Faith in the Fog

by Bart L. Denny, Ph.D.

Text: Mark 9:14-29

Faith That Believes, but Can’t See Clearly

Have you ever tried to drive through thick fog at night?

You know the road is still there. You know you’re headed in the right direction. But you can’t see very far ahead.

So you slow down. You grip the wheel a little tighter. And every decision feels heavier than it should.

That’s a lot like what faith can feel like sometimes.

I don’t know if this describes your experience, but there have been seasons in my life when I genuinely believed in God. I believed He was real. That He was good. I believed He had the power to act, and that He was working through all things for my good. And at the same time, I struggled to see clearly what He was doing. I still prayed. I still showed up. I still tried to do what I knew was right. But there were nights when I went to bed wondering why nothing seemed to be changing.

Belief was still there…

But clarity wasn’t.

The path ahead felt uncertain. The outcome felt unclear. And part of me wondered how much longer things would stay this way.

That tension—believing God while struggling with uncertainty—is what it feels like to live in the fog.

Faith hasn’t disappeared. Hope hasn’t died.

But visibility is limited.

And that kind of faith can feel uncomfortable, especially in church settings. In church, we often feel like we’re expected to be totally confident in God, even when we have no idea what He’s doing.

So, we keep those struggles to ourselves. We assume that if our faith were stronger, the fog would lift faster.

But Scripture paints a different picture.

The Bible is full of people who believed deeply but nonetheless struggled to see clearly in the moment. People who trusted God, but still wrestled with fear, exhaustion, delay, and unanswered questions.

That’s the space we’re stepping into today.

Because in Mark chapter 9, we meet a man who believes in Jesus—a man who also knows his faith is under strain.

We also meet disciples who believe in Jesus—and discover they don’t understand dependence nearly as well as they thought.

And right there, in the middle of that fog, Jesus shows us how God meets His people when faith is real, but clarity is hard to come by.

Faith in the Fog Is a Shared Experience

Most of us have walked through seasons where we believed God,

but couldn’t see clearly what He was doing. We trusted Him enough to keep moving forward, but not enough to feel settled or certain. 

For many of us, the fog comes when circumstances we didn’t choose, faithfulness that doesn’t seem to bear fruit, and long-term emotional or spiritual fatigue all collide at once.

We’re still praying. Still serving. Still trying to do the “right” things. But clarity doesn’t come as quickly as we hoped. And when that happens, it gets hard to tell what’s really going on inside us.

We’re tired. We’re uncertain—maybe even quietly overwhelmed.

So let me say this clearly and carefully:

When you’re in a dark or foggy season, wise help matters.

Sometimes seeing a doctor is part of God’s care. Sometimes talking with a counselor brings perspective and light to the situation.  Sometimes rest, support, or even (gasp) medication are part of healing. Seeking help doesn’t mean you’re failing spiritually. It may just mean you’re taking your life—and your faith—seriously.

At the same time, Scripture anchors us to something essential: In the fog, we must remain on guard, lest we move away from prayer. Rather, when we’re in the fog—that’s the time to lean into prayer.

Prayer keeps us connected to God when our clarity seems limited. Prayer reminds us that even when we can’t see far ahead, we’re still walking with Him. 

That’s why this passage matters so much. Because Mark 9 shows us people who believe, people who are seeking help, people trying to do the right thing—and who still find themselves in the fog. And it shows us how Jesus meets them there.

What we’re about to read happens right after one of the most powerful moments in Jesus’ ministry—the Transfiguration.

Jesus and His three closest disciples—Peter, James, and John—have just been on the mountain, where they saw Him in glory, speaking with Moses and Elijah.

And now, Jesus, Peter, James, and John come down from that mountaintop moment. And they step straight into a valley filled with confusion, disappointment, and unmet expectations.

Listen now to what faith sounds like when it’s under strain.

Mark 9:14–29 (all Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version, 2011 edition)

14 When they (that is, Jesus, Peter, James, and John) came to the other disciples (the other nine of the twelve disciples), they saw a large crowd around them and the teachers of the law arguing with them. 15 As soon as all the people saw Jesus, they were overwhelmed with wonder and ran to greet him. 

16 “What are you arguing with them about?” he asked. 

 17 A man in the crowd answered, “Teacher, I brought you my son, who is possessed by a spirit that has robbed him of speech. 18 Whenever it seizes him, it throws him to the ground. He foams at the mouth, gnashes his teeth and becomes rigid. I asked your disciples to drive out the spirit, but they could not.” 

 19 “You unbelieving generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy to me.” 

 20 So they brought him. When the spirit saw Jesus, it immediately threw the boy into a convulsion. He fell to the ground and rolled around, foaming at the mouth. 

