There once was a man whose son was in a very bad way. For years he tried everything he could think of. He spent nearly a fortune on physicians who offered little help and no cure. Eventually, his condition was diagnosed as a demonic disorder.

The young boy would experience violent seizures, throwing him to the ground. It was like this since he could walk. It stole his power to speak, even. When these seizures came on, he would clamp his mouth shut, his eyes rolling back in his head and his mouth frothing. He looked like a lunatic.

The worst part was how these demonic seizures would try to kill him. Get him close to a campfire, and the demon would lurch the boy towards the flame. Visit the coastline, and the evil spirit would hurl him into the waves. It sought to take his very life.

Whenever a visiting preacher would come around, the man would take every opportunity to seek spiritual help. He would prepare a large dinner for the teacher, catering to his every need. He would spend time with the preacher. He would beg for help. But none came.

His friends were convinced it was all his fault. “Have you prayed about it?” they would ask, as if this never occurred to the struggling father. “Maybe you haven’t prayed hard enough. Maybe you’re not using the right words. Maybe there’s some hidden sin in your life blocking this blessing.” All their words, completely helpless.

Then one day a preacher came to town. No ordinary preacher. Word of this man’s miracles and teaching had been spreading like wildfire lately. And he was passing near. He pushed aside the crowds and lay his trembling son at the feet of this man’s disciples. But they could do nothing either. He was at his wit’s end. Then the Master appeared. His name was Jesus.

“What is all this about?” he asked.

The father got to his knees, clasping his hands together. “I brought my son so you could heal him…if you can”

“If I can?” Jesus replied, his eyes wide.

“I do believe! Help my unbelief.”

This story is true. These words are recorded in the ninth chapter of Mark’s Gospel. And the outcome is there for you as well. But I’m not interested in the answer to prayer today. I’m more interested in the struggle this father went through. Because it’s the same struggle I’ve had, and I think maybe you have too.

When our struggle is with God it can be…complicated. Aren’t we supposed to have unwavering faith in God? Isn’t faith the antidote to any doubts? Don’t we call ourselves “believers”? How can we struggle with belief.

“I do believe! Help my unbelief.”

When we struggle with God, it usually comes out as either accusation or doubt. On the one hand, we believe God should do whatever we ask when we ask it. If he’s an omnipotent and all-loving God, he will right? If he doesn’t then maybe he’s not all-powerful or all-loving. Maybe he’s not there at all. We struggle with God and fire off a well-meaning “Why” followed by a well-placed “If.” But our struggle always end up falling flat.

Instead, what about taking on the attitude of this father. “I believe. Help my unbelief.”

First, we affirm that we believe. We affirm that our belief is not determined by our own desired outcome to any situation. Our belief is grounded in the person of Jesus Christ, alive and active in our world.

Next, we affirm our unbelief. We don’t hide the fact that we’re having trouble with this thing. Besides, we can’t keep a secret from an all-knowing God. So why not let it out.

Finally, we know the span between our belief and our unbelief. There is a distance we must cross. But thankfully we don’t cross it alone. That distance is spanned by who we believe in, not what. We believe in someone, not something.

When we throw all our energy of our struggle behind the person we truly believe in, then the outcome of our situation is less important than the relationship we cling to. It’s not about solving our doubts, but fueling our trust in him. I know it’s hard. Believe me, I do. But it’s all worth it in the end. It’s a struggle worth having.

No one likes pain. No one enjoys struggles. But the one weapon we all seem to familiar with in fighting it is denial. We deny we have a problem, a pain, a struggle. And that’s tearing us apart.

We live in a culture of denial. We don’t want to feel pain, so we numb ourselves to it. And that results in not being able to authentically express what is happening to us.

In the church world, it is called “Spiritual Bypass.” We use our own spiritual beliefs – faith statements, theology, biblical phrases – to avoid dealing with difficult matters in our lives. That includes the struggle with pain from unresolved wounds. We say, “Well, I experienced a major loss…but it’s okay because God is in control!” Or we blind ourselves to the reality of our hurts in order to stir up enough joy in the middle of our struggles. But we’re only bypassing the real issues and short-circuiting true growth.

God does not waste pain. He can refine it without redefining it. We can go through struggles without calling them something else. God calls pain by its name – pain! And we can too. When we embrace the reality of our wounds, we’ve made the first step towards growing through them and past them.

But that requires us walking honestly through that pain. In her book It’s Ok That You’re Not Ok, Megan Devine writes, “Grief is not a problem to be solved, it is an experience to be carried.” We don’t turn our eyes from it. We don’t push fast forward to the end. And we don’t make up a false reality where it doesn’t exist. We experience it. We sit in it. We carry it.

Take a look at these words from the Psalmist:

Psalm 31:9,10 –⁹ Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am in distress; my eyes grow weak with sorrow, my soul and body with grief.¹⁰ My life is consumed by anguish and my years by groaning; my strength fails because of my affliction, and my bones grow weak.

That doesn’t sound like any sugar coating I’ve ever heard. That doesn’t sound like someone trying to redefine their grief. It sounds like someone expressing the deep anguish of their soul to a God who wants to refine their grief.

Grief is not bad. We need to cancel that thought. When we see other sin grief, it’s not a time to step up and rescue. It’s time to just be with them. It would be a dishonor to them and to their grief to try and fix it for them. It’s honorable to be present with them through their grief.

Grief is not bad. In fact, it’s an extension of love. When we take the time to be with someone in their grief, a bond is formed. That bond is a form of love. Refining our grief doesn’t mean we get over it or solve it. It means that our relationships are deepened in it.

