ourselves may emerge.
Change is a law of nature, inherent in every seed.
This movement ‘calls’ us from the depths of our core, so that we may alter balances, beliefs and ways of engaging with the world that have had their day.
We can respond to this calling by opening ourselves up, so as to discover different points of view – including those from outside – but beginning with the rediscovery of a sort of ‘new self’ that in reality lay in the shadow of our virtues.
Energies to which we had not yet allowed room to breathe.
Conversely, we may instinctively resist this process, driven by various fears, and then every situation becomes a struggle; like an obstacle course.
Finally, on our journey of transformation, we often encounter opposition from others, who may appear more experienced than us…
They seem like experts and veterans, yet they too are ‘frightened’ by the fact that we do not intend to stop at the mark already set for us.
In any case, the drive for change will not let go of its hold on our innermost being.
We will take new actions, express different opinions, reveal contrasting sides of our personality; we will leave more room for the vital force to flow.
Enough with the compromises, even if others may begin to wonder whether we have become ‘devious’.
In short, what power does the arrival of the choice of Faith hold in life, even amidst people’s disbelief?
And – as in the Gospel passage – amidst the helpless scepticism [of the apostles themselves, who would be the first to demonstrate its depth]?
Even today, certain old ‘figures’ and leaders are fading away, caught off guard by the new wave of awareness, or by shifting enigmas, and different units of measurement.
The old ‘form’ no longer satisfies. Indeed, it causes unease. But there is – precisely – a whole system of expectations surrounding it, including ‘spiritual’ ones, or at least rather conformist ‘religious’ ones.
What is the point, if even we priests are no longer reassuring? And what does God think of this?
The messianic nature of Christ and Salvation itself belong to the sphere of Faith and Prayer.
These are the realms of intimate listening, acute perception, trusting spousal acceptance, and the liberating impulse.
The Master himself – fluid and down-to-earth – did not immerse himself in the system of rigid [mutual] social expectations of his time, and decided to step outside the ‘group’.
On this point, Jesus lashes out against the mediocrity and the uninspired – entirely predictable – behaviour of his own people (vv. 18–19) and is forced to start afresh (vv. 28–29).
Admittedly, perhaps the others too lack that creative Faith, free from wavering and turmoil, but at least they recognise this (v. 24) and, with the utmost modesty, wish to be helped, well before setting out to teach others (v. 14).
At times, it is precisely those closest to the true Master—perhaps still lacking experience of God’s great signs—who seek only the acclaim of their roles and approval through spectacle.
So much so that ‘when He entered the house’—that is, His Church (v. 28)—He had to start teaching the basics of the catechism all over again [perhaps even pre-catechism, specifically to His own leaders].
Without wishing to grant the crowds any external spectacle, as the ‘inner circle’ would probably have done.
The passage is structured along the lines of the early catechumenal liturgies.
The Lord wishes that people enslaved by conventional thinking, by the ideology of power and by false religion be brought to Him (v. 19) and demands faith from those who guide them (vv. 23–24).
The novice undergoes a review of their life that ‘twists’ them and ‘brings them to their knees’.
This is because one can indeed remain under the influence of ‘spiritual’ guides who are controlling, unwise and covertly manipulative – despite being ineffective and, deep down, insecure.
Then it is truly agonising to discover that, ever since childhood (v. 21), one has been shaped by a stifling model – one made up of facile classifications which, far from fulfilling, actually dehumanise.
Perhaps we too have been influenced by ill-advised guides.
And only through arduous, heart-wrenching experiences have we discovered that precisely what had been taught to us as sublime – and capable of ensuring our communion with God – was, on the contrary, the primary cause of our separation from Him, as well as from a more harmonious and fulfilling personal and ecclesial existence.
To be set free and rise to new life (v. 27), the candidate on the journey of Faith passes, as it were, through a death – a sort of baptismal immersion that drowns out his former, effectively pagan, upbringing.
In Mark’s time, many spoke of the expulsion of demons.
Through this typology of the new Baptism, the community in Rome sought to express the aim of the Good News of the Gospels: to help people rise up – freeing themselves from the paralysing fears of evil.
That is not true power.
In the passage, the boy’s deafness and muteness signify the absence of the ‘Word’ which becomes an ‘event’ – unceasing, growing life, capable of transforming the predetermined, standard fate of ‘earth’.
This deficiency persists both amongst the disoriented people and – unfortunately – first and foremost amongst the disciples, who are afflicted by a desire for the limelight and one-sidedness.
The young man’s own behaviour (vv. 18, 20, 26) mirrors the existential patterns of people subjugated by forces that are invincible because they are self-destructive – and thus in the grip of obsessive, ceaseless inner turmoil.
This runs counter to the very essence of personal character.
It is indeed a heart-rending situation: that of someone who discovers they have been deceived by a form of religiosity based on all-too-common beliefs – through the superficial, persuasive ruse of herd or mass mentality.
Even back then, the advent of the Kingdom of God signified the arrival of an ‘inner’ power stronger than the Roman army itself, whose legions were used precisely to maintain conditions of civil oppression, and even religious fear.