21 Jesus asked the boy’s father, “How long has he been like this?”

“From childhood,” he answered. 22 “It has often thrown him into fire or water to kill him. But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.” 

23 “ ‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for one who believes.” 24Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” 

25 When Jesus saw that a crowd was running to the scene, he rebuked the impure spirit. 

“You deaf and mute spirit,” he said, “I command you, come out of him and never enter him again.” 

 26 The spirit shrieked, convulsed him violently and came out. The boy looked so much like a corpse that many said, “He’s dead.” 

27 But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him to his feet, and he stood up. 

 28 After Jesus had gone indoors, his disciples asked him privately, “Why couldn’t we drive it out?” 

29 He replied, “This kind can come out only by prayer.”

In this story, we see what faith looks like when it’s real—but struggling to see clearly.

And Mark 9 shows us that when faith is strained by suffering, the right response is to bring it honestly to Jesus.

When faith is strained by suffering, bring it honestly to Jesus.

In Mark 9, this father’s suffering hasn’t been brief or abstract.

We don’t know how old this boy is. But we get the sense he—along with his father and, likely, his entire family—has suffered for a long time.

The suffering has been personal. And it’s been terrifying (when I picture this episode in my mind’s eye, I find it to be one of the most frightening accounts in the Gospels—truly scary).

The boy’s father tells Jesus that his son has been tormented since childhood—robbed of speech and violently thrown to the ground. He has helplessly watched this happen—again and again—unable to stop it. And when he brings his son to the disciples—men who represent Jesus’ authority—they can’t help him either. So, when the father finally speaks to Jesus, his words carry years of disappointment and exhaustion.

So, this father says to Jesus (Mark 9:22), “But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.” 

That sentence tells us exactly where he is. He believes Jesus can help —or he wouldn’t be there. But suffering has worn him down. Delay has clouded his hope. 

So Jesus gently presses on his words and says (Mark 9:23), “‘If you can?’ Everything is possible for one who believes.”

And immediately—without pausing to explain himself, without trying to sound stronger than he feels—the father answers (Mark 9: 24), “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” 

That’s faith in the fog. 

Faith that hasn’t disappeared. Faith that’s under strain, yet still reaches for Jesus.

And I’ll be honest: some days—more days than I can really recall—I relate to this man more than any character in all of Scripture. Many is the time that this desperate father’s cry has been my prayer: I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!

In my own walk with God, this prayer has never been just poetic or profound. It’s been a necessary prayer. I didn’t stop believing in God. I didn’t walk away from faith. But I struggled to make sense of what God was allowing. I knew the right answers. I knew what the theology textbook or my Sunday School teacher said.

But belief and clarity weren’t lining up. Whatever God was doing, I couldn’t see it. And I think a lot of church people know this prayer better than we are willing to publicly admit. We know how to say, “I trust God.” We know how to sing it. How to teach it.

But underneath that, there’s often a quieter prayer…one we don’t say out loud:

“Lord, I believe… but I’m tired.”

“Lord, I believe… but this has gone on way longer than I expected.”

“Lord, I believe… but I don’t understand what You’re doing right now.”

And instead of hiding that tension, this father brings it straight to Jesus. He doesn’t wait until his faith feels stronger. He doesn’t try to fix himself first.

He cries out to Jesus!

And Jesus doesn’t turn the man away. Jesus doesn’t wait for his confidence to improve. He meets him right there.

Desperate but honest faith in Scripture

This kind of faith appears throughout Scripture.

We’ve seen before where the psalmist cries out in Psalm 13:1: “How long, LORD? Will you forget me forever?” And yet later, verse 5 of the same psalm says, “I trust in your unfailing love.” That's honest faith in the fog.

In what’s maybe the oldest book of the Bible, Job deals with intense pain, loss, and sorrow he’s done nothing to deserve. In the middle of deep suffering, Job tries to make sense of it. 

And he says (in Job 13:3), “I desire to speak to the Almighty and to argue my case with God.” 

Yet, even as he admits that he wants to argue with God, Job still declare (Job 13:15), “Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him.”

Earlier in Mark’s Gospel, a woman who had been bleeding for twelve years comes to Jesus in fear and trembling, believing He can heal her even though the outcome isn’t guaranteed (Mark 5:27–33).

Jesus responds by saying (Mark 5:34), “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.” 

Again and again, Scripture shows us the same pattern.

God meets people who come honestly—people who believe, who still struggle… yet they refuse to stop coming to Him.

A Picture of Honest Faith in Daily Life

It’s like a small child crossing a busy street with a parent.

