The “Help me have faith” prayer.

Jesus was once presented a demonized boy, whose father kinda saw Jesus as their last hope. Mark tells his story thisaway:

Mark 9.21-24 GNT

21“How long has he been like this?” Jesus asked the father.

“Ever since he was a child,” he replied. 22“Many times the evil spirit has tried to kill him by throwing him in the fire and into water. Have pity on us and help us, if you possibly can!”

23“Yes,” said Jesus, “if you yourself can! Everything is possible for the person who has faith.”

24The father at once cried out, “I do have faith, but not enough. Help me have more!”

Jesus’s response was to throw the evil spirit out of the boy, and cure him—and tell his students nothing but prayer could throw out this sort of evil spirit, which merits a whole other article on that subject. But today I wanna focus on the boy’s father’s desperate cry to Jesus: Πιστεύω, βοήθει μου τῇ ἀπιστίᾳ/pistévo, voïthei mu ti apistía, “I believe, [but] help my unbelief.” The way the Good News Translation puts it is closer to what this father meant by it: He had enough faith in Jesus to come to him and beg for help, but man alive did he need more.

And that’s always a good thing to pray. It’s humble; it recognizes we’re deficient in just how much we trust God. We gotta put more faith in him! Often we turn to him for help as a last resort—we’ve tried every other way out of our jam, but they haven’t got us anywhere, and finally we figure, “Well, there’s prayer. If nothing else, we can try prayer.” God should’ve been our first resort, but we don’t trust him enough. Sorta like Jesus should’ve been this guy’s first resort, but he figured he’d try Jesus’s saints first, and see if St. James the Less and St. Jude and St. Thomas and the other saints in the Twelve might answer his prayers instead, Mk 9.18 ’cause Jesus was busy with other stuff. (Being transfigured, actually.) Unfortunately Jesus’s students weren’t yet up to the challenge. They had their own faith deficiencies.

But since we already know we oughta be praying in faith, when we know our faith in God simply isn’t gonna be good enough, “Help my unbelief,” or “Help my unfaith,” or “Help my doubts,” or every similar cry of “Help!” is the right thing to pray. We need some of that mustard-seed-size faith which can get trees to uproot themselves and jump in the ocean. Lk 17.6 We’re not gonna pretend we totally have it when of course we don’t. Even those of us with amazing testimonies of God-experiences in which we saw for ourselves as he did miraculous things, can get wobbly in our faith sometimes. By all means we should ask for more.

Is Jesus your motive for what you believe?

Romans 14.5-9

Hopefully I’ve made it clear, in my articles for TXAB, that our religion oughta be Jesus; that if our practices, rituals, and beliefs don’t lead to a closer relationship with Christ Jesus, they gotta go. If they don’t encourage us in that direction, if we’re doing ’em because it’s our custom, or it’s what every other Christian claims they’re doing (although they might not really, ’cause they’re hypocrites), then our practices are dead religion. Again, they gotta go! But if they do help us follow Jesus, they’re living religion. Do ’em as long as they help. Drop them when they no longer help.

Not every Christian shares this mindset, which is why they don’t drop these practices once they stop working for them. They think the practices are their religion. Not Jesus. Not that Jesus isn’t there in their religion… somewhere. And they’ll insist Jesus is central to the religion. But the fact their religion includes, and requires, all these other things, means these things can take precedence over Jesus—and often do. And never should.

Paul of Tarsus makes this clear in today’s passage, using the examples of Christians who refuse to eat meat sacrificed to idols, and Christians who observe special days. To make it obvious what kind of day he’s writing about, I inserted the word holy where appropriate. “Holiday” for short, but no, he doesn’t mean vacation days—they’re for worship.

Romans 14.5-9 KWL

5Someone reckons a day as holy,

apart from the other days,

and another one reckons every day the same.

Each of you: Be fully convinced

in your own mind.

6One who observes a holy day

observes it for Master Jesus,

and one who eats everything

eats it for Master Jesus.

For they¹ give thanks to God.

And one who’s not eating everything,

doesn’t eat it for Master Jesus,

and also gives thanks to God.

7For none of you² live for yourself,¹

and no one dies by themselves.¹

8For when we live, we live for the Master,

and when we die, we die for the Master.

Whether we live and whether we die,

we exist for Master Jesus.

9This is why Christ Jesus dies and lives:

So he might rule over the dead and the living.

In the context of Christians who are weak in faith, Ro 14.1-4 it’s the weak in faith who need to practice veganism, who need special holy days as a reminder to follow Jesus. Once they’re more spiritually mature, they’re no longer gonna need these training wheels. Meanwhile, do as Paul advises: If you’re vegan, don’t denounce the omnivore; if you’re an omnivore, don’t mock the vegans. Love one another, dangit.