Some in the medical community call grief a disorder if it lasts more than 6 months. Some in the Christian community call grief a sin if it lasts more than a week. I’ve heard people say that if you can’t move past your pain in a prescribed amount of time, then you just don’t have enough faith.

I wonder if it’s not faith we should be focusing on in our struggles, but love. If we aren’t willing to sit with others in their grief, journey with them in their pain, and bear with them in their struggles, then it’s not a lack of faith that’s the problem. It’s a lack of love.

The culture of denial is run by the narrative that “If you’re not happy, then something’s wrong.” Let’s break that narrative and rewrite a script for our grief. It’s okay if you’re not happy. It’s okay that your tears last through the night…and into the next day, week, month… It’s okay that you’re struggling. It’s normal. And God doesn’t want to fix you as much as he wants to be with you.

The holidays are over. I guess it was official on January 2. That is, if you consider New Year’s Day part of the holidays. And I don’t know anyone that thinks they keep going that long into January. Does anyone decorate for Presidents’ Day? I didn’t think so.

But with the end of the holidays comes the beginning of chores, responsibilities, a return to work and school, and those first credit card bills start to roll in. Here’s something else I think comes to mind – struggles.

The holidays, and especially Christmas, are all about joy. Life on earth will be filled with joy, but also struggles. And like Christmas time giving way to the New Year, the harsh winter, and the unrelenting calendar, so too does our joy encounter our struggles.

We all have struggles in life. You can’t avoid them. You can try to fight them. We all want to avoid struggles because of the pain involved. But I’m convinced we would be better to embrace our struggles, see if they can help shape us into something better, than to resist them.

We all have struggles, but we encounter them in different ways. Some of us just struggle waking up and getting out of bed in the morning (I’ve got my own hand raised on this one). Some of us struggle with heartburn, while others struggle with heartbreak. Some of us struggle with decisions, while others struggle with depression. Some of us struggle at work, while others struggle to find work. Some of us struggle with being a single parent or a lonely child. Some of us struggle with a diagnosis or an addiction. Some of us are struggling right now.

One of the guiding values of this church and the way I live my life is this: “Real people, real problems, real questions.” As I wrestled through that value I considered putting “real answers.” But I never want to assume that I or anyone else here has all the answers. Some questions are more powerful than answers, honestly. Because sometimes we have the answers and sometimes we don’t. But it’s where our questions can lead us that matters.

When we face struggles, we want ready-made answers. But they rarely come. Our struggles can actually be embarrassing. We don’t want others knowing about them. What would the person sitting next to us at church think if we had these doubts, these private problems, these issues in our past.

But our struggles have the power to shape us – in positive ways just as much as in negative. We can either fight our struggles, hide from them, or let them push us towards a good life. We can either be embarrassed by them, or embrace them. What will you do?

Here’s the key. Be present with your struggle. Instead of denying those emotions, be real about how you’re feeling. Have an open heart to all your emotions in an accepting manner. And that will position you in the midst of your struggles to produce perseverance and character.

Here at Northbrook hurch over the next few weeks what I am going to attempt to do is help us live a better story because of our struggles, not in spite of them. I want us to take a deep dive into what it means to struggle, how struggles help us grow, how we can help each other in our struggles, and where our struggles can lead us. I hope you’ll come along with us.

Christmas is all about blurring the lines between the common and the holy. It was the God of the universe coming down in the form of a common baby. It was the creator of the world choosing to be born in a manger. It was the most holy God being born in the most common of ways.

Common and holy. We think they are completely incompatible.

We get uncomfortable with a holy God sometimes because we feel like we can’t be near him. We’re too common and he’s too holy and why would he ever want to get close to us?

When you think of holy, maybe you’re like me and think of the churches of my childhood. It was not a common setting. It was separated from the rest of the week. It was set apart in everyway imaginable, from the songs and the setting to even what we wore. The common would never be allowed in the holy. We might get it dirty. We need to be dressed and pressed and on our best behavior.

But also, what is holy would never show up in a common setting. You need candles and stained glass and robes and a big organ cranking out boring music that is somehow holy in order for the holy to feel at home.

But God is the most holy, and he felt right at home in a most common world.

What was different about Jesus? They had holy churches, or synagogues, in his day. They knew what holy was all about, and how it could never mix with common. But Jesus came near. He allowed the holy and common to cross paths. He touched lepers. He spoke to Samaritans. He spent time with prostitutes and tax collectors. He ate dinner with sinners. Nothing was off limits to his holiness. Nothing was too common.

And that made all the difference. When the holiness of God interacted with the commonness of the world, the world was changed forever. Peace on Earth! Goodwill to all people! Grace and mercy and light! A new way was opened up for us to approach God. Now, the presence of God was with us – really with us. He came near.

When we – common people – come near to a holy God, we are transformed. We are changed for the better. We want to live better. We want to talk about better things. We want to treat people better. We are common, and God is holy. But he comes near to us.

But when we – holy people – come near common people, they are transformed. We may be worried that the world will somehow rub off on us. It won’t. Being holy is not about being completely separated and sterilized from the world, but pushing into the brutal reality we live in. and when we do that, something changes in them. We are holy, and the world is common. But we come near to them.

The most holy of moments in my life do not happen in the sanctuary of a church but when I involve myself in the lives of people in a deep way reflecting the goodness of God. It’s not been setting a standard or scolding others into belief. It’s been about setting aside my own issues and getting into their lives. And letting them into mine. It wasn’t an easy lesson to learn, but it’s been a valuable one.

It’s a lesson that God never had to learn because it was his plan all along. A holy God visiting a hurting world in the most common way.

We get comfortable with a holy God sometimes because we like God to be separate. We don’t want him in our business. We kind of like being left alone because we don’t have to deal with it. But Jesus is God, incredibly clos