Cars are moving fast. Lights are changing. There’s noise everywhere. The child doesn’t understand traffic patterns or timing. They don’t know what’s safe and what isn’t.

They might hesitate. They might stumble a little. They’ll squeeze their parent’s hand tighter when they get scared.

But the important thing isn’t how strong the child’s grip is. The security comes from who’s holding them—and who’s guiding them across.

That’s what we see here.

The father’s faith isn’t strong because it’s confident. It’s strong because it stays connected to Jesus.

The Disciples’ Faith in the Fog

But the boy’s father isn’t the only one in this story whose faith is struggling in the fog. His struggle comes from pain—years of watching his son suffer, years of unanswered questions, years of hoping and waiting.

The disciples believe, too. But their struggle doesn’t come from suffering. It comes from confidence. Or, dare I say, overconfidence.

They aren’t worn down by despair. They’re caught off guard by failure.

They’ve seen this work before. They’ve done this kind of ministry. And when it doesn’t work this time, they don’t know why.

As we shift our attention to the disciples, we recognize the dangers of self-reliance. 

When faith drifts into self-reliance, we stop participating in God’s power.

The disciples believe in Jesus. They’re committed. They’re following Him. They’re not outsiders looking in.

Yet, the boy’s father speaks of them in disappointment as he tells Jesus (Mark 9:18), “I asked your disciples to drive out the spirit, but they could not.”

That failure matters because earlier, in chapter six of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus had already given these same disciples authority over unclean spirits. When Jesus sent them out, He gave them authority, and they went preaching repentance, driving out demons, and healing the sick. So, when they fail here, their confusion is real.

Later, when they’re alone with Jesus, they ask Him (Mark 9:28), “Why couldn’t we drive it out?” 

That question tells us something important: They expected this to work. And honestly, that expectation makes sense. They weren’t trying something new.

They were operating within the authority Jesus had already given them.

So what changed?

Here’s where we need to slow down and pay attention. When the disciples went out in Mark 6, everything about that mission forced dependence. Jesus sent them out with no supplies, no money, no backup plan, and no illusion of control (Mark 6:8–9).

They weren’t operating on experience. They were operating on trust. They stayed close to Jesus. They moved at His direction. They knew from the beginning, “If God doesn’t show up, this doesn’t work.”

Prayer wasn’t an occasional practice. Dependence was the atmosphere in which they lived. But by the time we get to Mark 9, something has shifted subtly. Now they have experience. They’ve seen results. They know what successful ministry looks like. Or so they think.

And without realizing it, they’ve allowed their dependence to be replaced by assumption. Not rebellion. Not unbelief. Assumption.

They step into this situation thinking, “We’ve done this before.”

So, when Jesus says (Mark 9:29), “This kind comes out only by prayer,” Jesus isn’t saying, “You forgot the right words.”

He’s saying, “You tried to act without the posture that keeps you connected to God.”

The disciples didn’t lose authority. Nothing changed about Jesus. Nothing changed about God’s power.

What changed was how much they were relying on Him in the moment. I can’t help wondering what the disciples relied on in their earlier ministry in Mark 6. Didn’t they pray then, too? I believe with all my heart that they did rely on prayer as part of their miraculous ministry.

But, somewhere along the way, they moved from reliance to routine. From dependence to self-confidence. From prayerful attentiveness to familiar ministry patterns. And when that happens, God’s power isn’t gone. But we’re no longer in a position to participate in it.

The drift towards self-reliance in Scripture

Scripture consistently warns God’s people about this kind of drift.

Proverbs 3:5 says, “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”

Because it’s possible to believe in God while leaning on ourselves.

Jesus later tells His disciples (John 15:5), “Apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). Jesus doesn’t say that because the disciples lack effort or experience. Rather, He says it because fruitfulness always flows from connection.

The Apostle Paul echoes that same truth when he writes in 2 Corinthians 3:5, “Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God.” 

Throughout Scripture, God’s power is never something we possess. It’s something we depend on. And when dependence fades, effectiveness fades with it.

An Illustration: A Power Tool without the Power Source

It’s like using equipment that only works when it’s plugged in. You can have the right tool. You can know exactly how it works. You can remember how well it worked last time you used it.

But if that tool isn’t connected to power, nothing happens. You can flip the switch all you want. You can press the buttons. You can wonder why it’s not working. But until it’s plugged in, it’s not going to do what it was made to do.

That’s what’s happening here.

The disciples still have the calling. They still have the experience. What they’ve lost isn’t authority—it’s connection. They’ve drifted from the posture of dependence that keeps them connected to God’s power.

