This Is What Faith Actually Requires

Two verses in Scripture refuse to let us stay comfortable, not because they are complicated, but because they ask for something most of us are not quick to give: honesty and surrender. One comes from the mouth of a desperate father standing in front of Jesus with nothing left to offer but the truth. The other comes from Jesus Himself, spoken while His body is breaking and His breath is thinning. Together, Mark 9:23–24 and Luke 23:34 form a picture of faith that is far more costly than we often admit.

In Mark 9, Jesus says, “Everything is possible for one who believes,” and the father responds immediately, “I do believe; help my unbelief.” This is not a polished confession. It is not brave or impressive. It is raw. It is a man who has prayed before and watched nothing change, a man who has carried hope and disappointment at the same time, a man who is no longer pretending that belief comes easily. And Jesus does not turn him away. He does not shame the mixture of faith and doubt. He meets him there. The miracle did not come because the man had perfected his faith, but because he was finally honest about it.

So much of what we call faith is actually performance. We learn how to sound confident, how to speak the right language, and how to hide the places where we are unsure. God will come through again. But “help my unbelief” exposes something deeper: faith that does not pretend, faith that brings its fractures to Jesus instead of hiding them. It is the kind of belief that admits dependence. It says, “I cannot carry this on my own anymore.” And that kind of confession is not weakness. It is surrender.

Then Luke 23:34 confronts us from an entirely different angle. Jesus is no longer responding to need; He is enduring it. Hanging on the cross, fully innocent and fully aware, He prays, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” This is not forgiveness spoken after the pain has settled or the wound has healed. This is forgiveness offered while the injustice is still unfolding. While nails are still in His hands. While mockery is still in the air. While the cost is still being paid.

This kind of forgiveness dismantles our definitions of faith. It does not wait for apology or understanding. It does not require repentance from the offender before obedience from the Son. Jesus entrusts justice to the Father and releases those who are actively harming Him. And if we let that verse sit with us long enough, it becomes deeply unsettling, because it asks whether we trust God enough to let go of what feels justified to hold.

These two verses are not separate lessons; they are connected. One reveals faith that admits internal struggle. The other reveals faith that releases external offense. One hands, Jesus, our doubt. On the other hand, the Father is our pain. And both require surrender in places where control feels safer.

We often want the miracle of Mark 9 without the vulnerability it requires, and we want the peace of forgiveness without the cost Luke 23 demands. But faith, as Jesus reveals it, is not about appearing strong. It is about being yielded. It is about trusting God not only with what we hope for, but with what hurts, what disappoints, and what feels unfair.

“I believe; help my unbelief” is the prayer of someone who refuses to pretend. “Father, forgive them” is the prayer of someone who refuses to retaliate. Together, they form a faith that is honest, costly, and surrendered. Not clean. Not easy. But real.

And real faith does not avoid the cross. It passes through it, trusting that God is still God on the other side.