In my entire life I’ve never had a more difficult year than 2012. Let me begin where it all came to a climax. Towards the end of last summer my grandmother fell ill and was hospitalized. She grew progressively worse while her doctors were at a loss, not knowing what the issue could be. The news that she had been admitted into the ICU came on a Wednesday, the evening of which I was meant to preach to our youth group at Towne. I had written a sermon about the power of the Holy Spirit in the lives of believers. As I sat at my desk reviewing the notes of my sermon, I couldn’t help but struggle with the truth that I was empty inside. I felt completely weak, not at all empowered. At several points I lifted the phone to call Steve, expecting to tell him I wasn’t fit to preach. Something stopped me each time, though. That evening God showed up, and carried me through that message. It was the most difficult sermon I’ve ever preached. Once it was over, I was exhausted, emotionally.
Over the next several days my grandmother’s life hung in the balance. It was finally found that she was suffering from West Nile Virus. The doctors remorsefully concluded that there was nothing that they could do for her. I was heart broken. I had been praying so hard for her, and it didn’t seem like those prayers were being answered. I went through a sort of preemptive grieving process and prepared my heart for the fact that we were probably going to lose her. And then, she started pulling through, and day by day she showed signs of improvement. Our family knew that we had witnessed a miracle, we had no doubt about it.
Then, just when my hopes were lifted, believing that God was at work in the midst of the chaos, our uncle died. He had been battling cancer for about the past year. I was crushed. I couldn’t reconcile the dichotomy that I was facing. On the one hand it seemed like God had been working so powerfully, and then on the other, that God seemed to be absent. I believed, and yet didn't believe, somehow. I was broken.
For the next several months I drifted in my relationship with God. I knew objectively that God wasn’t responsible for any of the things that I had faced. But I wasn’t so sure anymore that he really cared about my heart, what I felt inside. None of my extensive theological understandings were of any comfort to me. Subjectively, I didn’t feel like God cared whether I was close to him or not. I felt forgotten. So I drifted as the condition of my heart worsened. It produced within me all sorts of sinful emotions.
Even after the chaos had settled, and the trials had finally passed, the greatest trial that I still faced existed within my heart. I was numb and didn’t much care anymore. All the while Passion 2013 neared.
When January 1 came I didn’t know what to expect. I worried how I would cover up my broken heart. The trip down to Atlanta was tense for this reason. My mind raced. I kept thinking to myself that Passion would be my last hope, and that if God didn’t show up and speak to me, I wouldn’t know how I could face another year of disappointment and confusion.
At some point in the morning, as I piloted a van full of tired young adults down I-75, Israel was passing the time by chatting with the people around him. He personally interviewed Brooke, asking various questions about everything. When he had finished with her, he turned to me.
“What is your favorite Bible verse, Mark?”
I was taken aback. I was not prepared for that question. I struggled to come up with something but I couldn’t.
“I don’t know, man. There’s so many, I just don’t know if I can choose.” It was an obvious cover up.
He turned and chatted amongst some of the passengers. I thought for several moments about why I couldn’t answer that question. Nothing came to mind.
Then, from behind, Israel started again. “Mark, I’m still waiting to hear about what your favorite Bible verse is...”
Then, from behind, Israel started again. “Mark, I’m still waiting to hear about what your favorite Bible verse is...”
I began to panic inside, for some reason. I didn’t know what was going on inside of me. My mind raced. And then, out of nowhere, a passage came to mind which I have always found very powerful.
“You know, I’ve always really loved Mark 9, the story where the father brings his son to Jesus to be healed, and he isn’t quite sure if Jesus can even help him. His words, ‘I believe, Help my unbelief’ are so powerful to me.” I was no longer covering up. I gushed about how much I have always identified with the father's response. Israel was satisfied and began interviewing someone else in the back of the van.
Later in the day our caravan stopped for a restroom break. Steve led a short meeting, during which he asked that each of us meditate upon what we hoped to gain from Passion, and that at lunch we would share about our expectations. I knew already what I wanted, but I wasn’t sure what to expect.
I downgraded to a passenger when Ashley offered to take over driving. I read through Philippians, prayed for a while, then thought more about Mark 9. At lunch I sat anxiously as people shared what they hoped to get out of Passion. When my turn came I told about the conversation that I had had with Israel and explained Mark 9 and why it has been so special to me. I then concluded, “But, honestly, what I’m really looking for in all of this is hope. I don’t have much hope anymore.”
When evening came, and the first service began, the tension mounted. But then my heart opened unexpectedly. The worship was too powerful to simply spectate. I then, once and for all, resolved that even if I didn’t feel like it, I would give glory to God, because I knew that he deserved it. Tears nearly came several different times. I felt that God was very close in those moments.
Then Louie Giglio began to preach from Ezekiel 37, the passage about the valley of dry bones. I tried to remember when I had last heard a sermon from this portion of Scripture. My thoughts drifted to other things. But then, after several minutes, my attention was suddenly demanded. Giglio mentioned briefly that he wanted to turn to another passage, a certain one in the Gospel of Mark. My heart leapt within me. My mind raced for several seconds. I immediately thought to myself, that there was no way that he would preach from Mark 9. Cynicism quelled the hope that was trying to rise up in my heart.
And then I was astonished.
He began explaining the passage about the father who struggled with faith before Jesus. I desperately wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. I couldn't believe what was happening. I sat in silence and internally reveled in the fact that God was speaking to me somehow, even though I didn't know what he was saying. Right then my heart began to heal. I cannot tell you why it meant so much to me, but God certainly did. He knew.
For the remainder of the conference I was in awe. I knew God was working, I could feel it. I was somehow challenged by each of the speakers in some way. Then, the final night, John Piper spoke. In that message he reaffirmed the notion that led me into worship the first night, that God was objectively deserving of praise. At that point, I wasn’t surprised anymore. I just simply smiled, and thanked God for showing up and healing my heart.
If you are looking for hope in life, I invite you to pray a simple prayer. It’s the most powerful prayer I know. “Lord, I believe; Help my unbelief!”
Don’t ever stop praying it.