So Jesus answers their question. And when He does, He doesn’t give them a new strategy. He doesn’t offer a technique. He points them back to dependence. Because when faith is real but ineffective, Jesus calls His people back—not to greater confidence, but to prayer.

When faith feels inadequate, return to dependent prayer.

After the healing—once the crowd is gone and the noise has died down—the disciples ask Jesus a very honest question (Mark 9:28): “Why couldn’t we drive it out?” (Mark 9:28).

Jesus answers them simply and directly (Mark 9:29), “This kind can come out only by prayer.”

That sentence is easy to misunderstand if we’re not careful. Jesus isn’t telling them to pray harder. He’s reminding them who they’re depending on. He’s not saying this demon was stronger than the others. He’s not introducing a special formula or a new technique. He’s pointing them back to dependence.

Prayer, in this moment, isn’t about saying the right words. It’s about recognizing who the power belongs to. By the time we reach Mark 9, the disciples know how to do ministry. They’ve learned the patterns. They’ve seen results.

But prayer keeps ministry from turning into self-help mumbo-jumbo. Prayer keeps dependence from quietly slipping away. So when Jesus says, “only by prayer,” He’s exposing whether we’re still leaning on God—or leaning on ourselves.

The biblical connection between prayer and dependence 

This connection between prayer and dependence runs throughout the Bible.

Psalm 121 opens by asking, “Where does my help come from?” And the psalmist quickly answers his own question (Psalm 121:2), “My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.” Prayer is how the psalmist’s confession becomes a lived reality. 

Jesus Himself models this kind of dependence. Before major moments in His ministry, He withdraws to pray (see Mark 1:35; Luke 5:16). He withdraws and seeks dependence on His Heavenly Father, not because He lacks power—but because dependence is central to obedience.

The Apostle Paul echoes this same truth when he writes (Philippians 4:6), “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” 

Prayer isn’t a last resort. It’s the ongoing posture of a life that knows where help comes from. Throughout Scripture, prayer anchors God’s people when clarity is limited, and their strength feels insufficient.

An Illustration: Traveling with directions vs. traveling with a guide.

Think about the difference between asking for directions and walking with someone who actually knows the way. 

When you ask for directions… even when it’s Google Maps, you get information. You hope you understood the directions right. You may have to try to remember the directions because you can’t drive and fumble with your smartphone at the same time. You hope someone on Apple Maps hasn’t mislabeled the place you’re headed.

But when you walk with someone who knows the way, you don’t have to figure everything out. You just stay close.

Prayer is a lot like that. Prayer isn’t just asking God for outcomes. It’s choosing to walk with Him when the path ahead isn’t clear. That’s why prayer matters most in the fog. When faith feels inadequate, prayer keeps us connected. When clarity’s gone, prayer keeps us close. When strength runs out, prayer keeps us dependent.

We start to see now how this looks in our lives.

So here’s what Mark 9 shows us: The boy’s father brings his strained faith honestly to Jesus. The disciples are called back from self-reliance to dependence. And Jesus reminds everyone that prayer keeps faith connected when clarity is gone.

Now the question becomes personal. What does it look like for us to live that kind of dependent faith when we’re in the fog?

What This Story Shows Us About Ourselves

So when we step back and look at this story, we see something clearly.

Everyone in Mark 9 believes. But everyone needs to relearn dependence. The boy’s father shows us what honest faith looks like under pressure. The disciples show us what happens when experience quietly replaces prayer. And the invitation Jesus gives to both groups is the same.

Come back to dependence. Not dramatic faith. Not louder confidence. Dependent faith.

What Faith Looks Like in the Fog

So let’s get very practical for a moment.

If you’re in a foggy season right now, here are three concrete ways dependent faith might look—not things you need to do all at once… just a few practical steps of obedience.

First, 

Borrow the Mark 9 father’s prayer and use it as your own.

Some of you don’t need a new prayer right now.

You need permission. Permission to stop pretending your faith is clearer than it really is. Permission to bring what’s real, not what sounds strong.

That father’s prayer—“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24)—isn’t weak faith. It’s honest faith. And it’s not an isolated moment in Scripture.

The Bible is full of prayers that sound like this.

In Psalm 42:5, the psalmist asks, “Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me?” 

That’s not rebellion—that’s faith talking honestly to God.

Later, Psalm 73:26 says, “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart…” 

Faith doesn’t deny weakness. Faith brings weakness to the right place.

And even Jesus—on the cross, where the fog was thickest—prayed, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46).

So when you pray like the father in Mark chapter 9 did, you’re not stepping outside biblical faith. You’re stepping into it.

This week, when you don’t know what else to say, pray the prayer Scripture has already given you. Say it out loud if you need to: “Lord, I do believe. Help me where I’m struggling.”