The Dinner Party for the Poor Story.

Luke 14.12-15.

Because Jesus tells his Dinner Party Story right after this story, in which the host of the story does this, lots of Christians tend to not preach specifically on the Dinner Party for the Poor Story. They lump it together with the Humble Guest Story, call them collectively the Parable fo the Guests, and again skip its points unless they’re gonna dive right into the Dinner Party Story. Or they’ll use it as a preamble for the Dinner Party Story—“First Jesus tells us we oughta invite people who can’t repay us, then here’s a story where a guy does exactly that.”

Well today I’m only writing about the Dinner Party for the Poor Story. Here’s the passage.

Luke 14.12-15 KWL

12Jesus also tells the one who invited him,

“When you¹ host a brunch or dinner,

don’t invite your¹ friends.

Nor your¹ siblings, nor your relatives,

nor your wealthy neighbors.

Otherwise they might also invite you,¹

and that becomes your¹ repayment.

13Instead, when you¹ host a dinner party,

invite the poor, disabled, impaired, and blind.

14You’ll¹ be awesome,

because they have no way to repay you.¹

For you’ll¹ be repaid

in the resurrection of the just.”

15Someone reclining at dinner with Jesus,

hearing this, tells him, “How awesome

for whoever will eat bread in God’s kingdom!”

This gets called a parable because it’s inbetween two parables. It’s not straight-up called a parable like the Humble Guest Story, Lk 14.7 but it’s considered one… and unfortunately because parables are analogies which describe God’s kingdom, we get plenty of Christians who never do anything like this. Never invite the poor, needy, and disabled to their celebrations. NEVER.

Never even think to. Because this is a parable; it’s not advice or instruction from Jesus; it’s only describing God’s kingdom, to which everyone is invited. It doesn’t mean we have to demonstrate this. No no no; we can continue hosting soirées in which we only ever invite friends, relatives, and the rich and popular. Relax; we can keep doing as the world does, and keep conforming to it, not God’s kingdom.

Y’know, someone who’s actually striving to follow Jesus is also gonna follow the heroes of his parables. Not because we’re taking the parables literally; we should know better than that. But we should also recognize that the good Samaritan is a role model; the generous vineyard owner is a role model; the obedient son is a role model; even the shrewd butler is a role model. If God’s kingdom is like these guys, be like these guys.

The Lᴏʀᴅ created the skies. Not some other god.

Genesis 1.6-8.

The creation stories in Genesis were written to rebut pagan creation stories. Young-earth creationists repurpose them to rebut science. Not only was that not the author’s intent, but young-earthers aren’t even consistent with Genesis 1 when they use their theories to describe creation.

Lemme demonstrate. I’ll start with the biblical description of how God created the skies.

Genesis 1.6-8 KWL

6God said, “Be, ceiling in the middle of the waters.

Be, division between waters and waters.”

7God made the ceiling.

He divided between the waters which are under the ceiling,

and between the waters which are over the ceiling.

It was so.

8God called the ceiling skies.

It was dusk, then dawn.

Day two.

This רָקִיעַ/raqíya gets translated “firmament” in the KJV, which is pretty much the way the ancient Hebrews would’ve understood it: A solid wall above us, holding back the waters above, lest they flood and drown the earth. Since firmament isn’t a familiar word nowadays, I went with ceiling to accurately describe the way the ancients imagined the cosmos: The skies have a ceiling. When you look up, whether day or night, you’re looking right at it.

Now, humanity has been to space. We’ve had astronauts and cosmonauts on the International Space Station continuously since 2 November 2000. We launch satellites and probes up there all the time, and use ’em to watch our weather, or map the ground below. We know there’s not a solid wall up there; we’d’ve slammed into it thousands of times.

So if reality obviously isn’t as the bible describes it, how do we then deal with this massive bible difficulty? Well, one of two ways. The less common way is to join the flat-earthers, insist there totally is a firmament, and every space program and satellite service is actually part of a long-term global conspiracy to discredit the bible. (Well, not “global,” ’cause you know, they insist the earth’s flat. “International” would be a better adjective.) Antarctica isn’t real, ’cause that’s where they imagine the base of the firmament is located. And every “space traveler” is a dirty liar; every “space launch” is a dirty trick; every celebrity and millionaire who rode on Jeff Bezos’s rockets was conned. The flat-earther direction is too bonkers for most of us, though they’re gaining in popularity.

The more common way, which you’ll see in a number of present-day bible translations, is to insist raqíya means space, not firmament. The NLT and NLV will straight-up use “space.” More popular is “expanse,” as used by the Amplified Bible, the CSB, ESV, MEV, NASB, and NET. The ICB and NCV use “air,” the Living Bible and Message use “sky.” The NIV went with “vault,” which could be solid or not, depending on the way a preacher cares to spin the word; it’s certainly a useful way for the NIV’s translators to sit on the fence.

