Mtr Mary Trainor

Dear friend,

“I believe. Help my unbelief.” These words from Mark’s Gospel brought me comfort the first time I heard them—and every time since.

The words are, of course, from a father desperate for his child’s healing. Disciples have been unable to help the boy, which has disappointed the man and now irks Jesus.

The father asks Jesus for help, if he is able. Jesus responds, “All things can be done for the one who believes.” The father pleads: “I believe. Help my unbelief.”

***

This week I watched the 2021 movie Belfast, which just won the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay. It was, in a word, outstanding.

Set in the late 1960s, the movie explores the city of Belfast, the scene of yet another of various episodes of sectarian conflict between its Catholic and Protestant populations over time. Mostly we see the unfolding of violence through the experiences of one Protestant family, which includes a charming young boy named Buddy.

***

In one scene we see the family at church where a hellfire-and-damnation preacher sought to scare people into salvation. One road, he said, there is one road that forks. Going in one direction leads to heaven. The other way leads to eternal damnation.

Back at home, Buddy draws a picture of the road and its treacherous fork. He later queries his older brother about which direction would land him in trouble. He couldn’t remember and seems  worried he might misstep.

***

I can relate to Buddy’s concern. Much of my own childhood was haunted by the fear that I could stumble onto the path to hell without even knowing it. Which fork is the wrong fork?

That fear, without anything to quell it, kept me out of church for decades.

When I finally tried church again—at age 50–and heard this lesson from Mark for the first time, I knew I was home. And, in time, came to understand that belief and unbelief can reside alongside each other in the same human being. And that God still loves, heals, and cares for me.

Mtr Mary