Not just once. Not as a slogan. But as a prayer you return to.

Because faith doesn’t have to feel strong to be real. It just has to stay connected.

And here’s a second practical, concrete step towards dependent faith that you might take this week:

Pay attention to where you may be relying on yourself rather than on God.

Maybe you’ve inadvertently come to a place where you’ve quietly replaced dependence on God with self-reliance. It's pretty much human nature. Self-reliance is born and bred into us Americans.

You aren’t doubting God at all. You’re not walking away from faith. You’re just running on experience, habit, and muscle memory. You know how to do the right things. You show up. You serve. You keep moving.

But prayer has slowly shifted from being essential to being an afterthought. 

Because this is such a natural part of our carnal human nature, Scripture warns us about that kind of drift. Through the prophet Jeremiah, God says, “Cursed is the one who trusts in man, who draws strength from mere flesh.” (Jeremiah 17:5)

This is a warning against complete reliance on human strength. Not because effort is wrong—but because misplaced trust leaves us dry and depleted.

Psalm 127:1 puts it this way: “Unless the LORD builds the house, the builders labor in vain.” You can keep building. You can keep working. But effort alone doesn’t produce fruit.

That’s exactly what we see in Mark 9 with the disciples.

They didn’t lose belief. They didn’t abandon Jesus. They didn’t reject their calling. They just assumed that what worked before would work again.

And Scripture shows us how easily that happens. Through the prophet Hosea, God says of the Israelites, “When they were satisfied, they became proud; then they forgot me.” (Hosea 13:6).

Success didn’t drive the people away from God—success made dependence feel unnecessary.

So ask yourself honestly—not defensively —where have you been assuming God’s help instead of actively depending on Him?

That might mean you’ve been moving through decisions without prayer. Maybe you’ve been relying solely on past experience rather than on God in the present. 

Or maybe you’ve been pushing through fatigue instead of admitting you need help. And here’s the important part—Scripture doesn’t call that failure. It’s an invitation. An invitation to return to the posture where God does the building, and we learn to rely on Him again.

And here’s a third, final practical action you might take this week:

Take One Wise, Concrete, God-Honoring Step Toward Help

For some of you, dependent faith right now will mean prayer and action. Not action instead of prayer. And not prayer that avoids action. Scripture never treats action and prayer as opposites. They’re like chocolate and peanut butter. They go together.

The Bible consistently shows God meeting His people through wise care, shared burden, and tangible support. Proverbs tells us, “Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisers they succeed” (Proverbs 15:22).

Seeking counsel isn’t a sign of weak faith—it’s a sign of wisdom.

Paul tells the Galatian church, “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2). Some burdens are too heavy to carry alone, and Scripture never asks us to pretend otherwise.

I believe that one of the most striking moments in the Old Testament, is when Elijah—right after a great spiritual victory—collapses in exhaustion.

What does God do? God doesn’t correct him first. God feeds him, lets him rest, and gives him strength for the next step (1 Kings 19:5–8). Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is receive care.

So, dependent faith may in your life might look like something very ordinary this week. It might be scheduling a doctor’s appointment. Maybe it’s reaching out to a counselor or telling a trusted person, “I’m not okay right now.”

Those steps don’t compete with faith. They cooperate with it. Because dependence doesn’t say, “I can handle this.” Dependence says, “God has given me help, and I’m willing to receive it.”

And Scripture assures us that God works through those means.

James 1:17 tells us, “Every good and perfect gift is from above.” 

Sometimes that gift comes through prayer. Sometimes that gift comes through people. Usually, it comes through both… and it always comes from God.

So if Jesus is asking you to take one wise step toward help, that invitation isn’t an indicator of failed faith. It’s an invitation to obedience.

So here’s the question I want you to carry with you—not answer quickly—but honestly:

“Which kind of dependence is Jesus inviting me back into right now? Is it prayer I’ve avoided? Help I’ve delayed? Slowing down that I’ve resisted?”

You don’t have to fix everything this week. You don’t have to clear the fog. 

You just have to stay connected.

Because fog doesn’t mean you’re lost.

It means your visibility is limited.

And when visibility is limited, God doesn’t abandon His people. He draws them closer.

And when life feels unclear, faith doesn’t need to be strong. It needs to stay connected.

Dr. Bart Denny is the lead pastor of Pathway - A Wesleyan Church in Saranac, Michigan. This blog post is adapted from the transcript of a sermon Pastor Bart preached at Pathway on Sunday, January 25, 2026. You can watch the sermon (as part of the complete Sunday service) at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsvQg1p66bI