The rest of the translators figure, as I do, if raqíya means a solid barrier, that’s the only proper way to translate it. Hence the CEB, GNT, NAB, and NRSV have “dome,” and the NCB and NKJV stuck to “firmament.” Yet even with these translations, you’ll find preachers try to fudge them, and claim the firmament’s not really a solid object. The dome of the skies only appears to be a ceiling, but isn’t really.

Thing is, raqíya’s word-root is the verb רָקַע/raqá, “to pound [the earth], to beat out [metal].” It implies something solid, hammered into shape. God spoke ’em into existence, rather than hammering them up there, but we’re meant to get the sense that they’re a solid, firm object: The skies aren’t going to fall, even though we get rain from time to time.

Young-earth creationists try to weasel around this bible difficulty… instead of matter-of-factly stating the truth: The ancients thought the sky was a solid wall. And the Holy Spirit was informing the people of that day, not ours. He dealt with the cosmos the ancients “knew,” not the cosmos we know. We are meant to recognize the anachronism, and work around it. Not embrace it, and play a game of “Look what ridiculous things I can make myself believe!” chicken with other misguided zealots.

Don’t conform to this world. [Ro 12.2]

Romans 12.2 KJV

And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.

Paul of Tarsus spent the first part of Romans explaining salvation and how it works. Once done, he encouraged the Romans to live a proper Christian lifestyle. This verse is part of his advice.

Christians love to quote it. Not always for good reason.

A number of Christians presume we already are transformed. Our minds were renewed when we came to Jesus, and we have the mind of Christ now. Don’t need to persue the good, acceptable, perfect will of God anymore; we already have it. We think like he does! Or, he thinks like we do—it’s all the same. They quote this verse to remind one another: “We’re different!”

Other Christians, namely in the United States, love to imagine ourselves as countercultural. Even though our country is predominantly, overtly Christian. But they love to imagine themselves as an oppressed minority, because it makes ’em feel like the martyrs of Roman times; it makes ’em feel righteous. For them, they’re definitely not conformed to this world—it’s out to get them, and their children, and make them “woke” or something. So they quote this verse to remind one another: “Be different.”

Then there’s the Christians who recognize they’re not an oppressed minority; who recognize we’re not countercultural at all—we are the culture. And annoyingly, the worst parts of Christianity prevail; the hypocritical parts, where everybody’s pretending to be devout and righteous and good, but our crime rates and internet browser histories prove we’re statistically no different than pagans. So they try to stand apart from the crowd of Christianists, and be Christ-followers: The world may be going to hell, but they follow Jesus. As best they can, anyway. And also quote this verse to remind one another, “Be different.”

So which sort are you? Because all three of these groups are wrong in a number of ways, and still need to renew their minds.

Groaning in prayer.

There’s a passage my fellow Pentecostals like to quote whenever we’re trying to show biblical support for prayer in tongues. We honestly don’t need to quote this one, because there are plenty of other, better verses to support and encourage the practice. But Pentecostals love to quote this one anyway. It’s in Romans 8, and I’ll quote it in its context… and just for fun I’ll use the Modern English Version, a bible which just happens to be translated by Pentecostal linguists. Ahem:

Romans 8.18-27 MEV

18For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed to us. 19The eager expectation of the creation waits for the appearance of the sons of God. 20For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but by the will of Him who subjected it, in hope 21that the creation itself also will be set free from its slavery to corruption into the glorious freedom of the children of God.

22We know that the whole creation groans and travails in pain together until now. 23Not only that, but we also, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan within ourselves while eagerly waiting for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. 24For we are saved through hope, but hope that is seen is not hope, for why does a man still hope for what he sees? 25But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

26Likewise, the Spirit helps us in our weaknesses, for we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. 27He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

The point I’m gonna zoom in on, is the bit in verse 26 where the Holy Spirit intercedes for us “with groanings too deep for words.” That right there, claim a large number of Pentecostals, is an example of praying in tongues. When we Christians pray aloud, and in our prayer we’re speaking in an unknown language which kinda sounds like moaning and groaning, that’s precisely what this verse is about.

But you read the context: It’s obviously not. Paul was writing about suffering. People suffer. Life is suffering. All of creation itself suffers, because humanity’s sinful condition has corrupted it. And we who suffer, and creation which suffers, are looking forward to Jesus making all things new.

Meanwhile we suffer. And groan. And the Holy Spirit groans too. Sometimes we’re so miserable we don’t have words to describe it, not even to God. But that’s okay. The Holy Spirit is not unfamiliar with the “language,” so to speak, of groaning. But this does not mean groaning is a literal language. Including a literal prayer language.