Even today, a no-holds-barred struggle rages between the forces that give rise to deep-seated afflictions [as if something had taken hold of us] and the presence of the Messiah.
The two opposing poles cannot tolerate one another; they clash fiercely.
But the solution is not to amaze the crowds, nor, conversely, to attempt to recreate things that ultimately serve to sanctify the status quo once more.
Thus, at times it seems we are not in a position to initiate processes of authentic healing (v.18b).
Yet evil does not yield through miracles and fanfare, nor through human force or insistence, but through harmony and the Gift (v.29). Beginning with inner, event-like powers.
Herein lies the space of prayer-listening.
Prayer takes us beyond boundaries and brings us into contact with other energies and surprises we had not noticed: innate virtues and those of Grace, which allow us to see every situation through different, liberated eyes.
For solutions that resolve real problems from within, we have a constant need not for conformist rules, but for a new Interpretation.
This is the asymmetrical gaze.
The Tao Te Ching (i) states: ‘The Tao [way of being] that can be spoken of is not the Eternal Tao. The name that can be named is not the Eternal Name.’ Master Wang Pi comments: ‘A Tao that can be spoken of indicates a practice.’
Our life does not hinge on the initiative of what we are already able to organise and practise – or interpret, design and foresee (vv. 14–19) – but on Attention (v. 29).
The ‘mountain’ to be moved [cf. Mt 17:20 – see also Mt 19:20ff; Mk 10:20ff; Lk 18:21ff] is not outside, but within us.
In this way, the conformist mindset that discourages us, or all obstacles (rather than causing harm), will become precious opportunities for growth.
We will be at the heart of the reality of the Incarnation: like putting the meat on the fire.
To internalise and live out the message:
How do you deal with your conflicts? What is your experience of healing?
Overcoming that ‘sting of unbelief’,
and ‘throwing oneself into the fray’
Miracles still exist today. But to allow the Lord to perform them, we need courageous prayer, capable of overcoming that ‘sting of unbelief’ that dwells in the heart of every person, even those of faith. A prayer above all for those who suffer because of wars, persecutions and every other tragedy that shakes today’s society. But prayer must ‘put our whole selves on the line’, that is, involve our very being and commit our whole lives, in order to overcome unbelief [...]
Returning to the Gospel passage, the Holy Father reiterated the question posed by the disciples who had failed to cast out the evil spirit from the young man: ‘But why could we not cast it out? This sort of demon,’ explains Jesus, ‘cannot be driven out by any means except through prayer.’ And the boy’s father ‘said: “I believe, Lord; help my unbelief.”’ His was “a powerful prayer; and this prayer, both humble and powerful, enables Jesus to perform the miracle. A prayer asking for an extraordinary intervention,” explained the Pontiff, “must be a prayer that involves us all, as if we were committing our whole lives to that end. In prayer, we must put our all into it.”
The Pope then recounted an incident that took place in Argentina: “I remember something that happened three years ago at the shrine of Luján.” A seven-year-old girl had fallen ill, but the doctors could find no cure. She was getting worse and worse, until one evening the doctors said there was nothing more they could do and that she had only a few hours left to live. “Her father, who was an electrician and a man of faith, went completely mad with grief. Driven by that desperation, he took the bus to the shrine of Luján – a two-and-a-half-hour journey, seventy kilometres away. He arrived at nine o’clock in the evening to find everything closed. So he began to pray, his hands clinging to the iron gate. He prayed and wept. He stayed there all night. This man was wrestling with God. He was truly wrestling with God for his little girl’s recovery. Then, at six o’clock in the morning, he went to the bus station and caught the bus. He arrived at the hospital at around nine o’clock. He found his wife crying and feared the worst: ‘What’s happened? I don’t understand. What’s happened?’ ‘The doctors came,’ his wife replied, ‘and they told me that her fever has gone, she’s breathing fine, there’s nothing wrong…’ They’ll keep her there for just two more days. But they don’t understand what’s happened. And this – the Pope remarked – still happens today. Miracles do happen. But prayer is needed! A courageous prayer, one that fights to bring about that miracle, not those perfunctory prayers: ‘Ah, I’ll pray for you!’ Then a Lord’s Prayer, a Hail Mary, and I forget all about it. No! We need courageous prayer, like that of Abraham who wrestled with the Lord to save the city; like that of Moses who prayed with his hands raised and grew weary as he prayed to the Lord; like that of so many people who have faith and, with that faith, pray and pray.”
Prayer works miracles, “but,” concluded Pope Francis, “we must believe it. I think we can offer a beautiful prayer – not a prayer out of politeness, but a prayer from the heart – and say to him today, throughout the whole day: ‘I believe, Lord! Help my unbelief.’ We all have a measure of unbelief in our hearts. Let us say to the Lord: ‘I believe, I believe! You can do it! Help my unbelief.’ And when we are asked to pray for so many people who are suffering in wars, in their plight as refugees, in all these tragedies, let us pray, but from the heart, and say: ‘Lord, do it. I believe, Lord. But help my unbelief.’”
[Pope Francis, Santa Marta, in L’Osservatore Romano, 20–21 May 2013]