This means when we’re miserable—we’re sad, we’re depressed, we’re in agony, we’re terrified, we’re anxious, we’re upset, we’re feeling any which way, and we wanna call out to God but words have failed us: It’s okay. The Holy Spirit understands. Go ahead and pray in groans.

And the Holy Spirit will intercede: He’ll pray to the Father right along with us. In groans too, when appropriate. The Father likewise understands.

The weak-in-faith Christian.

Romans 14.1-4, 22-23.

Sometimes I’m asked about a certain topic. Recently it was about Romans 14, and I figured that’s a discussion which needs something far more than a short answer. Christians use this chapter in a number of ways; typically to fight whatever they describe as legalism and hypocrisy, whether it’s actually those things or not.

The chapter begins by Paul introducing his audience—the Christians of the city of Rome, a city he’s not yet visited, though he knows a number of its denizens—to the concept of the weak-in-faith Christian. It’s one a lot of Christians skim over, ’cause we’re too busy preaching on legalism and hypocrisy. But it’s an important concept, so let’s take a minute to look at it closely. To the scriptures!

Romans 14.1-4 KWL

1Take in the weak-in-faith Christian,

not the argument-starting Christian.

2One person believes they¹ can eat everything,

and one weak-in-faith person only eats vegetables.

3You who eat everything:

Don’t scorn the one who doesn’t eat!

And you who don’t eat:

Don’t condemn the one who eats!

For God accepts them,¹

4and who are you¹ to judge another’s servant?

They¹ stand or fall

before their own master,

and they¹ will stand up

because their¹ Master can make them stand.

Lemme start by defining weakness in the faith, and I’ll define it the way Paul does at the end of this chapter.

Romans 14.22-23 KWL

22You¹ have a belief of your¹ own:

Have it between yourself and God.

You who don’t condemn yourselves¹

for what you think is right

are awesome.

23One who still doubts it’s okay when they¹ eat,

was condemned because it’s not their belief.

Everything which isn’t their belief

is sin.

Being weak in faith is not, as some Christians claim, the same thing as being new in the Christian faith. That’s a teaching I’ve heard from time to time—that these folks are weak in faith because they’re new in faith; they haven’t followed Jesus long enough to learn to be strong in faith. ’Tain’t necessarily so. I’ve known longtime Christians who are extremely weak in faith. We’re meant to grow out of it, but some of us haven’t, and at this rate never will.

What Paul’s talking about are people whose consciences won’t let them do things. That’s actually true of all of us: My conscience tells me I shouldn’t steal. So does the bible; so do the laws of California and the United States, and most countries. But what decisively gets me to not rob people is, of course, my conscience. If my conscience didn’t have any problem with it—if I thought theft was okay under certain circumstances, or that I’m somehow an exception and it’s okay for me—I might steal. Might steal a lot; theft is way easier to get away with than most other crimes. Those of you with consciences which forbid stealing, might call me a sociopath, and you’d be right if I took thievery so lightly. But as you can see, most of us have consciences which forbid the things most folks consider sin. We were raised to not sin; to recognize these sins seriously disrupt the social order; to believe God strongly disapproves. Our consciences were well-trained.

But the weak in faith: These are the people whose consciences are extra restrictive. They believe more things are probably sins. They believe there are many things Christians are forbidden to do. Not just stuff in the bible, either: Christians should do all that too, but we should also abstain from loads of things. No swearing. No drinking. No gambling. No popular music. No movies other than G-rated Disney fairy tales. No being alone with an unrelated member of the other sex. No voting for the opposition party. No, no, no—not just for them, but for any Christian, and if you do ’em you’re probably not Christian.

Yep, weak-in-faith Christians are what we’d call legalists. These folks don’t entirely trust we’re saved by grace, and focus a little too much on works righteousness.

And Paul tells us not to scorn them. Which, y’might notice, is what non-legalists typically do. Quite often we quote Romans 14 when we’re doing it. “But why dost thou judge thy brother?” Ro 14.10 KJV we’ll say, to condemn the legalists… and ignore how, in context, the verse specifically addresses us non-legalists, who are judging them for judging us, and think Paul wrote Romans 14 because he has our back. He does not. He’s telling us to stop sticking stumbling blocks in front of the legalists, Ro 14.13 because they are the weak in faith.

The non-legalists? Strong in faith. They’re not so tempted to sin, they need a few thousand bonus rules, just in case. Legalists? Super tempted. Rules against swearing because they’d swear their heads off if they could. Rules against drinking because they’d get alcohol poisoning every night if unrestricted. Rules against gambling because they’d leave every casino not just penniless, but butt naked with their thumbs broken. They can’t be trusted to be good without a ton of rules. Too immature.

And we who are strong in faith, need to have their back. So stop condemning them and help these weak sisters and brothers out!